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Welcome to the Official Chris Conidis Website.
Explore Chris Conidis’s latest short stories and screenplays.
"Chris Conidis – Writer, Filmmaker, Improv Performer Official Website"
Chris Conidis is a versatile writer, filmmaker, and improv performer with a career spanning over two decades. His work includes satire, social commentary, and dark humor, often exploring themes like societal critique, futurism, and absurdity.
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Check Out Medium Content here:
This July, I’m back coaching improv classes in Toronto. If you’ve already taken classes with me or RJ feel free to reach out and reconnect. New? Shoot me a DM—I’ll send you the sign-up info- thanks!
CHRIS CONIDIS
Storyteller, Creator, and Performer in St. Cloud, Florida

Storytelling isn't fluff—it's fuel.
In CEOWORLD Magazine, Chris Conidis explores how great leaders use storytelling to inspire action, shape brand identity, and build lasting trust.
Your data needs a voice. That voice is your story.
Read now on CEOWORLD.biz:
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https://ceoworld.biz/2024/11/28/chris-conidis-how-does-storytelling-shape-success/#google_vignette
Chris Conidis: How Does Storytelling Shape Success?
#Leadership #ChrisConidis #Storytelling #BusinessStrategy #CEOWORLD #NarrativePower

The Mirror at the End of the Lane by Chris Conidis is a haunting tale that delves deep into the truths we often avoid. In the eerie town of Willowend, a mysterious mirror reflects not just faces but the unspoken secrets and moral cracks that define its inhabitants. Edgar Plumb, a young boy seeking a momentary escape, discovers just how far the mirror’s gaze reaches — and the unsettling truth about his own future.
This story explores the consequences of pretense and the uncomfortable reality that we all try to avoid. A perfect reminder of the importance of confronting our truths before they confront us.
Read the full story here: The Mirror at the End of the Lane
https://medium.com/@chris-conidis/chris-conidis-the-mirror-at-the-end-of-the-lane-c68a5ad96dd8


Genre: Horror / Dark Fantasy
A cycle of dark tales connected by objects, omens, and the strange forces that carry them across generations. Each story stands alone yet echoes another—woven by unseen hands and bound by fear, fate, and forgotten pacts. Gothic-modern in aesthetic, rich in mood and myth.
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Hitchcock: Master of suspense, but also the guy who made you question whether or not your mother actually loves you
Dark Comedy DNA: Why Satirists Owe a Drink to Hitchcock, Serling, and Chaplin.
I’ve been rewatching Hitchcock, not for suspense—but for stillness. For his intros as satire - there’s something about a man in a tight frame, doing absolutely nothing, that feels louder than screams. I’m chasing that tension in silence for my own projects lately. Still frames, breath between lines, paranoia with no soundtrack.
Read the articles
here and on Medium

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Chris Conidis Unveils “Progress City”: A Satirical Take on Futurism and Modern Life
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“Progress City,” a sharp satire that takes a deep, comical dive into society’s love affair with “progress.” This new project, a sprawling parody of futurism and modern life, unpacks humanity’s journey from the cave to today’s social dilemmas. With his trademark humor, Conidis pokes fun at how every era has imagined the future—often with more confidence than accuracy—and how these visions have both shaped and clashed with reality.
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In “Progress City,” Conidis explores humanity’s attempts at advancing, for better or worse, across a variety of eras, from our early ancestors’ first discovery of fire to the contemporary pursuit of “likes” and “followers.” He calls it “a humorous archaeological dig through the fossil record of our ambitions,” and each chapter pulls no punches. Rather than romanticizing humanity’s progress, Conidis tackles the myths and follies of each era with a critical, entertaining eye.
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“The funny thing about the future,” Conidis says, “is that every generation thinks they’re the first to figure it out. We’re not all that different from cavemen—we just swapped campfire storytelling for scrolling and status updates.” His approach is part critique, part stand-up comedy routine, and all satire, painting a portrait of human nature as it has evolved—technologically, if not always intellectually.
