A story of self improv-ment.

Fran:? “I’m taking improv comedy classes.”

All of Linkedin:? “Yes, and?”

I’ve always prided myself on having a natural energy and excitement when I present. I rehearse a bit, make notes (which I then largely ignore) and feed off the room and the conversations within it to pitch ideas in the most engaging way I can.

But when lockdown turned those rooms into Zooms, I lost that energy for a bit. I leaned more heavily on notes. I felt sad to be making eye contact with a webcam rather than the real people at the other end of it.

Returning to IRL, and now way more at ease with remote, I’ve gotten that energy back. But after that dip in confidence, I wanted to be better, and to sharpen up my spontaneity, my delivery, and my confidence. I wanted to push myself.

So I signed up to improv classes.

And what I’ve learned from them has made me not just a better presenter, but also by far a better creative.

Improv is a form of live performance where the plot, characters and dialogue of a game, scene or story are 100% made up in the moment, often based on prompts given by audience members. It forces you to think, collaborate and (literally) act fast, all while trying to tell a consistent story and entertain a crowd. At its best, it can be very, very funny. And when things don’t work out, it can also be mortifying. But more often than not, it’s lightning-quick, inclusive, good-hearted – and hilarious. As a fan of improv, I knew all this already. What I didn’t realise was how nerve-wracking it was to actually “do.”

I’ve presented to global CEOs and stayed absolutely cool. I went back to my old school to talk to 900 bored teenagers about creative careers, and emerged with my dignity intact.

But standing up in front of a group of 12 strangers in a school hall in South London, on a Wednesday night, and pretending to be a home shopping channel salesperson flogging a fridge that was also a washing machine? Terrifying.

I’ve not been actively bad at something new I’ve tried to do for years. But in those first few classes, I felt completely out of my depth.?

The beginners' class – run by the excellent Hoopla Impro – was a lively collection of warm and encouraging people, with whom I quickly bonded. But while many of them –?some helped by acting experience, others by a lifelong passion for Dungeons & Dragons – took to it easily, for me it took a while to figure out how to just…make things up. And as for acting, I’ve only ever been myself. There’s not much call for pretending to be a sentient space-hopper or a murderous Welsh grandma when you’re pitching a behaviour change campaign to the government.

As the weeks passed, though, and the trust between us all grew along with our experience of cutting loose and actually "improvising" – I started to love it. We all got better together. My confidence grew, my imagination opened up, and I learned a hell of a lot. After 8 weeks, we were hatching plans to meet up over summer to continue what we'd started. Most of us signed up to Level 2 (which starts tonight, and I cannot WAIT). We've even – gulp – got our first live show in November.

But how’s improv comedy made me a better creative?

It's best explained through these several guiding principles of improv, which we’re encouraged to recall at the start of every practise. Kind of like Fight Club, but cleaner, and with fewer bruises. I think each one has a direct parallel to how we work together in the creative industry – in fact, in any industry.

And they are…

?? - It’s OK to make mistakes. Getting things wrong is usually…kind of fine? Mistakes are on a scale, of course, but slips and errors are part and parcel, and actually showing a little personality in those instances can even work in your favour. Stop trying to be flawless –?and you’ll probably get even better.

?? - Your scene partners are partners, not competition. You’ll always work with competitive people. But you’re all rowing in the same direction (or should be). In an improv group, as in a functional team, there’s no “funniest”, “smartest”, or “most important.” You’re in it together. Our promise to each other pre-show is: “I will support you, no matter what.” Corny, yes. Does it work? Absolutely. Support, cheerlead, develop each other. Then everyone gets the standing ovation.

?? - You don’t have to try to be clever, funny, or entertaining. Focus too hard on getting a particular reaction from your audience, and you risk losing sight of the story you’re trying to tell. No scene is 100% punchline just as no pitch is 100% fireworks. They both need pace, rhythm, and variation to land.

?? - Don’t block. ‘Blocking’ in improv means shutting down the direction your scene partner is taking because you don’t like it, or have other ideas, eg. responding to “Oh what a beautiful garden!” with, “This isn’t a garden, it’s a restaurant.” No one wins here! You look like a prat, and you make your partner feel stupid or blindsided. Build, never block, in work as it is in improv. Look to add, guide, and co-create – don’t talk/shut/shout down.

?? - Have fun! This is supposed to be fun, folks! As creatives, we get to have amazing ideas for a living, and make those sketches or scribbles or stories or daydreams come to life. Yes, it can be a slog. Yes, stuff WILL go wrong. But we pour so much energy into the work we do, we owe ourselves the pleasure of enjoying sharing it with others.

I will not be swapping my creative career for life as part of a comedy troupe any time soon.

But I will be continuing this unexpectedly awesome journey with my improv crew for a little while longer, and expanding my mind, making new connections, growing my confidence, and super-charging my creativity as I go.

Fancy a go at improv? I WHOLEHEARTEDLY recommend it. The guys at Hoopla are a joy. Check out their beginners' classes here. And if all goes well with Level 2, maybe see you at The Miller pub in November for our first ever public show. Now that's a deadline that scares me.