When the Well Runs Dry: Priming the Creative Pump

Let’s face it: Even the most seasoned speakers and performers among us experience the feeling of being “tapped out,” of having their creative or emotional well run dry. It’s not always easy having to “come up with it” time after time, speech after speech, audience after audience. Sometimes, too many consecutive days on the road, or a couple of tough audiences in a row can leave us feeling tired, raw and cranky. And yet, there we are, facing yet another performance, another presentation, another audience. And our audience is expecting us to be at our best, even if we’re not exactly feeling our best. It’s a constant—and interesting– challenge.

So, the question is, how do we prime our pumps when our wells have gone dry? Or, put another way, HOW DO WE TURN OURSELVES ON, SO WE CAN TURN OTHER PEOPLE ON?

I got a great lesson in how to do this when I was a young actress, just starting out in New York City. I was working on a film directed by Sydney Lumet called “Running on Empty”, standing-in for the wonderful Christine Lahti. I had never worked on a movie set before, and was blindsided by the numbing tedium of waiting for scenes to be painstakingly set, lit and, finally, populated by actors and so they could be filmed. Actors had to sit around for hours, marshalling their energies, waiting to be summoned to the set. How did they keep fresh and emotionally available, I wondered?

I was especially curious about this on one particular day that seemed to go on forever. All sorts of technical problems were causing massive delays in the shooting schedule. Knowing that Christine Lahti was scheduled to do only one scene, at the very end of the shooting day, I began to wonder how she would handle this challenge—especially since I knew the scene she was scheduled to shoot was an emotional nightmare: While she had no lines in the scene, she was required to run across a street, pause at a storefront, and burst into tears. How, I wondered, was she going to keep her center, and be emotionally ready to give her all for the scene, after such a long and trying wait?

I began carefully observing Christine, and noticed that she was choosing to remain apart from the rest of the cast and crew, plugged into a cd player and headphones, her eyes closed. She kept those headphones wrapped around her head hour after hour, up until she was, at long last, finally called to the set to shoot her scene. She took off her headphones, handed them to an assistant, and took a deep breath. Then, while the cameras were rolling, she raced across the street , paused at the storefront and burst into tears, exactly as the scene required. She nailed it in one take. It was a beautiful thing.

Later on, I discovered that Christine had been listening to a beautiful ballad called “I Dreamed a Dream, from the Broadway show, Les Miserables. The song evoked all sorts of deep emotions for her. By keeping herself plugged into the song, throughout a very long and trying day, Christine helped herself stay in the emotionally available place she needed to be in order to shoot her one scene.

Christine did whatever it took to help herself do her job. We have to do the same. We have to find ways to refill our well, so we can be fresh and more available to the given moment. What does that mean, exactly? Well, for one thing, it means taking the time to figure out what inspires you or fills you up in the first place. For myself, I find that great performances by other actors, singers or speakers can fire me up and reconnect me to my sense of mission, vision and purpose. Great visual art, especially impressionistic oil paintings, can do the same. Taking a long walk in nature, or a luxurious bath can help me decompress and find my center. So can sharing a homemade dinner with some really dear friends and loved ones, where I can laugh and talk and just plain be myself.

From a purely practical standpoint, when I need to help myself be present and accounted for in front of an audience, I do what I tell my coaching clients to do: Stack the deck in my favor by helping myself be at my best. That can include leaving early from a late night event hosted by a client, so that I can get some additional sleep before a morning performance; or politely retreating to a quiet room a half an hour before my performance time, so that I can do some breathing and relaxation work or vocal exercises before stepping out, warmed up and ready, onto the stage. And it always, always means taking the I need time to be prepared– I mean REALLY prepared– for the presentation.

Since it is my job to do my best in front of each and every audience, I have to treat my audience as if they are my only audience, each and every time. If, like Christine Lahti, I have to help prime my pump by taking some special, small measure, like looking at an photograph that evokes a particular memory or feeling in me, or re-reading a letter of inspiration someone special has written to me (or I have written to myself), then that’s what I’ll do. Making these choices helps me step onto that stage fully present, all cylinders blasting. And when I’m blasting on all cylinders, inspired and alive, when my senses and my energies are flowing fully and richly, I stand a better chance of firing up my audience and giving them the kind of presentation that we both deserve: Authentic, fresh, and in the moment.

So ask yourself: What turns you on, so you can turn other people on? What can you do to prime your creative pump when your well runs dry? Remember: It is up to you to inspire yourself, so you can keep inspiring others!