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In the spirit of Conidis’s previous works, “Progress City” doesn’t merely poke fun at the past and present; it asks readers to reflect on the direction we’re heading. “We’re in an age where tech rules our lives, but we still don’t know what to do with our hands when we take a photo,” he jokes. “Progress has made us smarter on paper, but when it comes to common sense, well… let’s just say it might still be in beta testing.” These observations reveal the hilarious contradictions between our advanced tools and the often unchanged human instincts that wield them.
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One central theme of “Progress City” is how humanity’s constant push for the “next big thing” sometimes results in absurdity. “Every few centuries, someone invents something that they swear will change the world—stone tools, steam engines, social media algorithms—and yet here we are, still figuring out how to get along.” Conidis believes that the project will resonate with audiences who can relate to the idea of progress that somehow always leaves us wanting more.
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He takes aim at today’s obsession with technology as well, particularly the ways we measure success and fulfillment in digital terms. “In caveman days, your status symbol was the biggest piece of mammoth meat. Today, it’s your follower count. Either way, it’s about who’s got the biggest… following,” he quips. “Progress City” explores how these primitive instincts have evolved—or haven’t—despite our sophisticated new toys.
Conidis’s audience will find that “Progress City” is as much a mirror as it is a comedy. By setting today’s achievements alongside the feats of ancient societies, he paints a comedic picture of the ways we repeat old patterns even as we think we’re blazing new trails. “If we’re so futuristic, why do we still find ourselves in traffic jams?” he jokes. “If the cavemen could see us now, they’d probably just laugh.”
Chris Conidis continues to delight audiences by dissecting society’s quirks with a refreshing sense of humor, proving that comedy can be a powerful tool for reflection. “Progress City” promises to be an enlightening, entertaining journey through the timeline of human aspirations, inviting readers to laugh at how much we’ve changed—and how much we haven’t.
Me, Myself, and Mom: The Solo Family Man’s Guide to DIY Parenting / CHRIS CONIDIS
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In the peculiar little town of Brambleton, where the lines between eccentricity and outright oddity were comfortably blurred, lived a man who had achieved a feat no one thought possible: he had become his own family. Eugenius Fortescue was not merely a man; he was his own mother, his own father, and, on occasion, his own well-meaning but mildly irritating uncle. It was a solo family effort, and Eugenius proudly claimed it as his greatest accomplishment.
In that small, thoroughlybaffled town somewhere out there, resided Mr. Eugenius Fortescue, the man who, remarkably, had managed to become both his own mother and father. Eugenius—known to himself, by himself, as “Mom” and “Dad” respectively—was the ultimate family man, occupying every role in his lineage with the kind of meticulousness only possible when you have no one else to blame.
He spent his mornings preparing breakfast as Father, sternly reminding himself to “chew with your mouth closed” and “stop playing with your food.” Switching seamlessly, he would then scold himself as Mother, concerned he was skipping on his vegetables and eating “like he was raised in a barn.” Eugenius had perfected this routine, alternating seamlessly between critical parental monologues and self-defensive rebuttals, giving the impression of a well-rounded family meal, sans family.
His childhood had been simple enough, although fraught with the existential crisis of realizing that he had never actually been born. He didn’t quite remember being born because, well, he hadn’t been. Eugenius had simply always been, like a self-invented parable, or one of those vague family myths about “a relative who’s technically also a distant cousin.” As he grew older, he somehow became aware he was his own mother, yet equally perplexed at how he could also be his own father—a conundrum that took years of self-imposed parental counseling to understand, if not accept.
From a young age, Eugenius had been a self-starter. Raised by no one but himself—no parents, no grandparents, no meddling relatives—he’d therefore decided early on that he would be the family he’d never had. He’d be his own role model, his own support system, and his own disciplinarian. This, he was convinced, was the ultimate DIY project: family, made from scratch, with no guidance but his own imagination.
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Morning Routines in the Solo Household
Each morning, Eugenius’s day began with a symphony of self-imposed roles. As “Dad,” he’d stride into the kitchen, brewing coffee so dark and bitter it practically dared him to drink it. He’d mutter about “the good old days” when coffee was brewed in percolators and scoff at the idea of cappuccinos or “those fancy lattes.”
