Hannah Edwards
The crowd at Mad City Story Slam.
Author Charles Payne, center, in the audience at Mad City Story Slam.
When I moved to Madison several years ago, I read about a story slam in Isthmus and decided to not only attend but to compete. Showing up is one of the best decisions I have ever made.
I’ll never forget my first time performing at the Madison Story Slam, then held at Robinia Courtyard, and how sharing my story was freaking electrifying. The experience that then-host Duke Adams created unlocked something deep inside me and fueled a propulsive desire for me to be a part of that community.
It’s a powerful thing, getting in a room with complete strangers and reminding ourselves of our humanity, discovering or rediscovering that self-expression is a valuable tool for building creative capital in a new place. Even folks like me who pride themselves on having stage presence can get lost at sea when it comes to developing a collective experience.
What I loved most about the Madison Story Slam was that it allowed for an immediate connection that inspired me to reinterpret my world and create something new from it. A lot of who I am as a storyteller now goes back to the impact that evening had on me. I love it so much because community was the last thing I was looking for when I performed. And I didn’t expect to find community among the audience — a motley crew of characters who, at least on the surface, were far removed from my childhood growing up in one of Michigan’s many rust belt cities. I was shocked to find I had so much in common with them, and that they valued my humanity.
T.L. Luke
The Mad City Story Slam logo.
My own family’s preoccupation with everything but the performance arts meant that my only exposure to folks listening was limited to long-winded church sermons. My household had many good things about it, but a sensitive cultural hub it is not, so my exposure to folks actively listening to what I had to say made my hardened heart soften a little. I later realized if I was going to thrive or others who look like me and who come from places like me were going to thrive that I would need to (1) help create that environment (2) help build that table and those chairs.
Luckily for me, local writers Mel Hammond and ZJ Shea volunteered to play a major role in my development. Together they opened a whole new world from the page onto the stage for me. They recognized me as a potentially valuable member of both their writing group and Mad City Story Slam, which we started after Duke Adams took a hiatus from Madison Story Slam.
Over the course of several years we’ve removed barriers to Story Slam, like the competition aspect and the recording of folx’ stories. We wanted to create an environment that was more reflective of the beautiful community we serve. Because when folx see themselves fully they go further. Representation isn’t just empowering, it is regulating. Seeing ourselves reflected in strength, complexity and joy literally can calm the nervous system and reshape what the brain believes is possible. And, by keeping production value as minimal as possible — limiting sets to around five minutes, with no props — all the emphasis is on the story.
Which was supposed to be the spirit of the story slam in the first place, right? At least I think so.
Mad City Story Slam meets the first Friday of every month at Mother Fool’s Coffeehouse at 7 p.m. The topic for Sept. 5’s slam is “First impressions.”
