Thursday Thoughts

Execution

Here we are, one year and fifty-two essays later. Some better than others, but all labors of love.

Since last August, I’ve spent every Friday through Wednesday working on new ideas for this blog. Through ups and downs, early mornings and late nights I’ve kept at it.

Each day I grab a coffee and sit down to brainstorm new ideas. I use an app called Bear on my MacBook. It’s incredibly useful for organizing my thoughts so I can see if they’ll make the cut for any given Thursday.

Since starting “Thursday Thoughts” I’ve also been busier than ever. In the past twelve months I performed over 100 shows in 35 states and 3 countries, made three TV appearances, sold out shows from NYC to San Diego, and went on a two month tour around North America.

I do all of this on my own. No agent, no manager - just my wife and me working tirelessly to make it a reality.

Good things start to happen if you stick with something for at least a year. You get better. You learn more about yourself. And people start to take notice.

I’ve booked some shows from the blog. Some essays led to in-person debates. One essay even led to an unexpected phone conversation.

As a result of “Thursday Thoughts” I’ve made some new friends. Those friends led to new experiences. And one of those led to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

All of this and more because I keep publishing every single week.

I always wanted to be a better writer - I was just waiting to have a platform. But I got tired of waiting…so I created my own. Now I write all the time and I’m slowly getting better each and every day.

The funny thing is, I’m not running out of ideas. The more I write, the more inspired I feel. So I keep writing daily with one goal in mind: to keep posting every Thursday. 

Ideas are easy, it’s the execution that’s hard.  But if you stick with it, it’s always worth it. That’s what these 365 words on day 365 prove.

One year down, many more to go.

If you like my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon. For as little as $1 a month, you can help me bring my show to a city near you.

Go With The Flow

I’ve been spending much of the summer working on a new show. Most of that time is spent creating new ideas and writing scripts. It’s a long, arduous process.

Sometimes I’ll spend an entire day (or week!) working on a new idea, only to flip through a book and discover that someone else already beat me to it. 

Or, I’ll suddenly recall seeing it performed by someone else years ago. It got filed away and forgotten before I convinced myself it was my own idea. Eventually, though, I remember seeing it and abandon it altogether.

It can be very frustrating.

Another good idea? No, unfortunately it’s right here on page 67.

How about this? Nope! Saw it during college back in 2008.

I was having this discussion with my wife recently. I had another idea for the show, only to realize that several people had already done it. As a result, I was hitting my head against a metaphorical brick wall and not making any progress.

“Did those other people invent it?” she asked.

“No, not really.” I said.

“Did they all perform it the same way?”

“No, they performed it in their own styles.”

“Okay, so why don’t you just perform it how Mark Toland would?”

She was absolutely right.

In my quest to be original, I was actually limiting myself too much. I was trying so hard to be different that I wasn’t giving myself a chance to get started.

A lot of people I know talk about flow - the mental state of being completely present and fully immersed in a task - and how much it contributes to their creativity. Basically, you become so involved in what you’re doing that distractions fade away and the creative process becomes second nature.

That’s the goal. That’s what all artists dream of. But how can you get there if you never give yourself a chance to get started?

If you like my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon. For as little as $1 a month, you can help me bring my show to a city near you.

Details

I saw a one-person show earlier this summer that had a moment I can’t stop thinking about.

The performer had a bag of props on stage complete with money, comb, water bottle, and so on. They kept using the props for various reasons throughout the scene. So far, so good.

But then, they went to check the time. They glanced at their wrist and THEY WEREN’T WEARING A FREAKING WATCH.

WHAT?!

Why have an entire bag of real props but not a real watch?

For the rest of the show I couldn’t stop thinking about that tiny moment. It just made no sense.

If you’re going to do something then go all the way. Have all the props, learn all the skills, finish the project.

This is a big pet peeve of mine.

It drives me crazy to see an artist who specializes in design but has a poorly designed website. Or a performer who has never actually studied theater.

A fellow performer told me recently that he didn’t believe in writing a script. He insisted that his performance would be “fresher without one” and that “saying the same words every time” wasn’t his style.

Face, meet palm.

When people make comments like that what I actually hear is “Writing a script is too much work.”

I don’t understand how you can expect people to buy tickets to see you if you haven’t put in the work to actually write a show. And I have no idea how you can expect people to buy into your performance if some of your props are imaginary and some of your props are real.

If you aren’t willing to put in the work then what’s the point? There’s more to what you do than the thing you’re doing. You have to learn all the minor skills that go into your craft. You have to pay attention to all aspects of what you do.

People will notice the little details…even if you don’t.

Stop Believing In Bullsh*t

People approach me after my show and want to know if I can read their palm or speak to their dead relatives. They’re convinced I’m actually psychic and ask “When did you know you had this gift?”