My coaching clients often ask me “What should I do if something horrible happens while I’m giving my speech? What if I completely lose my place/trip as I walk to the podium and scatter my notes/go utterly blank?”

My answer is this: Take a lesson from the Fallen Actor.

By the third mind-blowing day of the International Performing Arts for Youth conference, I had seen so much amazing, brilliantly produced theatre and storytelling for children, that I was convinced I couldn’t be further impressed. I was dead wrong.

The magic happened in a small dark theatre, as I watched two Swedish actors and two upright-bass playing musicians play all the characters in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The production took place on a bare-bones stage set with two long wooden benches and a minimum of props. We sat on the stage itself, an arms length from the actors. The proximity to the actors, and the brilliance of their work made for visceral, exciting theatre. I was mesmerized.

Suddenly, in the middle of the second act, disaster struck: One of the actors, leaping onto a wooden bench for the millionth time, slipped on its edge, teetered and fell, twisting his ankle visible and horribly as he crumpled to the floor.

For a long, terrible moment, no one breathed. The Fallen Actor groaned, filling the shocked silence. ” AAUUUUUUUUUGHHHH!” Then, he swore, loudly, in what I could only presume was Swedish. Then, he fell silent, his face contorted in pain, while he rocked back and forth, his injured foot cradled in his hands.

Again, the most agonizing silence, in which, we, the audience members, slid to the end of our seats, our compassion fully ignited, our collective hearts going out to this poor, injured man. We were now even more actively engaged with the action on stage, our senses at full attention, taking each moment alongside the Fallen Actor, not knowing what was going to happen next but more fully than ever along for the ride.

From across the stage, a murmured question from the Fallen Actor’s partner, also in Swedish. We could only assume from its urgency that the question mirrored the ones in our own minds: “Are you ok? Are you going to be able to continue?”

The Fallen Actor shrugged his reply. Then, he exhaled again, audibly and slowly. In and out, he breathed. In and out. With each exhalation, his face and body relaxed and unknotted. He opened his eyes, took in the audience around him. Then, he looked once again at his foot, leaned against the bench and used it to hoist himself into a sitting position. Then, slowly, carefully, he stood on his weakened ankle. Would it bear his weight? Taking tentative steps, he tested his foot, and exhaled once again. Then, with a vigorous nod to his acting partner, he suddenly launched into his set of lines, his voice raw with honest emotion. It was nothing short of breathtaking! We settled back in our seats and relaxed, only dimly aware of the actor favoring his right foot as he finished the play with passion and focus.

When the curtain dropped, we leapt to our feet in a spontaneous, passionate ovation. As we left the theatre, I couldn’t help but think that the ovation was particularly heartfelt because we had so fully identified with the Fallen Actor. He let us in on his pain, on the intense moment-by-moment reality of his situation. He took the time he needed to take to do what he needed to do: to howl in pain, swear, breathe, test out his body, and center himself. And he let us watch him do it, to share the moment with him. We felt privileged to be there, one human being observing and identifying with another. He turned his accident into a gift. He made a horrible moment into something magical and powerful.

And you can too: When your speech or presentation turns into a train wreck, take your cue from the Fallen Actor: Let yourself BE — I mean, really BE–in the given moment. Experience what you are experiencing, in all its anxiety/pain or fear. Take the time to feel what you are feeling. Then, breathe. Inhale and exhale fully and regularly. Like the Fallen Actor, use your breath to relax and to bring yourself out of your head, where you are judging yourself, and back into your body. Once you are centered in your body, bring your attention back to what you are there to DO (your intention)… and get on with it. You will not have abandoned your audience in the process. You will, in fact have done quite the opposite: You will have invited your audience to share in a real, honest, human moment with you, a moment of deep connection, one human being to another– a moment that can only occur when genuine empathy and compassion is stirred. You will, like the Fallen Actor, have made magic.

Someone recently asked me to define what I call “Process Work.” I thought about it for a couple of minutes and said, “Process work is the work we do on a moment-by-moment, day-by-day basis—on ourselves as people, and on the skills and talents that we use in our chosen career path. Process work has a beginning, a middle and no end—It is work that spans and defines our lifetimes.”

Anyone who has ever opted for Psychotherapy understands the concept—and value—of process work—as do professional actors. Actors understand that the process of learning to be the best actor they can be is a process that has no end. And rather than being overwhelmed or daunted by this notion (“Oh, My GOD, this process is ENDLESS, I’ll NEVER be the actor I hope to be!”), they actually embrace the process as key to their growth and development. They understand – and are excited by the fact– that there is always something to learn, always more growth to be had, always another layer of the onion to peel away.

