A few ‘end of week’ links

Luke Weaver has written a nice paper (easy to read too) that explains the phenomenon Twitter. Read, then sign on and see for yourself what it’s all about.

I love this return post by Hugh MacLeod on blogging – good to laugh at ourselves.

Nick Smith has a nice post about our gifts to share. Somewhat mirrors my own reflections about ‘what next?’ and with a lot more clarity. Among other things he discusses awareness, courage and trust. Great cartoon as well.

Matt Moore has a good summary of Seth Godin’s new book Tribes. I love Matt’s comment: Maybe it’s “Here Comes Everybody” if you have ADHD.

I don’t suppose we’re all having similar thoughts – it’s just that I’m noticing more of these types of blogs. Gavin Heaton explores spark, connection and creativity, having an idea and doing something with it.

Learning by doing – podcasting for dummies

It’s really the only way for me – I’m your classic concrete experimenter – just have to get in there and get my hands dirty. And I’ll do just about anything to avoid reading a manual! 

Geoff Brown and I started a dedicated podcast website called Winkipod a few months ago. The first thing I had to learn was how to record a podcast. I bought a little hand-held recorder that has a built-in USB port so I can transfer files directly to my computer. Problem is those files are .wav (whatever that means) and have to be converted to mp3. Even more software was required to convert the audio files. I learnt, from Geoff, how to transfer the mp3 files to Winkipod and then it was over to him to post the podcast. Not really fair, I thought. I should really learn how to do that. So after a couple of false starts, I’ve managed to record, edit, upload and publish a podcast. Yay! 

It’s also true of other web tools as well. If you haven’t used Twitter, it’s hard to understand what it offers. Same of social networking, blogging etc etc. Some of these adventures end in dead ends, others open up whole new worlds. It’s those new worlds and their possibilities that excite me.

If you haven’t yet visited Winkipod, cruise on over to hear some cool people speaking about all things facilitation related. From the latest to the earliest you can listen to:

15 participants reflect on this year’s Applied Improv Conference in Chicago

Simo Routarinne on Status

Podcast from the Asia Facilitation Conference in Taiwan

Patti Digh on 37 Days, verbs and The Circle Project

Johnnie Moore ‘Live at Winkipop’ World First!

Chris Corrigan, Larry Peterson and Viv on Open Space

‘Whatever happens…’ explained: Chris Corrigan @ WOsonOS

Harrison Owen’s Book Launch speech

Anne Pattillo and Facilitation

Podcasting the Unexpected – we chat with Matt Moore

And if you’re wondering what the heck a podcast is, you can’t go past this description from Commoncraft: Podcasts in Plain English

We describe why we started this venture in our first ever Winki-podcast!

And the podcast that inspired us: Johnnie, Rob and Chris talking about un-conferencing

Fireworks

I was chatting with Andrew Rixon on skype, catching up and talking about the Applied Improv conference and this blog post emerged, as we were talking. This is my first emergent, collaborative blog post. Or as Andrew would call it, co-constructed, improvisational writing. Cool.

Mind you, I think he emerges sounding smarter than me (not than I’m competitive) – which he probably is. And just proves my point that you should always hang out with people smarter than you are (mainly because you’ll learn something, and they’re usually interesting people). And none other than Seth Godin agrees!  Seth says: 

• Being the dumbest partner in a room of smart people is exactly where you want to be.

Actually, it’s hard to remember who said what now – I think it’s easier to read this way. It reminds me that I also want to write something about Group Genius and the challenges for people like Andrew and myself who pretty much work alone. Another time maybe.

It began with a question (from Andrew, of course):

How are you?

Viv: I’m a bit all over the shop – not sure what I want to do next – not much work – too much time to think – too many options – aaarrrggghhhh!!!!!

Andrew: What’s that mean?

Viv: It’s like fireworks. It’s about offers coming from around the world and from myself which are like fireworks. Ideas that flare brightly, light up our faces, disappear as quickly as they emerged and when they’ve gone there’s no evidence that they even existed. The question is, how to turn those fireworks into something more substantial.

Andrew: When do you see fireworks? 

Viv: Fireworks are seen during celebrations and especially at beginnings and endings. So does this fireworks metaphor represent some ending, some new beginning?

Andrew: Fireworks can be dangerous in the wrong hands. They can backfire. There’s different types of fireworks – colours, shapes, sounds. Fireworks are a momentary joy – not meant to be long lasting. Therefore the advantage of fireworks is that they light up possibility for a moment and then it’s up to us to do something with that possibility.

Viv: Wow!