I politely explain that I’m an entertainer - a mystery artist - and that everything they witnessed is the product of 20+ years of work. Just like they’ve spent a lifetime acquiring a skill, so have I. I’m trained in the art of deception. But at least I’m being truthful about the lies I keep telling.

And yet, even after they’ve spoken with me they insist on believing. I see it on their faces. They’re positive I’m lying and that there must be more to it than trickery. They need to believe.

But can we stop?

Seriously, it’s 2017. We should all know by now that magic isn’t real. Your crystal necklace won’t heal you, fortune telling isn't real, and that salt lamp is nothing more than just a really cool light.

Isn’t that enough?

Some people insist I should be flattered with the feedback I receive. “Wow! They think you’re the real deal!” they tell me excitedly.

But there’s nothing to be excited about. When people think I’m real, I cringe thinking I might be getting included in the long list of bullshit in this world.

And boy is there a lot of BS. It’s everywhere I go.

Psychic readers are on every block and evangelicals are on every channel. Companies promise a miracle weight loss pill or balance band that will change your life. There are frauds purporting to be mediums from Long Island to Hollywood and celebrities claiming they have all the answers.

But all of this - and more - has been debunked hundreds and hundreds of times.

A common rebuttal to this topic goes something like this: It’s not hurting anyone, why not just let people believe in what they want?

WRONG.

It does hurt people to believe in nonsense. That’s how lies like “fake news” spread and people wrongly stop giving their children vaccines.  Bad beliefs lead to wars and travel bans. Believing in alternative facts means we’d rather stay in the past than protect the planet.

Your BS is hurting everyone.

I couldn’t sleep at night knowing I wasn’t being honest. I’m in this field because I discovered it at a young age and realized I was good at it. Later, I fell in love with theatre and put it all together. But I’ve never wanted to start a religion. I don’t want you to think I’m real.

I’d prefer you to see something you don’t understand and listen when I tell you I’m fake. Then maybe you’ll consider how other people may be deceiving you in the world and realize that they’re not being quite as honest as I am.

It will take a lot of work to wade through the goop and the misleading tweets and the conspiracy theories, but I promise it’s worth it. The truth is important and we should all work a little harder to find the facts.

I won’t tell you how I read minds - some of the best things in life should be kept a mystery. But the next time you see something you can’t explain, pause and think for a second. Perhaps you don’t need an explanation.  Maybe seeing something wondrous or beautiful or unbelievable is enough.  Maybe it’s better not to know.

The Right Person

I spend most of my show reading people. Not minds - people.

I’m constantly scanning the audience for the next volunteer. I need a person who is cooperative and seems friendly. They need to be helpful and able to follow instructions. It helps if they’re sober, too.

See, my show is not about me. It’s about you, the audience. I think of you as my cast, your thoughts as my props, and your mind as my stage. So I need to find the best volunteers to become supporting players in this production.

I don’t stop reading someone when they come onstage either. If anything, I’m watching them even more closely.

Are they uncomfortable? Or nervous? 

Am I respecting their boundaries?

Are they able to take a joke? Or did I just cross a line?

I’m always weighing those questions and catering my performance to their subconscious, subtle demands.

Then, I watch for the ultimate cue: Are they ready?

Are they ready for the moment? Have I taken them to a place where they are fully prepared to react?

Will they be amazed?

Then, and only then, will they be ready for the moment of wonder. These things take time, and it all comes down to being a good judge of people.

When it comes to the show, I can be a bit of a control freak. I’ll give you an example: 

During my tour this summer I hid somewhere in the theatre so I could watch people while they entered the room. In Florida, I paper clipped the curtains at an angle so I could peek thru a slit. In Ontario, I hid in the shadows to get a view of people as they took their seats. In San Diego, I widened a pre-existing hole in the drywall. I wanted to get an idea of what kind of audience I was working with before the show even began. 

There’s a point in my show where I try to find one of the smartest men in the room to participate. I want an engineer or architect, someone who is good with numbers and a bit cynical of the proceedings. It’s not supposed to be a challenge. It’s because I want the audience to witness a transformation.

The penultimate show of The Mystery Tour was also the best show of the entire tour. It was perfectly paced and the audience was with me every step of the way. One of the best parts was when I called on a man for the “transformative moment”.

I’d been watching this guy the whole show. He was clearly very smart and also extremely skeptical of what I was doing. It wasn’t a rude skepticism. It was a “I’ll-only-buy-it-if-it-happens-to-me” kind of vibe.

“What do you do for a living, sir?” I asked.

“I work in IT,” he replied.

I smiled to myself. After hundreds of shows, year after year, you just know these things.

The man took a seat onstage and I started to break down his barriers. My script is full of self-deprecating jokes and reassuring gestures to make sure my volunteer knows he is an equal and not an adversary.

