Finding your comedy people

I think the best comedy comes from teams of writers.

In the classic sense, this means co-writing a script with someone else, or working in a fabled writers’ room. But even when I’ve written scripts ‘on my own’, they only really became good after hours of discussions with trusted friends and note givers.1

The advantages are obvious: it’s easier to come up with ideas if you can bounce off other people; it’s easier to tell if your jokes are funny if someone else is laughing at them; it’s easier to find comfort if you’ve been staring at the same block of text for three hours and have completely lost faith in your ability to use words corfumply.

But not all collaboration is made equal, and it took me a lot of trial and error to figure out the combinations of people that seem to work well together. So if you’re currently building your own comedy scenius, here are the three things I think you need:

A couple of years ago, a friend asked if I wanted to co-write a sitcom together. This was, of course, incredibly flattering — so I said yes before they had even finished the question. External validation and a feeling of belonging? Count me in!

But it became clear very quickly that we just weren’t clicking.

I didn’t understand what they were going for, and neither of us could come up with ideas that the other seemed happy with. So eventually, I said: could you give me an example of the kind of sitcom you had in mind? So they told me about their favourite one, and I said I hadn’t seen it before, and they said oh man, I’m so excited that you get to experience it for the first time, and I said ooh, I’ll watch it this evening —

— and I don’t think I laughed once. Uh-oh.

It’s not exactly groundbreaking to point out that comedy is subjective. We’ve all had the experience of sharing (what we thought was) a hilarious video with (someone we thought was) a friend, only to end up huddling around a phone screen for three minutes of soul-crushing silence. (And I am not good with silence.)

But that’s okay! The universe is so much richer for the fact that we all have different things we love and want to make. But if you specifically want to make something with someone else, it’s probably worth checking that you have similar tastes.

And the easiest way to do this? Share what you love! For example, I’ve already written about how two of my biggest influences are The Simpsons and 30 Rock, so there’s a good chance that I’ll gel with writers who feel the same way.2

That said, you don’t want to be exactly the same person. Ideally, you’ll also have complementary strengths, as Tina Fey describes in her book Bossypants:

The writing staff of Saturday Night Live has always been a mix of hyper-intelligent Harvard Boys and gifted, visceral, fun performers. Lorne somehow knew that too many of one or the other would knock the show out of balance. 

To generalise with abandon, if you had nothing but Harvard guys, the whole show would be commercial parodies about people wearing barrels after the 1929 stock market crash. “Flendersen’s Poverty Barrels, Replacing Clothes Despite Being More Expensive since… Right Now. Formerly known as Flendersen’s Pickles and Suspenders: A Semiotic Exegesis of Jazz Age Excess and the Failings of the Sherman Antitrust Act.” If you had nothing but improvisers, the whole show would be loud drag characters named Vicki and Staci screaming their catchphrase over and over, “YOU KISS YOUR MUTHA WITH THAT FACE?” 

In other words, you need to figure out what you’re good and bad at, and — like a well-balanced Pokémon squad — find people who are the opposite.

For example, I’d say one of my strengths is structure: I know how to make scripts flow and feel like they have momentum. But I also know one of my weaknesses is character: they all sound like one-dimensional versions of me instead of real, distinct people.

But luckily, my friend Jule Jessenberger is great at characters. So when I send her my scripts for feedback, she might say something like: this is a good twist, but would this character really do this? (The answer is usually no, but I’m trying to force some joke or plot point.) And when she sends me her scripts, I might say something like: these characters are amazing, but is there a more dramatic cliffhanger for this act break?

But structure vs character isn’t the only axis; there are lots of different types of Pokémon writers. Some other dynamics I’ve found include: slickness vs silliness, gags vs emotional depth or even gags vs much better gags. I am lucky to know all these people, and my work is much richer as a result. Unfortunately, there isn’t a writer Pokédex yet — but you can share your work, give each other feedback, and see what patterns emerge.3

And once you’ve done that, there’s one last piece of the puzzle:

I’m the kind of person who loves to go with the flow, as long as that flow follows a clearly defined set of rules and principles. For example:

1. Don’t schedule things before 3pm on a writing day (which are best for focus)

2. Don’t schedule things more than two evenings in a row (I am not under 25)

3. Don’t schedule things more than two weekends in a row (I am not an animal).

I take a similar approach to my writing.

I’m incredibly fortunate to have a part-time day job, so I have dedicated writing days where the aim is to do at least three hours of ‘deep work’.

Sometimes it’s more; sometimes it’s less. Sometimes it takes two 90-minute sessions; sometimes I struggle to focus for more than half an hour. Sometimes it feels like I’ve made good progress; sometimes I feel like I should just throw all my notebooks away and invest in a system of typewriters and monkeys. But in general, I like to embrace the philosophy of showing up and trusting the process.

But that is not the only way. And there might be a better way that works for you!

For example, I have friends who prefer to write when inspiration strikes — and when it does, go into a fugue state for three days before emerging with something so raw and passionate and funny that I couldn’t even dream of writing. And that’s great!

But we’d really, really struggle to work together.

I’d send them a calendar invite a week in advance, but they might not be feeling it when we eventually get there. They’ll message to ask if I was up for a call right now, but I might be in the middle of some Designated Admin Time.4

In other words, it makes things a lot easier if you have compatible energies.

Of course, this is the most negotiable of the three (and not at all an issue if you’re only giving feedback to each other). But you still need to negotiate it, so it’s worth having a chat about your preferred working styles before diving straight into the fun stuff.

The last thing I’d suggest: if you’re working with someone new, start small. Writing a sitcom or even a short film is a huge commitment, so — like going on a date before deciding to get married — you probably want to test things out first.

I’ve found sketches are perfect for this: you can usually bash them out in a session or two, and quickly get a sense of whether or not you’re clicking. If you don’t, that’s okay! You can just move onto the next one. But if you do…

… it might be the start of something really corfumple. 🚀