If you want to write


That’s what they say, right?  If you want to write, write.  If you want to paint, paint.  That would mean I should write and perform if that’s what I want to do, right?  If I want to live the dream, I have to do the work.  Why isn’t it that simple?  Because if you have to pay to play.  And I haven’t got money as I am on disability.  Or maybe I’m looking for an excuse.  Of course if I really wanted to perform I would just do it, wouldn’t I?  Let nothing stand in my way.  That’s how it should be.  But real life isn’t that simple.  I can “what if” myself right out of trying.  Even at 51 I have so little confidence that I’m afraid to just start doing the rounds at local comedy clubs.  That would involve me driving all over the Valley and the Westside to various gigs on various nights, usually late nights.  Something my husband is not keen for me to take up.  That’s my biggest dilemma.

However, if I take a class I have a chance to perform with my class and establish some contacts who may be able to teach me more.  It’d be easier if I had a sidekick.  I once asked someone to be my sidekick, and if not for the fact that she is busy in school, comes from a completely different background, is way smarter than me and I would most likely end up on the short end of the stick laughwise.  Having a sidekick would make performing easier because you have someone there on stage with you and to, hopefully, save you from utterly dying, but duos eventually end up solos, and usually only one of you is really that good.  I don’t want to be left behind when the duo becomes a solo.  So, I guess I have to go it alone.

I can pull out the script for me solo show and take it apart, find something usable and start practicing.  So why don’t I?  Because I’m afraid of how my husband will respond to my time being devoted to something other than us.  I’d feel selfish and he might feel threatened with me staying out late weeknights, galavanting all over the Westside.  Something I’m not sure I’m keen on doing either.  Do I want to do all that night time driving?  The nearest clubs are 30 and 45 minute drives away, which in LA means it could easily take me an hour to get to any one club.

Do I need to spend hours crafting a piece only to bomb at the next open mic, not because the stuff is bad, but because it doesn’t speak to the audience of 30 somethings.  But how will I know the difference, and do I want to change my routine so that 20 year olds can appreciate it?  I guess I really have to decide if the laugh at the end of the night will be worth all the effort expended?

Which brings me back to the age thing.  Part of me says I’m just too old to start a new life as a stand up comedian.  I know, Whistler’s mother didn’t start painting until her 80s.  If she started painting in her 80s and was really bad, we never would have heard of her.  I’m pretty sure I’m not some comedic prodigy that will be coming to HBO soon, but I suppose we’ll never know if I don’t try, will we?

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