When I was living and working as an actress in New York City, I performed in play after play after play. And I learned early that it was the PROCESS of the work, the day-by-day, nuts and bolts exploration of the material with my fellow actors in a rehearsal situation—that was most satisfying. There was always so much to learn! The process didn’t end after opening night, either. It continued night after night during the run of the shows, as my colleagues and I continued our exploration of the work at hand in front of our audience. Each night the show was slightly different– the “result,” if you will, of vital, ever- changing choices and interactions between actors in real moment-by-moment time.

The concept of “Process Work” is key to the The SPEEK technique. I am quick to tell my clients that they are embarking on a journey of discovery about themselves: What do they think and feel and believe? What particular, distinctive “color palette” do they bring to their interactions and relationships? How do they present themselves (both verbally and non-verbally)? I encourage them to do what actors do, which is to get curious about themselves. When we begin the process of working together, I explain that the work they do outside of our sessions is often the most powerful work. I remind them that, if they want to make real progress on a deep level, they need to be willing to implement the tools and techniques I am teaching them at any opportunity that comes up during the course of their busy days. Change—real change—takes time and patience. A willingness to surrender to the “process” of the work instead of focusing solely on “results” is the key to lasting change on that path towards more effective communication.

When it comes to public speaking, we all face fear, to a certain degree. I like to imagine that we have little Imps of Fear, dancing gleefully on our shoulders, whispering in our ears: “You stink! You’re gonna fail! Everyone will see you’re (pick one) a fraud/ stupid/ a jerk!!!!” Sometimes they are easy to shoo away– but sometimes they are loud enough to pull us off task– if we let them.

Debra Messing, who plays Grace on television’s WILL AND GRACE, is apparently terrified of public speaking– and this is a seasoned actress who has no trouble facing a live audience when taping her sit-com, week after week! She decided to face her fear head-on in a very public way: By appearing on Oprah and delivering a 20 minute monologue– with no script– to the studio audience. I didn’t see the show, but I can only assume that Debra’s Imps of Fear were in prime form that day (after all, they were getting their 15 minutes of fame– on Oprah, no less). I have no doubt they were practically yelling in Debra’s ear as she faced that expectant audience.

Was the speech brilliant? I don’t know, and I don’t care. All that matters to me, and hopefully all that mattered to Debra Messing, is that she got out there, thumbed her nose as those little Imps of Fear and did what it was she was there to do, which was to give that speech. Good for her. Good for any of us who make the choice to face those Imps of Fear head-on!

The Imps of Fear were hard at work on my new friend, Jim’s, shoulder this weekend. I was visiting a wonderful antique store (Robin’s Nest) in the little town of Urichsville, Ohio, run by Jim and his wife, Robin. When Jim discovered that I was a professional performer, he asked if he could sing a song for me. I settled in a lawn chair while he grabbed his guitar. But before he’d played or sung a note, Jim looked me square in the eye and said “I’m terrified! I’m scared to death!” Then, he launched into his song. Midway through the first verse, he stopped again. I could tell the Imps were getting louder in his ear: “I’m so scared!!!!” he blurted. “I’m screwing up all over the place!” Then he jumped right back in, singing and playing. He stopped and started, stopped and started. And each time he stopped, he voiced his fears: “I’ll never get through this song! I’m so incredibly scared! I can’t believe I’m playing so badly for you!” The funny thing is, the more he played, the more he voiced his fears and addressed the fact that he was scared, the better he played and sang, and the less those Imps of Fear had a hold of him. Once he got through that song, that same admittedly “scared stiff” man couldn’t wait to play me two more songs!!!!! Sure, he was scared. Sure those Imps of Fear were whispering (and sometimes yelling) in his ear. But he played and sang for me anyway.

Later on, Jim explained that the reason he wanted to play and sing for me was because he was going to perform in a coffeehouse that night and knew he’d be scared silly. So he figured he might as well put himself in the line of fire by playing for me. I not only thought that was commendable and brave, but smart: The fact is, the more you face down your Imps of Fear, the less they will mess with your head and trip you up. As Debra Messing and Jim both discovered, you gain the upper hand when you consciously confront and acknowledge your Imps of Fear, see them for what they are (a figment of your imagination) and move your attention back to the task at hand.