Blog #3 – The Accidental Comedian

Professionally, I’ve worked as a writer and producer for TV. Being the serious person I am and having a background in communication and TV news, I naturally wrote serious stuff. I kept my dark family secrets, (involving drugs, mental illness, child abuse and domestic violence) to myself and sought to align with the good guys—cops and reporters investigating the truth and seeking justice.

It doesn’t get any more serious than the work I did for the reality TV show, “America’s Most Wanted.” I endured the increased anxiety and insomnia for a good cause—as host John Walsh often said, in order to “get scumbags off the streets and put them behind bars where they belong.” I was inspired by his incredible strength and ability to transform his own suffering over the unimaginable, tragic murder of his son, Adam, into a triumphant cause to benefit humanity, by lobbying for changes in the law, connecting law enforcement agencies across the country to share information on fugitives and missing children and giving voice to those who couldn’t speak for themselves.

The program was the longest running show in the history of FOX and successfully helped capture more than a thousand criminals. I felt passionate about using my skills and abilities to become a victim’s advocate and suppressed my emotions and PTSD for the greater good. More recently, I mentioned my memoir, “Cracking Up! Life With My Fractured Family” to one of the former co-executive producers, Phil Lerman, and with his help and support, I am grateful that John Walsh contributed the foreword for my book.

I took extended time off from traveling work and stayed in South Florida, helping my husband, Layne, behind the scenes at our production company, Time Capsule Films and focusing most of my energy on our home-life and raising our three children.

A few years ago, when I started writing my book, I had no intention of it being humorous at all—but a strange thing happened. I was taking a writing course to help prime the pump and when I read some of my work out loud to the class, people started to laugh. The instructor, Barbara Cronie, inquired as to whether I had read a lot of David Sedaris? I hesitated for a moment. I had spent the past 20 years reading mostly self-help and spiritual books—trying to figure out how to fix myself, my relationships and provide a strong foundation and wholesome life for my children, so I had not read any Sedaris at all—in fact, I didn’t even know who he was. In an attempt to save face, I simply replied, “No. I haven’t read Sedaris. Why do you ask?” “Well,” she said, “it’s almost as if you’ve read his books and you’re trying to copy his style.” At first, I was embarrassed to admit I hadn’t read Sedaris, but now I was actually a wee bit offended. Was she insinuating plagiarism?

I returned home eager to Google this Sedaris guy and find out what the hell the instructor was talking about. I clicked on a link to his guest appearance on Late Night with David Letterman, and I kid you not, I peed in my pants! Sedaris was reading an excerpt from one of his essays in Esquire Magazine about a male accessory called, “Stadium Pal,” a discreet catheter that enables guys to take a whiz at sporting events without leaving their seats. I was laughing so hard I could have used one myself.

Naturally, I was flattered and encouraged by Barbara’s comparison of my writing style. While her praise boosted my confidence, I was hesitant about my ability to continue to produce humorous work, since it was not my intention to be funny. I tucked the compliment away in the back of my mind and I kept writing my serious book about how I survived my miserable childhood and dysfunctional family.

Soon, Barbara invited me to join an advanced critique group and become a founding member of the Delray Beach Center for The Arts Writers’ Colony, which she launched. Each week we would meet to read and critique one another’s work. I felt very safe and at home with the group. Unlike other professional settings where I had to “dress for success” and sell, at the writers’ colony I was more relaxed being my authentic self. I could show up in sweat pants with a messy bun on my head and no make-up, yet, be totally comfortable in my skin. It was a stimulating and non-judgmental environment. No one gave a shit how you looked, they only cared about what you wrote.

I was grateful that the other writers were accepting and empathetic even when they laughed. It didn’t matter if I was choked-up, teary-eyed, or, if I was crying with snot dripping out of my nose, sometimes people couldn’t help but laugh—not at me, but at the absurdity of the story, the situations, the bizarre characters and their dialogue. The more they laughed, the better I felt. I started getting feedback like, “This has to be on stage!”; “You should do a one woman show!” Another author, Barbara (Bobbie) Kotler, said, “There are only two people who make me pee myself, George Carlin and Faith.” Knowing I could make someone pee herself was the best compliment but I didn’t know how to respond because Carlin was always one of my favorite stand-ups. I was fortunate to see him in concert when I was fifteen years old—front row, center! Personally, I would never compare myself with him, but I’m glad his influence rubbed off.

My intention for sharing this is not to boast. I was dumbfounded to hear this kind of feedback about my writing. I was just trying to improve my skills and communicate my story. My ultimate goal, aside from unburdening myself of the shitload of pain I had been suppressing my whole life and to heal my heart, was to give hope to others and help empower those who were experiencing similar hardships and maybe do some public speaking as an advocate against child abuse and domestic violence.

Making people laugh was a surprise and a release—not just for them—but for me! Who would have thought that one day I’d be laughing at the same shit that had upset and aggravated me my whole life? As I became more aware and attuned, I realized that many successful comedians do the same thing—some love to rant about their suffering. If that’s the case, the silver lining—coming from my family, is that I’ll never run out of material.

A few years ago, when I sought help from a shrink, I was told to stop writing my book. I’m sure she meant to be helpful, but obviously she couldn’t relate to the fact that as artists and creative people we need to express ourselves and sometimes endure the pain until we can see the light at the end of the tunnel and free ourselves. Maya Angelou described it well when she said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

I recall having read “Anatomy of an Illness” by Norman Cousins and I’ve decided to revisit laughter as therapy. This new perspective has lifted my spirits even more than a drug or an emotional outpouring. In addition to a healthy lifestyle, maybe I could learn to use laughter to improve my mental state, gain a sense of well-being and get off the meds! (I’m not advising others to do this, but that’s what I did). I told myself, Fuck the doctors who said natural cures wouldn’t work and that I had to take prescription drugs to feel better because I had “bad genes” (due to my family’s mental health history). I was determined to use laughter to heal myself and hopefully others too.

The world has enough misery—what we need is to develop a sense of humor, laugh more, bring lightness to the darkness and make people happy, including ourselves. That’s how I discovered my voice as a humorist—my destiny was revealed. I was determined to plow forth, make a new path for myself, plant myself in fertile soil, (even if it meant literally being immersed in shit) and grow.

(More to come. . . )