Andrew: I’m reminded of the William Blake quote: “Robin red breast in a cage puts all heaven in a rage.”

Viv: Uh?

Andrew: It’s about momentary joy – if you try and capture a momentary joy and make it last it’s just like putting a robin red breast in a cage, imprisoning it.

Viv: Hmmmm….

So what fireworks are lighting up your life at the moment? How might you translate that fleeting vision into something tangible?

In a blogging frame of mind

So I’m sitting here in my home office. The windows, which need yet another clean because there was a dust storm while I was away, and because of the salt that accumulates from the winds that blow off the ocean, look out over our native garden. That’s not a garden full of natives (as in people) but plants. Australian native plants, instead of European or English or South African plants – plants that belong here and grow well in these often dry conditions. There’s a red, terracotta bird bath that is the meeting place for all the local birds. Really. They come and perch on the edge chattering to each other and flying off when a bigger bird arrives. Some of the plants are still flowering. There’s a red and yellow kangaroo paw and a red bottle brush flowering, while other plants are finished. There hasn’t been much rain so the grass is drying off.

I’m working on my MacBook Air while my desk-top Mac stays off. I like the portability of my Air – when I turn on my desk-top Mac it feels like ‘real work’. I’m waiting to have a teleconference with a client. My old Brother phone/fax seems so out-of-date. Teleconferences seem so out-of-date, I wonder when government agencies will finally catch up and start using skype and web tools such as dimdim or moodle?

I work in bare feet. That means whatever shoes I’ve had on are left in a trail throughout the house, yet they seem to congregate in my office. My red and grey North Face sandels and my pink and black Quicksilver thongs (bought at a local Quicksilver sale – 4 pairs for $10, what a bargain), my trusty Keen shoes that I wore in Taiwan and Chicago and a new, black pair of Keens that I bought in San Francisco when I played hookey from the Open Space on Open Space with Becky Petersen (oh yeah, that’s right, it’s OK to play hookey – it’s called the Law of Two Feet) all lay around the floor, competing with space for books (read and unread), bills to be paid (mostly unpaid, OK, all unpaid) and the ghost of my beloved Radar.

Radar was my golden retriever. He died in February. The vet came and injected his vein with that green liquid. He died in my arms. His pain all gone now. He’d been with me since I took the Great Leap Into the Unknown when I left a full-time, secure job with superannuation, annual holidays, sick leave, you know the sort of stuff, and started my own business. He would sleep just behind my chair, so whenever I moved back he would sigh, and have to get up and move. That’s when he could still walk. He’d come and rest his chin on my knee when he wanted to go out for a walk. He’d raise one eyebrow when I’d startle him with an exclamation while working on my computer. And he’d snore gently, twitching as he dreamt of chasing ducks, I believe. When we lived in Melbourne I’d take him walking to Darebin Creek – a little bit of nature tucked in behind the industrial factories of Heidelberg (that’s Heidelberg Melbourne). It was quite overgrown. I was always wary of snakes in summer but never saw any. I knew they were there. We’d walk on the leash through the suburban streets. He would get more and more excited as we reached the park where I could let him run free. And off he’d go. Stopping every few steps to sniff and wee on a particularly good smell. Then we’d reach the creek. He’d bound into the water and bark at any ducks. He loved ducks. well, he loved chasing ducks. They would simply fly off and land a bit further on, looking at him warily and knowing they would never be in any danger. When he got older and his hips went, he would stand slowly and want to run, unable to do so very well, or at all, in the end. He would lean against my leg. Sigh. Lie down. I miss him.

The lights from my wireless router twinkle at me. I love this technology. It keeps me connected, and yet it doesn’t. I was reminded of this yesterday when my friend Boxy called to say hello and pass on some news of a mutual friend who’d been ill. We chatted for a while and then I realised that he didn’t know much of what I’d been doing. ‘You don’t read my blog, do you?’ I asked. Challenged? I realised what assumptions I’d been making about blogging – that anyone interested in me would read my blog blah blah blah. No they don’t. There’s probably only a handful of people who actually visit and read – some of them very good friends who I love keeping in touch with this way, people on the other side of the world and just down the road who I really feel connected to. And yet there are others who don’t use any of this technology – they deserve my attention too.

So 16 months after I started blogging I feel more able. I feel I’ve started to find my blogging voice. I’ll take more risks. And I use my blog for me, a way to record, reflect, share and communicate. What I still have to learn is about the world beyond blogging. It still exists. It’s another example of yes, anding. I need to blog AND take care to communicate with my non-blog/Twitter/Facebook-reading friends.

