What Dance Taught Me about Storytelling

If you don’t count the week-long soccer camp that I rather halfheartedly participated in when I was seven, I have never played a sport, but I applaud those who do, particularly those who can play more than one.

When I began taking piano lessons last year, it was in part because I wondered if playing the piano would feel anything like dancing to a piece of beautiful music. As it turns out, if you hit the right keys (which I often don’t), playing music does feel a bit like that moment when you finally land a quadruple pirouette on your left side (bahahahaha– like I’ve managed to do that yet).

But to all of you wonderful people who balance soccer and football, basketball and baseball, hockey and golf: I’m infinitely impressed because I can’t see the connection.

Is it just that– balance? Is it that kind of concentration that makes your eyes hurt? I know it has a lot to do with practice, practice, practice. But is there a feeling that comes with playing a sport– every sport? Does it feel like music?

I bring up these points because I’m genuinely curious and because I’m often asked about how dancing and writing became so intertwined in my brain, and I have a habit of confusing people with my verbal response. This post is for those people and for anyone else interested in the inner workings of an artist. Hopefully, I can be the connection for which you’ve been looking. Without further ado, here is a taste of what dance has taught me about storytelling.

It’s all about timing.

Counting music was not something that came naturally to me. I was a go-by-the-lyrics dancer until I had to dance to a song without lyrics. I looked totally spastic until I sat down with my dance teacher and listened to her count the piece aloud. Now, especially as a piano student, I can’t help but count music, and this lesson carried over into my writing. Scene, chapter and sometimes POV changes are all hugely important in the construction of a novel, and timing is essential to the flow of the story.

Think in color.

One of the easiest ways to get into the mood of a dance is to find a color to match it. Color often becomes central to the theme of a piece, particularly when it comes to choosing a costume. It sets the tone of the stage, just as the setting of a book sets its tone. On my list of top-ranked fictional destinations are those with the most vivid scenery. Dance has taught me time and again that worldbuilding takes the whole rainbow.

Happiness and heartbreak look different every time.

No matter if you’re in a room of ten dancers or 100 dancers, choreography, particularly improv, always varies between performers. Common themes like happiness and heartbreak are experienced differently by every person and are likewise depicted differently by every artist. Met with both my tears and my endless smiles, my fellow dancers have shown and continue to show me what it looks like to hit rock bottom, as well as what it looks like to stand on top of the world. As a result, my characters do both, and it looks different every time.

Shake it off.

Finally, dance taught me to let crap go and move forward. Writers are humans, too!– we don’t always hit the mark during our first drafts or even outlines. Some days (and frankly, some characters) require more patience than others. But, as Anne Shirley loves to remind me, “… tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet.”

Much more to come as my Praxis experience kicks off on Monday. Have a stellar week, friends!