Family
December: the most famliest month of the year. Every year around this time, Confabulation gets squishy for relatives and hosts the yearly fam jam — a good old-fashioned evening of stories about the people who shaped us.
True stories, now on-line!
Confabulation is Montreal's monthly all-true storytelling showcase. Every show brings together people from all walks of life — doctors, boxers, students, grandmas — to share honest, unscripted accounts without notes, props, or gimmicks. Hosted by actor and comedian Matt Goldberg, each night is a celebration of the personal and political histories that make this city unique.
Shows are held at MainLine Theatre (3997 St-Laurent, Montreal) at 8 PM. Admission is pay what you can.
December: the most famliest month of the year. Every year around this time, Confabulation gets squishy for relatives and hosts the yearly fam jam — a good old-fashioned evening of stories about the people who shaped us.
An evening of stories of remarkable first impressions and surprising results. Montreal's premier monthly all-true storytelling series returned to MainLine Theatre for a night devoted to the best and worst of romantic encounters.
Stories on and off cue, key, and beat — presented as part of the Bouge d'Ici Dance Festival. Confabulation explored the moments when timing is everything, and when it fails spectacularly.
The leaves change and fall, the landlord plays with the heat — Confabulation looked truth square in the face and dared to tell the stories that matter most.
Stories of cures, curses, and confusing the two. Confabulation explored the remedies that backfired, the diagnoses that missed the mark, and the healing that came from unexpected places.
Tales from the highway, the backroads, and the journeys that changed everything. Confabulation hit the road with stories of departure, arrival, and everything in between.
Stories of split-second decisions — the moments when everything hangs in the balance and a single choice changes the course of a life.
2 theatres, 2 hosts, 32 stories, 1 Nuit Blanche. Confabulation's annual Nuit Blanche tradition returned with a marathon of two-minute tales — as many as could be fit into one unforgettable night.
Tales of miscommunication, misunderstanding, and mistaken identity — presented as part of the Bouge d'Ici dance festival. For January, that most confusing of months, Confabulation explored what happens when messages go awry.
A strong storytelling scene grows when people have places to test a voice, recover from an awkward first attempt and discover that their everyday experiences can hold an audience. Emerging storytellers rarely need a grand platform at the beginning. They need attentive listeners, fair opportunities and a room where unfinished work is treated with care.
That principle sits at the heart of Confabulation, Montreal’s monthly live storytelling series hosted by actor and comedian Matt Goldberg. Its true, unscripted performances explore relationships, humour, change and city life, often at MainLine Theatre with pay-what-you-can admission. For communities across Australia, the same spirit can shape open mics, festival programs, local workshops and small gatherings in pubs, libraries or neighbourhood arts spaces.
The simplest way to support a developing storyteller is to be present. A half-full room can make someone feel as though their story has been politely tolerated; a responsive audience gives them evidence that the work matters. Arriving on time, putting the phone away and staying for the whole set are small choices with a real effect.
Live storytelling depends on attention in a way that recorded content does not. A laugh at the right moment, a quiet room during a difficult memory and warm applause after a risk can help a performer find their rhythm. Support does not mean laughing at every line. It means listening generously and allowing the storyteller to lead the emotional pace.
In Australia, local arts events often compete with sport, late shifts, family commitments and a long trip across town. Turning up at a community hall in Geelong, a small venue in Newtown or a performance space in Fortitude Valley can be more valuable than sharing a promotional post. Word-of-mouth still carries considerable weight in a market where many emerging artists are working without a publicist.
A first performance should offer challenge without demanding perfection. Community organisers can create short sets, relaxed story circles and themed evenings where participants know roughly what kind of material belongs in the room. A five-minute slot can be less intimidating than a forty-minute workshop followed by an expectation to deliver a polished piece.
Confabulation’s emphasis on true, unscripted stories demonstrates the appeal of a format that values presence over polish. A performer does not need elaborate lighting, a striking costume or a tightly engineered punchline to hold attention. They need a clear invitation, a reasonable time limit and an audience prepared to accept that a live story may take an unexpected turn.
Accessible venues matter just as much as the program. A free library room, a neighbourhood centre or a venue with step-free access can bring in people who would never attend an expensive theatre season. In Naarm/Melbourne, a storyteller might begin at a community writing night before moving towards a festival stage. In Brisbane, a gathering connected to a local arts centre can provide a bridge between informal practice and professional opportunities.
Emerging storytellers often draw from grief, migration, disability, family conflict, faith, sexuality or illness. Supporters should respect the difference between witnessing a story and claiming ownership of it. Avoid asking for private details simply because a performance made you curious, and do not assume a performer wants to repeat their most painful material at every social gathering.
Organisers can set expectations before an event. Explain whether performances are recorded, photographed or streamed. Make it clear how audience members can raise concerns, and give storytellers a chance to withdraw material that no longer feels right. Consent is an ongoing process, especially when a story involves children, relatives, former partners or communities who are not in the room.
