In stand-up, it’s easy to get fixated on the idea of a “set”—your carefully crafted jokes, ordered perfectly, practiced repeatedly, and meant to flow seamlessly from one punchline to the next. It’s stressfull, too; you feel like you have to follow the manuscript, which is what I’ve done for years as a preacher, though not as a teacher; it’s that sense where you feel like have to get every single word right. But as comedy teacher, Greg Dean, wisely points out, it’s not always about delivering a set; it’s about creating a probable show.
What does that mean? A set is rigid, it’s like “set in stone.” But a show is fluid. A set assumes you’ll have complete control over every moment, but a show acknowledges the unpredictability of live comedy. The audience, the venue, the energy in the room—all of these factors shape what happens on stage during a set or a show. But I’m already learning that, if you’re too married to your set, you might miss the opportunity to respond to what’s happening in the moment.
This all requires flexibility, of course. A probable show means you have a plan, but you’re ready to pivot. And that’s a mental hack that’s helped me think of the gist of a joke, so to speak, rather than a word-for-word exactness. A probable show means leaning into something like crowd work when the chance arises, acknowledging the unexpected, or even scrapping your next joke if it no longer feels right for the room. I’ve done that and I’ve failed to do that.
Even so, this shift in mindset has been a game changer for me. It’s less about delivering something perfect and more about connecting with the audience. The best shows happen when the comedian is present, when the comedian is willing to let the night unfold in real time, and when the comedian stops chasing perfection and starts creating something memorable.