Wednesday, March 8, 2023 // The Statement — 7
I’ve always been not so great at
beginnings. Whether it’s adapting to
a new place, writing a script or start-
ing a new relationship — or as I’ve
recently discovered — writing a joke,
I struggle to get settled as quickly as
I’d like, or immerse my audience into
what I describe. But maybe this strug-
gle with setup is a good thing. As
I’ve also recently discovered, if one
doesn’t know what will come next, it
becomes much easier to laugh.
Over the past month, I’ve joined
a stand-up comedy club at the Uni-
versity of Michigan, begun working
on jokes and am surprised as anyone
about it. I’ve enjoyed watching stand-
up, albeit casually, since my early
days in high school when a friend and
aspiring comedian introduced me to
2016 John Mulaney. He was quirky
and irreverent. He hated himself.
He sometimes took awkwardly long
steps and strode dizzyingly across
the stage. One thought he might fall
off the edge and he’d somehow be
even more magnetic if he did. He
radiated a nervous energy that was
desperate for our approval, yet more
than charming enough to receive it.
I never thought I’d be like him. Mu-
laney and every comedian I saw after,
usually first at this friend’s house,
whether the theatrics of Gabriel Igle-
sias or Kevin Hart, the contrarianship
of Bill Burr or Taylor Tomlinson, the
storytelling of Dave Chappelle or Se-
bastian Maniscolo, or the ideologies
of Aziz Ansari or Jerod Carmichael,
seemed so big no matter the size of
their many stages. They were per-
formers.
I’ve never thought of myself as
a performer, or even an un-italicized
stylization of the word. I’m pursuing
an interdisciplinary theater degree
in the School of Music, Theatre and
Dance with an emphasis on writ-
ing and production. I hate learning
lines. I’m usually terrible on the spot.
My charisma depends greatly on my
comfort. I can be, some might say
uncharacteristically, shy. But last se-
mester, for another Daily article on
stand-up, Tyler Shotlis — the head
of Amateur Hour Stand-Up — men-
tioned that one needs to be a bit in-
troverted to do stand-up, as so much
of the art depends on what you ob-
serve (and introverts tend to be quite
good at this). This quote didn’t make
the article, but it did catch my atten-
tion.
As I’ve grown older, I increas-
ingly see my role as a creative writer
to be one of an observer, both of
self and others. Although I produce
fiction, inspiration from the world
around me has always been my clos-
est collaborator. For the first time, I
saw myself in those performers. The
day I wrote my first joke, the lead I
crafted was somehow both too la-
bored and entirely missing. It was
trying too hard to be clever. It was
too daunting a task for the first try.
Observing the notion that the United
States has always been a country
of thoughts and prayers alongside
FDR’s government’s decision to turn
around boats of Jewish refugees from
the Holocaust may be interesting,
but it needed significant support to
be transformed into a joke.
A semester ended and a new
one began. I signed up for Tyler’s
club, a space for learning stand-up
comedians to practice and perform. I
needed a bit more joy and playfulness
in my life. I saw one of their shows
late in the fall for my article. I remem-
bered it as both so much more than
and nothing but a lot of fun, a space
dedicated to laughter that seemed
entirely wonderful. After seeing that
Amateur Hour performance, what
I didn’t expect was a club so seri-
ous about laughter. Every Wednes-
day night, few more than 10 people
would gather on the third floor of
Mason Hall and perform comedy bits
for each other. Through every careful
listen to another’s joke, every lengthy
discussion of delivery, structure and
effect, I found a group of people that
made being “the class clown” their
craft.
In this atmosphere of earnest
screwballing, I got to work. What
most people ask when I mention that
I’ve started doing stand-up is wheth-
er it’s nerve-racking. The answer is
a resounding yes: It’s terrifying. My
throat dries up. I find my gaze fixed
on my phone where I’ve written my
joke ideas, or toward the back wall.
There are many things worse in this
world to experience than telling a
joke and being met with blank stares,
but when you find yourself in that
awkward position, it sure doesn’t
feel like it. A good stand-up must be
comfortable with failure, and remem-
ber that there’s always an opportunity
with the next joke to leave their audi-
ence in stitches.
To write a good joke, one
needs to develop an understanding
of exactly who’s telling it. Many co-
medians will call this their “stand-up
persona” — the character they pres-
ent as on stage. Often, this character
will be inspired by how the come-
dian perceives themselves outside
of comedy, but will likely not strictly
adhere to any one source. If a co-
median presented their comedy as
purely as themselves, the set would
likely be very boring. Not often are
people’s lives that original. How-
ever, the success of a set relies on
the illusion of a truthful comedian.
We must buy into the persona, no
matter how exaggerated, as genuine
— or most of the act risks falling flat.
NATE SHEEHAN
Statement Correspondant
SARAH BOEKE/Daily
One bi man’s journey into his comedic identity
SARAH BOEKE/Daily
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Nate Sheehan practices material at a stand-up club meeting in Mason Hall Wednesday, February 22.