LITTLE REID, BIG CITY #7
By Reid Faylor
So in the past week, things have not gone great, but I will say: damn good. My last blog post spoke of depression and “getting-super-down” on things, with the promise of a turn around. Indeed, that promise has been fulfilled.
Two weeks ago, I went through a period of extreme doubt in stand-up. But after my conversations with W. Kamau Bell, a few good shows, and some experimentation in the stand-up I do, I can fully say I am back and not only reinvigorated, but feeling a new-found love for stand-up. I’ve been feeling more comfortable at every open mic, doing new material, improvising, and hell, just having more fun on stage. I’ve even started getting onto some weekly booked shows, which has given me an escape from the tedium of open mic after open mic –I now have an audience to look forward to every once in a while.
I have had some realizations though. Namely: I’m not working hard enough. I’ve always felt this; I know the level of commitment I need to have. My girlfriend, for example, is an art major at Xavier University, and every week she has to pull all-nighters, spend at least one day of the weekend working every waking hour as well as most weekdays after class, and her professors still say this isn’t enough. I love comedy as much as she loves art I feel, but my drive can hardly match this, and it should. Last week, I performed four times. Granted, two nights were spent working on a treatment for a webseries, and some of the spots were longer, but I repeat: four times. Overhearing a conversation with James Harris, a wonderful and respect-deserving comic here, he mentioned that last week he did five spots. On Monday.
Yes. There is a hell of a lot more I should be doing.
I was writing as I heard this, waiting for a show to start, and struck by the moment, I wrote down exactly what I was thinking. Swears, at the time, seemed very necessary:
“Buckle down and fucking do this. How many did you do last week? 4. How many did James Harris do on MONDAY? 5. Buck the fuck up.”
If you noticed, I use the word buck when I feel serious. Also –I unintentionally rhyme. But the rhyming helps you remember all that shame and such. My youthful boy-body needs the tough talk, to get it motivated, to get me into it. My boy-body needs the harsh words. The sailor talk. Blue language.
So I’m doing more. I have to. This week I’ve already performed at more shows, plan to double the amount, I’ve started writing the moment I wake up every morning –I’m getting excited about it again. Whatever I went through two weeks ago was rough, but I’ve come out of it more dedicated than I was before. So I guess it was good. Yes. Sure.
Next week: back to despair! “Yeah, Reid, I missed you…” Yeah, I missed you, too, you consuming fire of sadness. I missed you real good.
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