

Improv in Toronto – Summer 2025
I’ll be running improv workshops in Toronto this summer. If you’ve taken classes before, reach out to me directly.
A six-week performance program is in the works — contact RJ or me for details.
More sessions are likely this Christmas in both Toronto and Chicago.
​
Connect with me or RJ here:
linkedin.com/in/chrisconidis
​
#ChrisConidis #ImprovToronto #TorontoImprovWorkshops #ImprovTraining #UCBAlum #ComedyWorkshops #ActorLife #TorontoPerformer #ChicagoImprov #SaintCloudFL


Chris Conidis is a writer, filmmaker, performer, and satirist based in Saint Cloud, Florida.
​
Writer · Filmmaker · Improv Performer Ar
tist
Welcome to the Official Website of Chris Conidis
​About
​
Chris Conidis is a writer, filmmaker, and improv performer with over two decades of experience in satire, social commentary, and dark humor based in Saint Cloud, Florida. Beginning his career creating media and show scripts for Universal Studios and Walt Disney World, he honed his talent for immersive storytelling and guest experiences.
​
As founder of Elios Entertainment, Chris has produced animations, short films, and creative projects across sci-fi, horror, and comedy genres. A seasoned improv artist, he has performed and trained with UCB and Second City Alumni. His books, including Toolmaker, Return to Adam’s Earth, and The Magician’s Code, showcase his knack for blending storytelling with sharp social critiques.
An award-winning creator, Chris regularly conducts improv and writing workshops and also explores visual narrative while mentoring aspiring creative artists. Beyond his professional work, he explores interests in filmmaking, animation, magic, and evolutionary biology, all with his trademark wit and humor that has captivated audiences everywhere.




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 Facebook Page here:
​

​
Featured Media & Profiles
🔗 CEOWORLD Magazine – The Power of Storytelling
🔗 IdeaMensch Interview – On Structure & Creative Rhythm
🔗 Medium – Stories, Scripts, Essays
🔗 Official Facebook Page
Latest Projects
📖 The Mirror at the End of the Lane
A haunting modern folktale set in the town of Willowend, where an antique mirror reflects not only the viewer—but their fate. Read on Medium →
Progress City
A satire of technology, ambition, and societal blind spots. From cavemen to influencers, this project explores humanity’s obsession with “the future” through humor, history, and harsh truths.
​
SPOL: Society for the Preservation of Laughter
In a world where humor is outlawed, underground comedians become the last resistance. A live-action and animation hybrid exploring censorship, creativity, and the fight to laugh freely.
Upcoming Events
🎤Improv Workshops – Summer 2025, Toronto
Returning this July for group and private sessions. Beginners welcome. Contact Chris for schedule and sign-up.
Contact & Links



Your Foot Print Has Been Logged








Hitchcock: Master of suspense, but also the guy who made you question whether or not your mother actually loves you

The Ballad of Elias Grange and Victor Bellows: A Tale of Two Dueling Souls

The Eternal Duel
Chris Conidis
​
In the town of Ashwillow, nestled beneath a perpetually amber sky, two men named Elias Grange and Victor Bellows lived as sworn enemies. Their feud was so storied that it etched its way into the very bark of the town's old oaks, twisting them into writhing shapes that seemed to hiss their names in the wind. The origin of their hatred was long forgotten—some said it began over a misplaced shovelful of dirt in a shared garden, others whispered it was the result of a single, cutting word at a town meeting. Whatever the cause, it metastasized until the two men became flames feeding on the oxygen of each other's ire.
Elias was the wind, blustering and howling, scattering seeds of discontent wherever he went. Victor was the stone, unyielding and cold, sinking beneath the surface of his anger but erupting in eruptions of volcanic rage. They battled in every conceivable way: building fences taller and taller to outdo each other, spreading rumors like plagues in the marketplace, and even sabotaging the other's rain barrels during dry summers.
​
When Elias died one winter morning, the snow fell with a curious smirk, as though the town itself believed the feud had ended. But death only sharpened the edges of Victor's hatred. At Elias' funeral, Victor whispered, "Even in the ground, you’ll rot the wrong way."
​
And so it was.
Within a week of Victor’s own passing, the townsfolk noticed strange happenings. Elias and Victor’s graves, planted side by side like seeds of discord, began shifting. The earth heaved and buckled, as though the two corpses were wrestling beneath the soil. On moonlit nights, muffled curses and the sound of fists colliding with bone echoed from the cemetery, sending stray dogs howling into the hills.
The first to see the full spectacle was Old Maggie, who had spent decades tending the graves. She swore to her dying day that Elias and Victor’s ghosts were visible in the mist, translucent fists flying, eyes blazing like coals of resentment. They fought over boundaries marked only by shadows, drawing lines in the fog that dissipated the moment they turned their backs.
"You’ll not have the last word!" Elias’ ghost bellowed one night, his form flickering like a guttering candle.
"I’ll carve it into your tombstone myself!" Victor spat back, his ectoplasm hardening into a blade that Elias swatted away with a spectral shovel.
​
Their feud became a fixture in the town, as much a part of Ashwillow as the autumn leaves or the slow chime of the clocktower. Children dared one another to spend a night near the graves; poets came to witness the spectacle, calling it "a drama etched in the air."
​
But the duel refused to conclude.
​
Years passed. The cemetery grew overgrown, yet the fighting persisted. The men’s spirits, trapped in a loop of fury, began to change. Their outlines blurred until they became indistinguishable from the mist itself. Their shouts turned into the howling wind, their blows into the creaking of branches. They fused with the landscape, forever bound in their futile battle.
One evening, a young historian came to town, curious about the tale of Elias and Victor. She brought with her a notebook, her pen scratching furiously as she wandered through the cemetery. Finding the overgrown graves, she paused, listening to the faint murmurs of their eternal quarrel.
​
“Why do they fight?” she asked aloud, her breath forming little clouds.
The wind, carrying a thousand whispers, responded: “To remember they once lived.”
The historian left, and the graves continued their slow dance of dissent, the earth grinding with the weight of their struggle. Their feud, stripped of purpose, had become a metaphor for all human folly—anger that outlasts reason, boundaries drawn on shifting sands, and battles waged long after the combatants have forgotten the prize.
​
And so, Elias and Victor remain, part of the land now, eternal and unresolved. Ashwillow sleeps, but the wind sighs, the trees groan, and the world remembers: even death cannot bury the living rage of men.