CJ’s Comedy Debut

Hi Guys. It’s CJ here; the resident female on the him-dot-com team. Thank God for some occasional estrogen, I say. Sorry I haven’t been around much lately but be comforted in knowing that I missed you. The following post was written over a couple of days. When you read it, you’ll know why. Enjoy…

Tuesday 6^th April. 5pm

Have you ever noticed that he at him-dot-com often seems to write a post about whatever topic is most pertinent to you on that particular day? It’s kinda creepy. But handy too. As you know, today’s post was about his ‘discomfort theory’. Which is weird because as I’m writing this, there are less than 24 hours remaining until I am due to do one of the most terrifying (and possibly stupid) things I’ve ever done.

I feel excited. And a bit nervous. Okay, very nervous. All right, I’m totally shitting myself. The ridiculous thing is that I don’t have to do this. Nobody is making me. No-one really cares if I do it or I don’t do it. However, somewhere inside me – really, really deep down – I want to do this. I need to do this.

The only thing that terrifies me more than doing it is not doing it.

So, at about 9:30 tomorrow night I will walk onto a stage at a Sydney comedy venue, blink into some very, very bright lights and try to make a room full of strangers that I can’t see, laugh. I feel sick as I type those words.

Yep. Just me, a microphone and all my own material. No notes. No lectern. No previous experience. There could be thirty people in the audience. There could be a couple of hundred. I won’t know until I get there.

And to think; I gave up alcohol last June.

So, what am I scared of?

• That I will trip as I step onto the stage. Which is quite possible given my level of (lack of) co-ordination. Although at least that might elicit a laugh.
• I will forget everything that I have prepared.
• I’ll remember all my material but it will be met with a stony ‘that’s just not funny’ silence. It will be so quiet I’ll be able to hear my own heart beat. I’ll certainly be able to feel it.
• Because I am so nervous, I will deliver my material like I’m calling a horserace and nobody will be able to understand me. Except the tragic gambler on table four.
• I blush so spectacularly that I set off the fire alarm.
• I cry.

Or (even worse) I just plain… suck.

 A Short Time Later…

I just had a telephone pep talk from he at him-dot-com. I’m sure it was insightful, perceptive and brilliant in a very down-to-earth way but I can’t actually remember a single word he said. Shit. Well done. I’m lucky enough to have words of encouragement from ‘Australia’s Leading Motivational Speaker’ and I have the retention of a ninety-year-old with Alzheimer’s. Brilliant.

Maybe if I wanted to ‘get uncomfortable’, I should have simply wheeled out some of my teenage photos at the next social gathering.

And Then a Little Later…

I’m not sure if I feel better or worse after a chat with Paul, my unofficial comedy tutor. I think he may have called to check up that I’m not chickening out – evidently first-timers do that quite frequently. He is one of the professional comedians at the comedy venue and he has encouraged me to take the plunge. I was hoping to ease into my comedy debut by participating in the course he periodically runs but, no, apparently I need to just dive in. Like a lemming.

Thankfully, he has offered to meet me at the venue a little before the show tomorrow night so we can run through the set. He said that for a ‘first time set’ my material is really strong. Which means that it’s all up to the delivery. My (very) weak point. Great.

Before you ask, I’ve made sure that nobody I know (besides Paul) is going to be in the audience. I could stack the room with my friends (or at least hire some homeless people to come in and laugh hysterically) but I think that would actually put me off. Besides, I need to do this authentically. If I bomb, I want to bomb on my own merits – so to speak.

Ok. Time to finalise and memorise the material. Again.

Wednesday 7^th April. 6am

Predictably, I’ve woken up with that ambivalent ‘It’s today’ feeling. You know that one? When suddenly ‘tomorrow’ is ‘today’? The realisation descends even while you still have one foot in Sleepyland and it makes you want to scurry back to your dreams.

I ask myself one more time why I am doing this.

7:30pm

I’ve eaten four calories for the day and been to the toilet sixteen times. I might not be funny up there, but by God I’ll be thin! I meet Paul at the club which is mercifully empty except for the lovely manager, Julie, and a couple of guys organising lights and cameras. Funnily enough, it looks exactly like you’d expect: groups of two or three chairs huddled around tiny tables, a small stage with a lone microphone on a metal stand, a baby grand piano in the corner and a small bar.

Paul suggests that we take advantage of the quiet spell and ‘run through the set’. I love that industry talk.

The lights are blinding. I can just see Paul’s blurry face as he sits in the first row of tables circling the stage but beyond that is a blank darkness. How can you engage an audience when you can’t even see them?

My hand is trembling as I hold the microphone. As I ‘perform’ (a very loose term), I can’t help but fiddle with the microphone cord. I know I’m looking at the floor too much. I know I’m speaking too quickly but, also, too timidly – quite the achievement. I know I am terrible.

As I finish, I want to walk (nay, run) up the stairs and out onto the street. To be safe. And comfortable. And ordinary. But I can’t. Because then I would hate myself for being a gutless wonder. For not even trying. For being a personal development fraud.

So, instead, I ask Paul what I need to improve. He is encouraging (bless him) but it turns out that I need to change almost everything. I suck. Another professional comedian, Brad, has sneaked in during the last half of my set. He also offers some encouragement and a few tips about my stance and body-language. It is surprisingly complicated – a little like Pilates with a microphone. I suck at Pilates too. Fabulous.

9:00pm

The MC introduces me. Apparently I have ‘recently been doing some great gigs around the circuit’. Pants on fire. Maybe the audience will think I’m an awesome comedian who is just having a really bad night. I’d be quite content with that.

I step onto the stage. As instructed, I take the microphone from the stand, move the stand to the back of the stage, turn around, pause and begin. I can’t see a bloody thing. My hand is shaking. My voice comes out as a quivering little squeak.

But I can remember my material. It all comes back.

After a few agonising moments, I hear someone laughing. At the right moment. Then a few more people start laughing. My heart rate drops below two hundred.

About five minutes into the set, something unexpected happens: I begin to relax. The more I relax, the more the audience laughs. For the last few minutes, I’m actually enjoying the experience and I’m not totally horrible. I finally remember why I am doing this. Why I have put myself through the discomfort. Why I have taken the risk and opened myself up to ridicule and failure.

It’s because making other people laugh makes me feel great. Whether it’s just a smile, a smirk, a snortle, a chuckle or a full-throttled belly-laugh, I just love to see people’s faces change for a moment. It floats my boat. I know I’m not developing a cure for cancer or solving the Middle-East Conflict (I’ll leave that to far greater minds than mine) but it makes me feel wonderful.

My time is up. I have completed twelve minutes of stand-up comedy. I feel euphoric.

After the show, I gratefully accept feedback from the other comedians. Notice I say ‘other’ like I’m one of them. Sheesh. Don’t trip over my ego will you? There are some very specific things that I need to work on but the general consensus is that I didn’t completely suck; that there might just be a tiny speck of talent to be worked with. Which, apparently, is all one needs. The rest is achieved through hard work, being prepared to bomb quite regularly without giving up like a sooky-la-la and choosing to listen to advice. Like most things that are worth doing, it’s a long ego-risking process.

What Now?

I have no delusions about being the next great Australian comic. In a few weeks, I have a booking for some more ‘stage time’ where I will hopefully be a little better. For me, just being able to reach the dizzy heights of one-step-above-awful is incredibly satisfying. It was never about finding a new career or wanting to be famous. It was about facing my fears. About not always wondering what I could do if only I wasn’t too scared to risk my precious, fragile self-esteem.

There are many things that scare the pants off me (swimming with sharks, starting a business, wearing a mini-skirt) but I have no desire to do them. So there is no problem. The kicker is when our desires and our fears collide. Which often happens. Because we human beings are strange creatures, aren’t we?

Is there something that you have always wanted to do but you have let your fear stop you? What do you need to do in order to take that first step?

Perhaps you have already conquered your fear. What happened? How did you feel?

Can’t wait to hear your stories.

CJ xox

* Want to know a little more about CJ? You can see her profile (and her head!) here.

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