making mistakes

Taking My Lumps

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When I first moved to Chicago I went in search of stage time. I knew that if I wanted to improve I would need to get onstage as often as possible.

Eventually I found a small bar near my apartment that did weekly cabaret shows. After a trial show there the host gave me an open invitation to perform whenever I wanted. So I started going there every single week.

Doing weekly shows allowed me to practice new things and learn how to be onstage in front of an often unruly audience. I learned how to handle being heckled and work with unwilling participants. I learned how to perform for a cynical audience and what to do when things went wrong. And, I learned how to make people care.

I remember one night I was trying a new stunt and no one would pay attention. The bar was a long, narrow space with a small stage way at the back near a few tables and chairs. There were probably 10-15 people scattered through the bar that night and everyone had been talking amongst themselves during all of the acts that had gone before me. By the time I went onstage it was clear that I would need to make a big change to my act in order to get control of the room, or I was going to bomb big time.

So, I changed gears. Without a second thought, I moved off the stage and into the house. I stood on a chair without a microphone, and shouted, “Can everyone see me okay?”

Suddenly everyone grew quiet and turned to look at me. I had momentarily gained their attention and knew that I could not relinquish it.

So, I resorted to another trick. I lowered my voice and began performing. You’d think that the best way to get an audience’s attention is to speak louder. It’s not. The best way is to lower your voice while maintaining your intensity. You want people to lean forward so they can hear you better and really pay attention. It’s counterintuitive, I know, but it really works.

“I’m going to show you something absolutely insane tonight, but I will not speak over you. I demand your attention and your respect for the next five and a half minutes.”

I slowly scanned the crowd as I excitedly whispered those words. You could have heard a pin drop in the room it was so quiet. Everyone was sitting in silent excitement, waiting to see what I would do next.

I proceeded to destroy that crowd for five minutes straight.

Without those weekly shows I wouldn’t have had the confidence to take control of the room. I wouldn’t have recognized the challenging crowd or the solution it required. I wouldn’t have known the power of silence or the “lowering my voice” trick. I needed weeks and weeks of stage time in that bar to understand how to work a room.

Before then I was lucky to have a show once a month. I’d do a show, fail miserably, then have to spend four weeks thinking about my mistakes. By the time I got the chance to perform again I had forgotten everything I’d learned and went back to making those mistakes all over again.

That’s how I feel now, doing in-person shows during the pandemic. I’ve only had five live events since March, with several weeks in between. Each show has had a different set of restrictions, a different demographic, and a different environment. The common denominator with each event is that every attendee (myself included) has worn a mask. When you do a show that relies heavily on audience reactions and feedback, the face coverings can make it quite difficult to know if it’s going well.

It’s part of the reason my virtual show has gotten so good. I’m doing several shows a week, even sometimes up to 4 in a day. Doing that many performances has allowed my script and material to get rock solid. I understand how to work the virtual elements of the show, connect with online participants, and keep momentum going during a show. And now I’m starting to do things that I do for my live shows after I perform them a hundred times, like adding in more jokes, building in extra surprises, and refining the finale. I can say, without question, that my virtual show is much, much better than my in-person socially distanced shows — all because I’ve had more time working on one than the other.

In many ways, doing in-person events right now is like being back in the early days when I was just starting out. I’m learning a bunch of things all at once and trying to retain it for long stretches of time between those events. Right now I’m just onstage taking my lumps. It’s a struggle and the progress is slow, but I’m not worried because I’ve been here before.


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About Mark Toland

Mark Toland is an award-winning mind reader and two-time TEDx Speaker. His mind blowing skills have been featured on NBC, ABC, FOX, CBS, NPR, WGN, Sirius XM, and more. Mark’s blog is a behind-the-scenes look at the life of a professional entertainer, full of creative thoughts for creative people. Sign up below so you’ll never miss a post.


Seek Failure

Years ago I did a show at a mansion in Beverly Hills for a big client. It was a huge opportunity so I arrived early, set up, and stayed in the area so I nothing would prevent me from having a good show.

The guests arrived, the host introduced me, and I took the stage. It was off to a great start.

“What was the word you thought of?” I asked as I reached into my pocket for a pen.

And that’s when it hit me: I didn’t have my markers.

I was so nervous about getting caught in traffic or not being able to find the house that I had forgotten to check my props. Experience had taught me to always have an extra marker (in case one dried out), so I always travelled with at least two markers. Problem was both of my brand new permanent markers were in the trunk of my rental car.

A hundred people stared at me as I stammered and fished in my pocket. I took a deep breath, made a joke, and moved on. Fortunately, the audience loved the show - even though for me it had been a complete disaster from the moment I started.

The marker fiasco is one of many moments I’ve had something go wrong onstage. Over the past decade I’ve failed too many times to remember. (That’s not true - I never forget those moments.) When you do as many live shows as I do, things are bound to go wrong eventually.

I once forgot to zip my pants and did an entire show without realizing it. Once, I got in a car accident and was over 2 hours late to a show. (Luckily, the event was running long and everything worked out.) I’ve lost my bags, gotten sick backstage, broken bottles by accident, fallen off the stage, completely bombed in front of a roomful of corporate executives, and more.

The first time things go wrong you want to crawl in a hole and die. It’s a sickening feeling that won’t go away. When you fail or bomb or have a bad show, you can’t stop thinking about it. But, after you’ve failed a few hundred times that feeling changes. You start to realize that failure is necessary. It’s essential. You learn to enjoy it.

It’s taken a long time but now I appreciate failure in a way that I didn’t use to. When things start to go wrong onstage, I try to pause and savor those moments. I’ve learned to love it, because those disastrous moments are how you get better. You mess up, learn from it, and move on.

It may feel like it’s the end of the world, but it isn’t. It’s just a chance to learn and grow. So here’s my suggestion: Seek those moments. Fall flat on your face as often as possible. Take risks and make mistakes whenever possible. Run full speed into failure and embrace it.

You’re going to fail a million times. Things are going to go horribly wrong. But I promise you that everything will be okay. You’re still going to wake up the next day. The sun will be shining and life will go on just like it always has.


Other thoughts:

  • Shout out to Trainman Photography for this week’s photo!

  • Last night was my first performance at Liberty Magic in Pittsburgh. I’ll be here for six weeks, so get your tickets here. See below for a 360 view of the Liberty Magic theater: