Fair warning: I am an unapologetically ardent fan of Elizabeth Gilbert.
Not just her gorgeous novels and Gen-X-feminist-zeitgeist memoirs, from which I’ve reaped multiple come-to-goddess wake-up calls. Not just her masterful prose, to which I will die aspiring.
More than all that, I love her for her mystical theory of creativity. And I love her pragmatic talk about how to take up a creative life despite an overculture that would prefer we just shut up and shop.
She wrote a whole book about this called Big Magic. Which, if I were to author a curriculum for anyone entering the open mic-o-sphere, would be required reading. Here’s why.
Anyway.
In one of many choice podcast interviews, Gilbert shares a gorgeous artifact of her creative mysticism. One with a lot to offer for anyone who hosts, organizes, or frequents open mics.
She refers to it as the “Celtic Prayer of Approach,” and maybe it is. I wasn’t able to confirm its origins online, but I don’t much care. It works too well as an open mic credo.
The well and the gods
In case it’s not obvious enough, the reason I write this blog — which is mostly made up of tips for open mic hosts and organizers — is because I believe deeply that open mic is vital to creative community.
And I’ve got muscular opinions about what open mic is and can be — like letting people practice listening, build empathy, and give the finger to the attention economy.
To realize that ideal, the room needs a vibe that’s welcoming. A default setting of acceptance — of recognizing that everyone brings something of value. A poem, a song, a listening ear, hands for clapping.
This is what fills the well we drink from at open mic.
Every performer brings something they created, something made of inspiration and hours. Hours spent writing, revising, rehearsing. An offering, you might say. Sacred enough for any god and worth the honor of a gathering.
(Open mic-as-gathering is a whole ‘nother lovefest. You can dip a toe in here.)
Vulnerability and open exchange
At open mic, each performance is an act of vulnerability. Which is to say, a lowering of our usual defenses.
Likewise, the audience opens themselves to be touched, perhaps even changed. To have their minds and horizons expanded by hearing what the poets, musicians, and storytellers have to share.
Sure, it’s also entertainment. And even some first-timers channel the spirit of adventure rather than raw stage fright. Still, what charges the room is the risk we’re all taking. Even the host has no idea what will happen on stage until it happens.
What we do know, is that each performance is an opportunity to receive and to return that gift in the form of attention and applause.
The currency at open mic is energy. And it’s the host’s job to set a generous example, stoking the performers with energetic intros and amping the room to follow suit.
As hosts and organizers, we must give our open mic love and appreciation freely, for beginner and stage veteran alike. When we clap, snap, hoot, and holler — first and loud and often — the audience will too. That juicy open mic energy builds, and benefits accrue to everyone and the show as a whole.
Open mic never disappoints
Open mic is small-d democratic. It thumbs the eye of elitism. It’s come-one-come-all, la-di-da-dee everybody, olly olly oxen free. And in my experience across 37 states and counting, it almost always is.
Sure, there are hosts who missed the memo. They save choice slots for their friends or micromanage the list to force the night into their idea of a good show.
Unchecked, that kinda thing can spoil the near-miraculous Stone Soup of talent and community that an open mic can be. But if we as hosts* release our expectations — our cherished outcomes — we open the door to some strange magic.
Credo as offering
If open mic means something to you. If you currently serve your community as host or organizer, or if you aspire to. If you are a regular at risk of becoming jaded or a first-timer considering taking the stage, shaky legs or not.
Please accept this offering, shared via Liz Gilbert, bless her undefended heart.
Right-click the image and text it to yourself for later. Set it as home screen on your phone. Write it out on cigarette paper and set it ablaze so the smoke will curl like a whisper around your ear.
Think of it like GPS coordinates that will help you embody the acceptance and equanimity that amateur performers need — so they can feel it at your show.
*Sure, performers behave badly sometimes too, but it’s the host who sets the tone.