AND. thanks to Denzil and his great writing workshop, I need to just write more and trust where it takes me. When I sat down to write this post it was going to be about something else altogether. I’m surprised at where I ended up.

Understanding status and facilitation

Status has always been of interest to me as a facilitator. I think there’s a lot to learn about status dynamics and narrowing status gaps for effective facilitation. If you’ve never heard of this before, or even if you have, go and listen to Simo Routarinne chatting to me about status over at WinkiPod.

Improvisational writing

I did an amazing workshop at the improv conference on improvisational writing, with Denzil Meyers. Here’s what Denzil did. We were a small group of five or so people. It’s a process I’ll be trying more often…

1. Denzil gave us the word ‘island’ and we spent 5 minutes doing a ‘spoke’ association ie putting the word in the middle of the page and seeing what other words it surfaces

2. Using the same word we did five minutes of ‘brick’ association: this is where the next word builds on the previous word

3. We looked over our two lists and circled the words that stood out

4. Then we wrote for 10 minutes – either a personal memory or a rant, allowing ourselves to be surprised (I was disconcerted rather than surprised by where my writing took me, but that’s another story)

5.We heard what some in the group had written (voluntary, of course). Denzil then invited us to take in EVERYTHING in our field, the other stories, the noise from the other workshops etc, and allow them to influence our own writing. This was a key learning and ah-ha! moment for me 

6. Notice what you connect with

7. Denzil then drew on a Keith Johnstone game called Verbal Chase. He asked us to close our eyes.He said, “It’s early in the morning. What time is it? You go outside and hear a noise behind you. What happens next?” Write for 15 minutes. Slow down. No need to write fast.

8. Now consider a minor character in the story that we’ve just written and write about that minor character for 10 minutes.

WOW! Now I was surprised. What a great process.

And here’s Denzil’s take-aways (based on his experience of improvisation):

1. Start anywhere – while every story has a beginning, middle and end, they don’t have to be in that order

2. Write first, then analyse – let the words pour out, don’t block yourself

3. Improvise, then craft – get it down on paper, then go back and do the crafting, tweaking, correcting spelling etc

4. Notice the re-incorporation – how ideas may come full circle or something is re-incorporated in an unexpected way

On the need for conversation

At about this time of year (every year) I have a huge need to be in conversation with people – one or two people at a time, not groups. And to have the sort of conversations that are nourishing and complicated and funny and satisfying. That means moving beyond skimming across the surface of any topic, and really getting to the meaty bits, the uncomfortable stuff, insights even.

So what’s this all about? Why now? I think it’s to do with being a facilitator and living in Australia. (Or maybe it’s just me *smile*)

As a facilitator I’m always listening to the conversations of others – I’m a disinterested participant, there to hold the space and stay out of the way. Consequently I tend to know a lot about a little. I have a breadth of knowledge, but that knowledge isn’t very deep. I stay on the surface to enable me to do my facilitator role – I can see what’s going on all around and I can stay detached from the topic.

Living in southern Australia has a particular rhythm. About the middle of December, our world winds down for Xmas and the summer holidays. In early February it’s go, go, go as the new school year starts and everything tries to get done before Easter. The pace slows from Easter until the end of August. September is like the hibernating beast being roused. It quickly gets warmer, there’s lots of activities and festivals and the footy grand final of course. A punctuation mark in the year. Then there’s October – a warm-up to summer. November and December are again frantic as Xmas looms, shopping, cards, and just about everyone wants everything finished by Xmas.

So about October/November I’m done with facilitating others – I need some selfish, ‘me’ time. I want to have conversations. I don’t want to be disinterested any more. I don’t want to keep my opinions to myself. I don’t want to stay unemotional. I want to be opinionated. And when I’ve got that out of my system, I want to be challenged, and I want to hear what you have to say. I want to have a conversation, not chatter.

Luckily it’s about this time of year that I go away for a weekend of winery visits, eating, drinking and yes! conversation with a group of close friends. And as the weather warms up, I have a regular appointment every Friday afternoon to go swimming with my friends Geoff and Lyn. The water is usually bloody freezing, so after a short time actually in the water, we sit on the beach and talk. Such a gift.

And another thing!

‘The action is in the interaction’ is a mantra from Solutions-Focus. This is one of those things that just sounds right! I figure I should understand it, and at an intellectual level I do. But not really. Not in my bones. Until the other day at the improv conference. I can’t even remember what happened. I do remember that amazing rush of insight as I finally ‘got it’. (BTW, there must be a chemical released when we have big ah-ha! moments – anyone know?) Now I realise I’d been saying the same thing, just differently. For months I’ve been raging against the need for action as an output from conversations and pleading for space simply for the conversations, and to see the conversation itself as the action: the action IS in the interaction (in this case, a conversation). So pleased I finally sorted that one out. Now to move on to ‘liminal space’.