Several minutes passed and we’d reached the point of no return: the moment of wonder. In rapid succession his guard dropped at roughly the same rate as his jaw. Then, he just started laughing to himself.

It was incredible. The audience had seen a jaded man walk onstage and visibly transform in front of their very eyes. It had all happened in under five minutes.

“Give him a big round of applause!” I said, shaking his hand as I led him back to his seat.

Under the cover of the applause he looked up at me and said “That was fucking insane.”

I wish I could put that quote on my website. In a way, I guess I am.

My title may be “Mind Reader” but the truth is, it really comes down to reading people. I’m not here to convince you of something supernatural or get you to buy into a new belief system. I’m just here to show you that maybe there’s something more to this than what you think. Maybe the world is just a little bit bigger or more mysterious than you thought it was before the curtain went up.

To do that I need the right person. And if you’re lucky, it might be you.

The Tour Is Over

That’s it. The tour is over.

I performed 35 shows at six festivals in six cities and two countries. Plus, I also performed the show another 30 times in Chicago to get it ready. 

So, what did I learn?

First, I can do this. All on my own, without a manager or agent or publicist. I consistently sold out theaters and built buzz without a big budget or team behind me. That’s how the best shows at fringe festivals do it. They have a good product and they work tirelessly to get the word out. 

Second, this is exhausting. There was a stretch this summer when I didn’t sleep more than two hours a night for over 10 days. Albeit, I was leaving festivals in the middle for corporate gigs then returning to finish my run. But, my insomnia was at an all-time high and I struggled to stay rested. Coffee remains my best friend.

Also, I found the show. It was like the statue of David, encased in stone waiting to be chiseled away and revealed. (Although, it isn’t remotely close to being a Michelangelo-level-masterpiece but I really like the metaphor.)

Somewhere between New York City and Orlando, I found the message. It’s not a mind reading show - it’s a show about mind reading. Over time it’s become a manifesto for everything I believe in, using mind reading and storytelling to express a single idea.

Some people got it, many did not. I learned not to worry about reviews because most writers didn’t understand. As long as the review was positive it would help fill the seats, even if they weren’t fully capturing the essence of the performance. I realized that once I sent an idea out into the world it stopped belonging to me. And I had to be content knowing that I had done my best to express myself, even if no one got the point.

Another thing I learned is that it’s easy to get pigeon-holed at a festival. You have to choose a performance genre because people want to know what to expect. But if you aren’t careful, people can get confused in a hurry.

So often the press would insist on calling it a “magic show”, even though I never use that expression. I could sense that the only way to get people to see my show was to choose the “magic” category, even though it was clouding the expectations of my audience. People would come expecting a standard magic show and I did my best to convince them they were seeing something unique and better.

Common feedback was something along the lines of “I usually don’t like magic shows but this one is different!” followed by a solid recommendation. That comment taught me two things:

1. I’m on the right track.
2. Too many magicians have similar shows and haven’t worked hard enough to appeal to a broader demographic.

Recently a performer was discussing a (in my opinion) cheesy prop online. HIs comment was “There’s a time and place for everything. I try to give the audience what they want.”

I prefer to do the opposite.

I think about what I want to do and I consider what I want to say. Then I write my show to convey my own personal truth. The hardest part is convincing the audience it’s what they wanted all along.

By the end of the tour, the show was doing exactly that. My audiences were raving and I ended up winning a total of five awards in the process, including “Best of Fringe” (NYC), “Audience Choice” (NYC), “Pick of Fringe” (Orlando), “Critics Choice” (Portland, ME),  and “Outstanding Magic or Mentalist Performance” (San Diego).

I feel like all the rehearsing and writing and traveling and performing and dreaming finally paid off. I’ve spent the better part of the last several years crafting this show from the ground up and I’m so proud of it. But it’s time to bid it farewell.

I have other things to say and more, possibly better, ideas. If I don’t explore them now and force myself to create something else then I’ll never grow as an artist. I don’t want to settle for something just because it works. I want to evolve and change onstage, just as I do in the real world. 

So, I’m already writing the next show and will be presenting it for the first time at the Chicago Fringe Festival in two months. Then I’m taking the show on the road.

For as long as I can remember my biggest goal has been to do a full-blown theatre tour around the U.S. I’d like to say it’s time to check that goal off the list but I’m not ready for that just yet.

The end of this tour is only the beginning.

An Open Letter

To The Man In The Third Row:

I rarely feel the need to confront an audience member, sir, but suffice it to say you were that rare case.

It wasn’t hard to notice you were on your phone. When you’re onstage any little change in the environment sticks out like a sore thumb.

So, while I was trying to give a good performance tonight all I could see was the glow of your face, lit up like you were about to tell a scary story. I found it quite distracting to the moment I was trying to carefully craft onstage.

