With Apologies to Franz Kafka

It seems ridiculous to talk about a metamorphosis over four months, but my approach to writing jokes and telling stories on stage has undergone a fairly drastic change. I started out portrayed myself as a rough-talking sexpot.  One of the first times I did an open mic, ( after trudging in to New York City and walking through knee-deep slush puddles) the 20-something self-congratulatory emcee followed up with, "Oh, I get it. An old lady with a dirty mouth." As if it weren't bad enough that the audience hardly laughed during my five minutes on stage, he had to bang the coffin nail. He got a bigger laugh than I did and it was at my expense. On that miserable train ride back to central New Jersey, I remembered  the story of  "The Little Engine that Could" When faced with adversity, it chugged "I think I can! I think I can!" My little engine was chugging "I suck. I suck. I'm bad. I suck."

There were two problems. One was that the audience laughed (politely?) at other open mics, so I had some belief that the material was funny and I could pull it off. The other more serious problem was that I didn't know how to deviate from my deviant jokes. Whatever I wrote had the same tough  edge laced with sexual references.  It didn't really bother me, but I felt powerless to do anything but plow ahead with my theme of the sexually obsessed lawyer turned housewife. 

I had to experience a comedy intervention, but it took me in a new direction in joke writing. The intervention was extremely painful; it was humiliating and I cried in public, but it put me on a path to something that I was lacking besides experience: authenticity. Here's what happened: A few weeks after comedy school graduation I attended a full-day workshop put on by a national comedy talent scout.  Some of the comics who attended were former fellow comedy students and others who had been performing for less than a year.  The scout lectured about the business of comedy in the morning and then 20 of us went out to lunch together and he joined us. I sat near him and we had an amiable conversation about our families, movies and other general small talk.  After lunch, he asked us if we all agreed to five minutes of standup a piece with an honest critique in front of everyone.  Of course, we said yes. I was extremely nervous but did my five minutes of cock-assisted pap smears, men who want to fuck me, etc. etc. etc. Then I received my critique and the coffin nail administered by that 20-something snotnose at the New York open mic a few weeks before felt like a hug.  The critique actually started out fine; the scout told me that I was a very nice and engaging person and he could tell that from our short conversation over lunch. Then he told me I should take a writing course. Then he told me that my material did not show who I really was. Then he told me that I should rip up everything I'd written so far and start all over.  Then I waited for the break and broke out in sobs on my way to the bathroom. I was very angry, embarrassed and defensive, but more than anything, I was scared shitless because I had my first real performance coming up in four days. At that point, I resolved to just use the material  I had for the performance and got a very positive response from my friends and relatives, who comprised most of the audience.  

The next few weeks were very rough, but I started to write more about my family, especially my children. The jokes and stories were mean, but loving and I ran them by my kids to get their input and okay before I performed them. The material seemed to get a more genuine audience response which led me to write more about my family and about the scourges of middle age. Some of the stories have sexual references, but I don't portray myself as a 55 year old with the mind and desires of a promiscuous teenager.

So a few things have happened over the past four months.  I'm performing more frequently and developing a better ear for what's funny.  The quality of my writing and comic timing continue to improve.  I'm more relaxed on stage and using curse words more judiciously.  I'm learning to portray myself more as I am and getting rewarded more often with authentic laughter, especially from people who don't know me. Would my instincts have begun to improve if I hadn't gotten the kick in the ass from the talent scout?  I'm not sure I'm ready to give him the satisfaction of saying "No".