Writing On Stage VS Writing On Paper

What's The Best Strategy? (Comedy Mindhacks #3)

I haven’t been able to write much on this site over the last week-and-a-half due to traveling through Japan. I’m glad to be back at it. I write because, if I don’t, I kinda feel like I’ll explode. So, when I go on long stretches without writing, things feel a little off. For decades, writing has been an integral part of my life; it’s a huge part of who I am.

Some people train for a marathon. Others train for a chess tournament. Comedians? We train to tell jokes while slowly unraveling in front of strangers eating mozzarella sticks and pretending to listen. And one of the more confusing parts of this weird thing called stand-up comedy is figuring out one’s process for writing jokes. There’s actually a whole “sitting and writing” versus “writing on stage” discussion that comedians have with one another.

Even outside of comedy, I’ve always been a sit-down-and-write kind of guy. Give me a quiet space, a blank document, and just enough pressure to make it feel urgent, and I’m all in. Deadlines have a way of making me generate content. When it comes to writing jokes, part of the routine is, of course, creating setups, punches, tags, transitions, callbacks, and so on. But here’s the thing: in real life, with friends or strangers, I’m constantly making jokes on the fly. It just happens. It’s fun. It’s a big part of who I am. So I have to ask myself, “Why don’t I do more of that on stage?”

Some comedians say they write only on stage. They riff. They explore. They find the funny in real time. I recently heard a comedian say he never writes anything down. He just thinks of it on stage, says it, and keeps it if it works. Meanwhile, I’ve got backup copies of my punchlines in cloud storage and a coded tagging system like I’m submitting a thesis. But I’m not the only one. Other comics do similar things. They write everything out. Many of them stick to their script, and even say it word for word. They drill down on every beat and focus in on every syllable. They make no changes and, for them, it works. To me, that’s a bit stressful.

It does seem to me, however, that the best comics, the ones I admire most, appear to have a foot in both worlds. It’s like a baseball player who trains for power but can also lay down a bunt when needed. Or a boxer who has a game plan but knows how to adjust when someone changes stance. It’s about being flexible and sharp at the same time.

There’s something exciting about discovering a joke in the moment. When you’re up on stage and something clicks and it hits harder than you expected, that’s just amazing. That little spark, that discovery, it doesn’t only happen at the desk. I’m learning that it can also happen in the room. It’s one thing to write something clever at a coffee shop or in your recliner. It’s another to land a punchline while someone in the front row is unwrapping a peppermint and your brain is racing to stay ahead of your own mouth.

Crowd work is one version of this. It’s the most obvious example. But writing on stage can also happen while working through your material. You might find a new way to say something. You might change the rhythm. You might tag something differently. You might finally figure out the setup you’ve been looking for just by saying it out loud one more time.

When I first started, I treated every set like a script. I didn’t allow for deviation. That helped me get started, but eventually I realized I was missing out on something. For my style, it was too stitled and, again, too stressful. Once I gave myself permission to vary the delivery, to let the joke breathe a little, things changed. I felt more natural. I felt more present.

Now I think it’s time for another shift. I want to start writing more on stage. I want to lean into those moments that feel unscripted. Not just to do crowd work, but to play with my own material. To let new ideas surface in the moment. To trust that I’ll find something if I leave a little space.

I’m writing this mostly as a reminder to myself and essentially just letting you read over my shoulder as it were. I’m writing to push myself into that next phase. Because I know that some of the best stuff isn’t planned. Some of the best comedy I’ve ever witnessed is completely spontaneous, completely discovered. And if I don’t give myself a chance to find it, I never will.

So here’s to that next step. The next step to not just saying the jokes, but making space for the new ones to show up, space to even do some improvising. Here’s to remembering that even if the jokes arrive late and uninvited while I’m up in front of people, they might just be the best ones yet. I need to welcome them!

In the meantime, I’m also reminding myself that it felt good to sit down and write this.