And this is why Open Space is such a gift. It gives us space for conversations – small AND big.

Closings: What’s the point?

Both conferences I attended recently finished with Open Space, which meant the closing of the space and the conference happened at the same time using some variation of a ‘talking stick’ ritual: whoever has the stick talks, everyone else listens.

Inevitably people have to leave early – to catch flights, attend to other commitments, because they don’t like closings, would rather go shopping. It’s the effect of not participating in a closing that interests me rather than why. Whether voluntary or not, I wonder if it’s important.

Yesterday (or maybe it was the day before), I had to leave and couldn’t participate in the closing. Normally this wouldn’t bother me so much – I’ve even been known to skip out on closings for no good reason.

The closing of an event, no matter how it’s done, is a ritual of some sort. Rituals seem to be good if they are purposeful, annoying if they are habitual. So what is the purpose of closing an event or conference? I don’t think I have an answer, but when they are well done they seem to provide a punctuation mark or a book-end that contains the event. For me, sitting in a circle listening to the comments of others provides a way of reflecting on the experience and acknowledging the contribution of each individual. Often it’s emotional – which makes me feel uncomfortable. Sometimes it can go on way too long – which also makes me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t participate in the closing of the improv conference. Today I feel quite disconnected. I don’t know if that’s to do with ‘unfinished business’ or simply because I’m now in a completely different time zone. There is a strong feeling of having ‘missed out on something’ – a shared experience.

In recording a podcast on people’s experiences of both the Taiwan and Chicago conferences, a common theme of community emerged. There is something very comforting about being with people who share commonality (facilitation, improvisation) – it’s the reason why jargon quickly develops amongst groups and professions. A sort of short-hand. Which I guess raises question of inclusion and exclusion. Inclusive, welcoming, sharing – all words used to describe people’s experiences. Great! And what about people who don’t feel those? I remember my first (and second, and to a lesser extent third) improv conferences where I felt a complete fish out of water. I hung in there because I had fun playing with improv, liked the people, and had a lot to learn – and it wasn’t SO uncomfortable that it was a chore.

Which brings me back to purposeful versus habitual closings. Any closing could provide any of the following. The trick is to be sure you have a purpose, and then select a method that helps fulfill that purpose.

What closings can do for a group:

• provides a space for reflection
• clearly identifies the end, when it’s over
• bridges the event with the ordinary world
• reflects the values of the group
• provides a space to acknowledge contributions

What else? What have I missed?

Haiku Reflection of Applied Improv Conference

(Language alert)

So I’ve just spent four hours on a plane between Chicago and LA. When there’s no service and no entertainment (except for my trusty iPod, of course) what’s a girl to do? Haiku, of course. I’ve always wanted to use Haiku in a workshop for reflection, but haven’t yet found the right group. So I thought I’d practice on myself. What’s the collective noun, I wonder? A syllable of Haiku? Err, I got a bit carried away. (It was a long flight, OK?)

Impro, fun, laughter
Learning, connecting – being
afraid, courageous.

Such a short time with
friends, new and old. Possibility!
Love connects us still.

Be me, be average
Be present – to the gifts of
each other. Yes! And…

Everything in the field
is in there. Influencing,
and connecting us.

Games, talk, Open Space.
Our annual gathering now
ends, begins anew.

Exciting snatches
of possibility. And now
fresh ideas abound.

Shit! I left my bells
behind. Need them to perform.
Can you return please?

Norway, Sweden, Prague,
Canada, Australia, States,
Finland, England – us!

SF, New York, Banff
and Chicago. A space for
laughter, joy, gifts, love.

It begins before
it starts, continues after
it ends. Profound, eh?

What the fuck is AIN?
Local? Global? Emergent?
Group genius at work.

Deepening friendships
nourish my soul, raise my hopes
to save us from (insert preferred)
– boredom
– lawyers
– powerpoint

Fuck! It’s a long way!
Still more than twenty-four hours
to go! My bum’s numb.

How many Haiku
are enough? Probably this
many. Time to stop.

OK! Just one more.
Thanks for bringing gifts to share.
You all inspire me.

Zambian singing

You’ll recall that I did some work earlier this year in Zambia.  Here’s a couple of short snippets of singing that begins each day of the workshop. Always a good way to start any day.