Carapace celebrates 15 years of ‘weird, vibrant’ live stories

Seven minutes to speak. A name drawn from a hat. Absolutely no notes allowed. Bombastic performed stories — and they’re all completely true. 

These are the foundations of Carapace, Atlanta’s long-running “live lit” storytelling event at Manuel’s Tavern. For the past 15 years, Atlanta’s self-proclaimed literary weirdos have met in the back room to drop their own “truth bombs” on the literary stage. 

Over the years Carapace has spawned its own creative community. Repeat speakers become veterans of the craft, while newcomers pour their nerves into the stage. Carapace has seen it all: children, seniors, well-rehearsed performances and totally off-the-cuff ramblings. 

On Nov. 21, a crowd of all kinds sat in Manuel’s “big room” to watch the 15th anniversary show, themed “Spoiler Alert.” The spoiler? Carapace has been going strong for 15 years, and it shows no signs of slowing down. 

Longtime attendees have their own explanations for Carapace’s success. Atlanta is hungry for the community; the show is just plain fun. But one thing is clear: Everything is on the table at Carapace, and that keeps it interesting.

“About a third of the stories are really hilarious or shocking, and about a third are just okay,” Carapace Producer Shannon Turner said. “That final third is where things get kind of interesting.” 

Turner is a professional storyteller. She was also the very first person to take the Carapace stage in 2010. She’s been doing it ever since.

“To me, it has always felt like this auspicious turning of my life in a certain direction,” Turner said. 

Now, Turner is a performer-turned-producer for Carapace. But the event has been on a long journey since its first gathering that February night 15 years ago.

In 2010, Randy Osborne had just moved to Atlanta from San Francisco. The journalist and writer wanted “true, personal storytelling” to come to his new home. So he looked to the “live lit” giant of the time: The Moth. 

The Moth is a nonprofit founded in 1997 dedicated to the “craft of storytelling.” Its event structure may seem familiar: StorySLAMS in 27 cities choose 10 participants at random to tell a five-minute story with no notes. It has to be true. The winners move on to the GrandSLAM competition and the Mainstage show.

Back in 2010, though, the Moth had a different structure. It kicked off a chapter program with satellites in North America’s major cities. Osborne decided to start one in Atlanta with local creative Joyce Mitchell. 

The Moth came with rules. Osborne and Mitchell could not promote the event on socials, and they were told to hold it in somebody’s living room. It was supposed to have a “grassroots” feel to mirror the nonprofit’s beginnings. 

But Osborne had already secured Manuel’s Tavern. The Moth gave it a go-ahead, expecting a small crowd. Nobody was prepared for the turnout. 

That first night, the small room at Manuel’s Tavern overflowed with attendees. The Atlanta-Journal Constitution showed up to cover the event. It was an immediate hit – it just didn’t fit The Moth.

So Osborne and Mitchell quit The Moth and started their own version. It would always be free, and there would never be judges. It would be called Carapace, after a turtle’s shell. 

“People should come out of their shell and tell a story,” Osborne said. 

The people did just that. It wasn’t always a major crowd, Osborne said. Carapace fluctuated — some nights were massive, some only drew a tiny crowd. But the event grew into an Atlanta fixture. 

“I like the weirdness of Carapace and how you can’t really predict from one event to the next what’s going to happen,” Osborne said. 

For ten years, Carapace kept surprising its founders. Even when Osborne was tired of the event, he talked to an attendee and “learned a lot about other people and seeing storytelling through the eyes of a stranger.” Randy Osborne and Joyce Mitchell ran Carapace together for a decade – falling in love, getting married and having a child. The duo gave it up after they became parents. 

“My impression of the decade that Joyce and I were running it is just exhilaration,” Osborne said. 

Mitchell said there was an obvious choice to pass the torch: “It felt like (Carapace) always belonged to Shannon.” 

Turner’s career was born on the Carapace stage. A decade later, she took over the event to keep up the tradition for a new era. She tweaked the formula and added more pop-culture themes to the roster. 

“We have, you know, continued to evolve and more,” Turner said. 

Turner wants the event to be “relevant” to younger audiences and people of color, even though it already brings in a pretty diverse audience. She kept in the literary roots but likes to link music videos, movies and more to each event. Her goal is to cast a widespread net to anyone brave enough to take the stage.

“I like to say there’s nobody who doesn’t need to be able to tell a good story,” Turner said. 

Fifteen years in, and Turner is still in love with the show that served as her “own personal wake-up call.” Now it sits alongside the city’s steady “live lit” scene, as Turner calls it. 

“We are definitely part of an ecology,” Turner said. 

The ecosystem of creators supports each other. At the anniversary show, Turner pointed to several audience members involved in other live lit events. She said each brings its own flavor: Write Club is a battle-of-the-wills competition, and Joy Deficit brings a curated crowd. Shows like Stories Worth Sharing skew more queer, while Monster Show for Monsters is totally weird. 

“This live lit scene is vibrant,” Turner said. “It is the fun weirdos, the beautiful weirdos, the nerd culture — each show does have its own sort of flavor.” 

For 15 years, Carapace has been a part of that weird and vibrant scene. But as it continues, Turner wants people to know it’s just a “great hang” with good burgers and better stories.