See, I’ve performed this version of the show over 100 times in the past six months. It’s rock solid. So that means I get to play with it now. I set the script to auto-pilot and go in search of new discoveries. I try to make more eye contact and find new ways to connect. Now that I understand the skeleton of the show I get to make something artistic out of it.

But that means I’m hyper aware of any little change to the theater. And so I couldn’t help but notice you were in the third row, on your phone, playing a game while I was trying to work.

For the past two months I’ve spent every day either onstage or in an airport. (Some days both.) There have been days when I’ve woken up and forgotten what city I was in. I’ve battled allergies and depression. I’ve lost my luggage and lost my voice. All in the name of the craft.

So tonight, running on no sleep, I knew I needed to focus extra hard. I wanted to give a good show. And after 20 minutes I was well on my way to one of my greatest feats - creating an audience out of a random group of strangers.

Then I saw you. And I couldn’t help but call you out.

I needed you to know that you were being disruptive and that being on your phone was disrespectful and a major distraction. I don’t regret that and I don’t regret making you sheepishly put your phone away while everyone else watched.

I did so knowing I would lose every ounce of momentum I had worked so hard to build. But it had to be done, so I channeled my inner Patti Lupone.

The point isn’t about being on your phone or living in the moment. The point isn’t that you embarrassed your wife or really made it awkward for everyone in attendance. (Not for me, though, I’m already thinking about my next show.)

No, the point is that the audience is an essential part of my performance. Without them there are no minds to read or thoughts to send. Without the audience there is no show. So I expect the audience to hold up their end of the bargain. I expect you to meet me in the middle so I can give you the show you deserve.

And if you do, I promise I’ll show you something that you can’t find anywhere else. Not even on your smartphone.

- MT

Compromise

I’ve decided to stop compromising. You have to draw the line somewhere, right?

So from now on, I will no longer perform for any organization or venue that I don’t agree with. I’m writing it here so you’ll hold me to it.

That means I will no longer be working for any establishment that uses non-renewable energy. We really need to start caring for the environment so I’ll be doing my part, too.

I guess that means I can’t drive or fly to any gigs because I shouldn’t be using fuel, so I will only be doing gigs that are within walking distance of my apartment.

Also, please no religious messages at your event. I’m non-religious and there are probably people in your group that feel the same way. Of course, I’m happy for you to believe whatever you want but if your event includes prayers I will be unable to attend.

Is it too much to ask people to not wear or eat any animal products during the function?  And while we’re at it, I’m not a fan of big banks or tobacco products or gambling or drugs or alcohol or ignorance or bad politics or racism or sexism or misogyny or bad opinions or country music. Please be advised if you choose to book me for your next event.

I mean, I need to take a stand, right? I shouldn’t work for any company I disagree with. I shouldn’t use any products that don’t align with my beliefs. And I shouldn’t associate with people who have a differing viewpoint than my own. If I did, people might mistake me making a living for making an endorsement.

Look, the way I see it is you can either be the guy who drops in for one weird evening in Madison, WI or you can be a barista at Starbucks and either way, you’re still working for "the man". If you want to make a living at this, you're going to need to compromise. Even Leonardo da Vinci did commissioned work to get by.

It’s so easy to take the hypothetical high ground when it comes to these debates. But for those of us actually working, traveling, performing, and living off of art alone, it’s not so simple. 

This is complex territory. It’s not that we don’t have principles, it’s just that we also need to work to survive. We have to make a living and sometimes that means doing a gig that doesn’t fully align with what you believe. 

I know that means a career full of meeting-in-the-middle and deals and choosing my battles so I can get ahead. But that’s where I’m headed and I make no apologies for compromising every once in a while to get there.

I’ve heard people having the same debate multiple times on my travels this summer. They wonder “Doesn’t it cease to be art once you get paid for it?”

No. It doesn’t.

Don’t confuse hard work with a lack of artistic purpose.

After college I slept on couches in shitty apartments in Los Angeles. I took the city bus two hours away to meetings alone and did gigs for $50 just to get my name out there.

As a newlywed, I invested every bit of money I had into a career that my wife couldn’t possibly envision like I did. But I believed in it and knew what I wanted to be doing.

And now I am. 

I didn’t sell-out. I just worked really hard to find a way to make a living doing what I’ve always wanted to do. 

I know where I want to be and I’ll do everything I can to get there. When it comes to that, I refuse to compromise.

Mark Toland’s world-class entertainment is the go-to choice for special events worldwide. His award-winning mind reading talents have been featured on ABC, CBS, FOX, NBC, WGN, TEDx, NPR, WBEZ, SiriusXM, and PBS. Mark is based out of Chicago and travels worldwide for events. Read more about Mark or check out the booking page for more info.