Accuracy and sensitivity also matter when personal stories intersect with medical information. A storyteller preparing material about a diagnosis or environmental exposure may consult health research while deciding what can be responsibly shared. Research should support understanding, never become a reason to pressure someone into revealing more than they wish to disclose.
Useful feedback is specific, timely and connected to the storyteller’s stated aim. “That was great” can offer encouragement, but it does not tell a performer what to keep developing. A stronger response might identify a vivid image, a shift in pace or a moment when the audience became especially attentive.
Feedback should begin with the work the storyteller intended to make. Someone aiming for a funny account of a disastrous share-house move may not want advice that turns it into a solemn meditation on housing. Someone telling a quiet family story may need help with structure rather than pressure to add jokes. Ask what kind of response would be useful before offering a detailed critique.
A practical framework is to discuss what stayed with you, where your attention drifted and what question the story left open. Avoid treating personal taste as a universal rule. Australian performance culture can sometimes favour casual praise—“good on ya” is warm, but vague—so pair encouragement with an observation the storyteller can use at their next rehearsal.
Emerging artists need pathways, not isolated chances. A single open mic may create a memorable evening, yet a sequence of opportunities helps a performer build confidence, material and a body of work. Organisers can invite promising participants to return, recommend them to another producer or pair them with an experienced host.
Fairness requires transparency around selection and payment. Explain whether performers are chosen through an open call, invitation or curator’s decision. If the event cannot pay a fee, say so early and describe what is provided instead. Free entry, food, transport assistance, professional photographs or a recording may have value, but they should not be presented as equivalent to money when a budget exists.
The Australian arts market has several layers: council programs, state funding, independent festivals, university venues, comedy rooms and commercial theatres. A performer who receives a slot at the Adelaide Fringe may gain visibility, yet still carry travel, registration and accommodation costs. Emerging storytellers benefit when supporters share realistic information about these systems rather than presenting exposure as payment.
Money is one of the clearest forms of respect. Buy a ticket when tickets are sold, contribute to a pay-what-you-can event when possible and purchase a zine, book or recording if the artist offers one. Even modest contributions help cover rehearsal space, transport, childcare, equipment and the time required to shape a story.
Pay-what-you-can models, like those used by Confabulation at MainLine Theatre, can welcome audiences who cannot commit to a standard ticket price. They work best when people who can afford to contribute more do so without treating the arrangement as charity. A flexible admission model can widen participation while still recognising the labour behind the event.
Support can also be indirect. Offer a lift from a railway station, share a performer’s event through a local network, provide a quiet rehearsal room or introduce them to a community radio producer. In Sydney’s inner west, a recommendation to a local venue may lead to a recurring spot; in regional Queensland or Western Australia, practical help with distance and accommodation can make participation possible.
A healthy storytelling community is shaped by repeated behaviour. Hosts should welcome newcomers, credit collaborators and avoid allowing the same small circle to control every program. A varied line-up becomes more likely when organisers actively look beyond their existing networks and make submissions understandable to people unfamiliar with arts jargon.
Representation should not be treated as decoration. If a program includes stories from First Nations, migrant, queer, Deaf, disabled or culturally diverse performers, the surrounding conditions should support them too. That may mean paying cultural advisors, providing interpreters, allowing access support or making space for different relationships to time, privacy and public disclosure.
The way people speak about performers after an event matters. Do not reduce someone to the hardest thing they shared, or describe a storyteller as “brave” when what you mean is that their craft was strong. Praise the choices: the sharp observation, the patient silence, the unexpected structure. Over time, this language helps a community value storytelling as skilled creative work rather than personal confession placed on display.
The most generous audience members understand that a live story may alter their assumptions. A performer can make an unfamiliar experience feel immediate without turning it into a lesson. They can also be funny, contradictory, angry or uncertain. The role of the listener is to receive the work without demanding that every story resolve neatly.
That openness creates connections across a city. A Montreal series about relationships and change may prompt someone in Hobart to recognise a similar family tension, while a story from a western Sydney neighbourhood can travel far beyond its original setting. The details remain local, but the act of making meaning in public is widely shared.
Support also means allowing storytellers to grow in different directions. One person may move into stand-up, another into theatre, audio documentary, writing or community facilitation. The first performance is not a contract for a particular identity. It is one point in a longer creative life, and good communities leave room for that life to develop.
A thriving storytelling scene is built through ordinary acts of generosity: a thoughtful audience, a clear invitation, fair pay, careful feedback and an introduction made at the right moment. When emerging performers are given room to experiment without being exploited, communities hear more of the people who make them distinctive. What readers should remember is simple: sustained attention and practical respect can turn a tentative first story into a lasting voice.
From the Summer Love show, Zoe Daniels took the stage to share a story about what happens when the season fades and the real work begins.
From the Inherited Stories show, Joel Fishbane shared a tale spanning four decades of devotion — a story passed down and lived through.
From the Summer Love show, Sage Tyrtle brought a story of warm nights, fleeting romance, and the kind of love that only lasts a season — but stays with you forever.