It is a chilly, rainy night in Venice Beach. A crowd gathers at Beyond Baroque to see Buddy Wakefield perform his well-known selection of spoken word poetry. The crowd is informed that they are sitting in what was once a courtroom within the old Venice Beach City Hall. An energy fills the room, it is not nervous, but it is an energy. The space feels like an experimental black-box theater. 

There are those of us prepping our cynical reaction times, readying our deep sighs, and practicing the nonchalant rolling of our eyes in preparation for tonight’s presidential debate. (Which, unfortunately, will not include moderation from Nicki Minaj and Mariah Carey.) Meanwhile… there are those of us prepping their best impressions of a vampire, readying their best black ensemble, and sharpening their pearly glitter-prompting fangs in preparation for the most epic vampire film franchise finale… ever.

I recently took a major step and submitted my poetry to a publisher. Of the twenty-five writers asked to submit a full manuscript, I was not. On the list of writers who were almost considered, I was not. That sense of rejection and the fleeting questions that followed, regarding what I am doing with my life and what I have accomplished in my first thirty years on this planet, spawned this blog entry.

*the harold* is the signature piece of long-form improv taught at io and io west (formerly improv olympic). essentially, at its foundation, the harold is a series of nine scenes split up by two games, all of which is initiated by a suggestion which leads into an opening.