Process: Live and On Stage

One of my primary focuses this year in my classroom is the writing process. I want my students to know and understand that writing is a process not a product. And it's driving many of them crazy. Some don't see the point. Some are just lazy. Some truly believe that they are talented enough writers that they don't need planning or editing or revisions or rewrites. It's the Dunning Kruger Effect come to life. It's vexing. But that's not why I'm writing this. I'm writing this because of what I did over the weekend.

On Saturday night, Kim and I went to see stand-up comedian Sebastian Maniscalco. He was hilarious. My face and gut hurt from laughing so much.




Something you need to know about me if you didn't already know, I love stand-up comedy. I have since I was a kid. My epic ski club novel that I've been planning for years had a character that dreams of being a stand-up comedian. I've been in love with stand-up comedy since the first time I saw Bill Cosby: Himself. I spent hours watching late night comedy specials on HBO and looked forward to the Young Comedian's Specials. I listened to albums and tapes: Eddie Murphy's "Cookout" and "Hamburger" bits were formative. Underrated classics such as Bob Nelson's "All-American Football Team"  and John Fox's hysterical "Archibald Berisol" (which I would do on the ski club bus). I love the routines of Dave Chappelle, Chris Rock, George Carlin, pre-disgraced Louis CK, Bill Engvall, etc. Their brilliant writing is clearly an inspiration. (Yes, I've dreamed of becoming a stand-up, but, well, that's for another time.) And you can add Maniscalco to that list.

But the coolest part of the show was the last bit of the night. It was hilarious and some of the biggest belly laughs of the night were during the bit, but that wasn't what made it so cool. What made it cool was that I was watching the writing process live and on stage.

You could tell that the bit wasn't complete. A terrific bit about growing up and how dating was different back then. It was sweet, just the right bit of nostalgia not to be ponderous and without a single taste of "get off my lawn" griping that is so easy to fall into when talking about nostalgia. It was still hilarious but there were some lulls in Maniscalco's manic delivery, as if he wasn't quite sure what he should be doing at that moment, and it was choppy in spots. It needed work and I think he knew it. He was trying it out to see what worked and what didn't work. Kind of like you do in the drafting process. We, the audience, were his beta readers and our reactions were his feedback. It was truly amazing to witness first hand. You always hear stories about how comedians will go to a small, hole-in-the-wall club to try out new material. That's what we were doing, but where the hole-in-the-wall denizens were getting an early draft, we got a more polished but incomplete one that still needed work. I was thrilled having watched it.

Walking back to the car with my wife (we skipped a late dinner downtown to avoid the crowds), I couldn't withhold my excitement over the last bit. She listened, because she's good at that and commented that it was still funny. I agreed, but the writer and writing teacher in my was still thrilled having gotten to witness the writing process live. What he was doing was no different than what I might do (or try to get my students to do) when revising or rewriting.

Sometimes it's finding a different word or reorganizing the words in a different sequence. Sometimes it's taking certain words out or leaving others in. Maybe it's moving entire sections from the beginning to the end or starting in a different place. It might be the need to quicken the pace here while slowing it there. It was the writing process, live and on stage.