Then “Mom” Eugenius would take over, promptly adding a splash of oat milk to the brew and fussing over his health. “You know you shouldn’t drink it black, dear,” he’d say to himself, “Remember your stomach.” He’d then toast some bread and insist on spreading avocado on it, commenting that it was full of “good fats.” This often led to an argument between Mom and Dad about the price of avocados and the state of the economy.
Once breakfast was over, Eugenius would move on to life lessons, balancing tough love with gentle guidance. As Dad, he’d give himself a pep talk, saying, “You’ve got to toughen up, Eugenius. The world won’t hold your hand.” But then Mom would jump in, softly reminding him, “It’s okay to be sensitive, dear. Sensitivity is strength.” This would go on until he finished his coffee, at which point all sides of him agreed that it was time to leave the house and face the world.
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The Solo Family Man Takes on the Town
Brambleton was used to Eugenius’s oddities, though they had grown fond of him as a sort of town mascot. Children would giggle as they watched him at the grocery store, holding animated debates with himself over the price of pasta or whether he really needed that pint of ice cream. He’d scold himself in the canned goods aisle, saying, “No sugary snacks today!” only to whisper conspiratorially to himself, “But a little treat never hurt anyone, did it?”
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There was a kind of charm in his daily performances; to see Eugenius switch seamlessly from Mom to Dad, from doting caretaker to pragmatic taskmaster, was like watching a one-man sitcom. Passersby marveled at his dedication to his “family,” curious if he really believed in these personas or if it was just an elaborate act. Yet, as far as anyone could tell, Eugenius was deeply committed. To him, each role was real, each perspective necessary, as though he were fulfilling a duty not to others but to some internal code of conduct.
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Holidays, Celebrations, and Existential Crises
As the Solo Family Man, Eugenius celebrated every holiday with meticulous care, creating traditions no one else would ever know. On Mother’s Day, he’d treat himself to a box of chocolates, curling up in a soft sweater and congratulating himself for his “years of unconditional love.” On Father’s Day, he’d pull out an old razor, attempt a clean shave, and remark wistfully on how proud he was of himself for being such a strong, dependable father figure. It was, in his mind, a ritual of self-affirmation—a way to keep the family he’d invented alive and well.
Yet, as the years rolled by, there were cracks in the grand illusion. Though he’d never say it aloud, Eugenius sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a family that wasn’t conjured from his own imagination. He’d sit at his dinner table, engaging in lively conversations with himself, only to pause, spoon mid-air, feeling the quiet creep into the edges of his thoughts.
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One late autumn evening, after a long day of lecturing himself on the importance of sensible shoes and hearty meals, Eugenius found himself sitting in silence, staring into a mirror. His eyes traced the familiar lines of his face—the crow’s feet at the corners, the slight graying at his temples. For a moment, he felt a pang of something he didn’t quite recognize. It wasn’t loneliness, exactly, nor was it sadness. It was something quieter, something that didn’t fit neatly into the roles he’d crafted.
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He leaned in, his gaze fixed on his own reflection, and tried to summon one of his usual voices. “Mom,” he whispered, hoping for a reassuring response. But the voice didn’t come. “Dad?” he tried, but again, nothing. There was only the face in the mirror, a man he knew all too well yet, in this strange moment, hardly recognized.
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And then, almost involuntarily, he laughed—a soft, weary chuckle that seemed to echo in the quiet room. The laughter felt unfamiliar, not tied to any particular role, not tethered to any character he’d created. It was just Eugenius, laughing at himself, at the sheer absurdity of his life’s grand experiment.
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As he looked around his small, cozy apartment, filled with mementos and trinkets that only he understood, he felt a sudden, unspoken invitation. There was a world outside, a life beyond the roles he’d worked so hard to maintain. He didn’t have to be “Mom” or “Dad” or even “The Solo Family Man.” Maybe, he thought, for the first time, he could simply be Eugenius—a man still figuring out who that was.
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He rose from his chair, his reflection still watching him from the mirror. He took a deep breath, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and fear. It was like stepping into the unknown, but somehow, it felt right. He didn’t need the roles anymore, didn’t need the scripted conversations. He only needed himself, ready to face the world without the weight of his own invention.
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And for once, that felt like more than enough.
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