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This past weekend I watched a comedy show predominantly made up of new and even first-time standup comedians.

I know, it sounds like the ninth circle of hell, right? But the standup was surprisingly good, and while that’s a testament to the performers, what struck me most about it was how many other factors went into creating their success.

The show was part of the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop, a biennial event in Dayton I’ve had the good fortune to be part of twice so far. The event celebrates Erma, and so it celebrates humor, of course—but it also, perhaps even more so, celebrates warmth and supportiveness and community.

What makes the magic of it is the combination of all those factors, along with what the authors, faculty, and organizers bring to the event. On the plane on the way home I realized that all the things that made the show work so well–and the Erma workshop so special–also apply to authors who want to forge successful careers:

Ingredient #1: Courage and a Calling

Over the weekend somehow I found myself hanging out with a lot of the comedians who were part of the Erma faculty, and all of them suggested I try participating in the standup show when I mentioned how much I love humor.

My entire body contracted. What I told them: I was an actor for many years, including being part of an improv comedy troupe, standing on a stage with literally no idea what was coming or what I’d do or say, yet the idea of performing stand-up terrifies me.

But of course it does—it’s a nakedly vulnerable, exposed thing to do, and we’ve all seen comics bomb or get ruthlessly heckled. So many of the people I watched rehearse or perform their acts were clearly also terrified—but they were up there doing it anyway, voices, hands, and legs shaking, but persevering.

That’s the courage you need to pursue any art that asks you to share your insides on the outside—which is any art, full stop.

But each of them also had their own reasons for wanting to do it: Some were already doing stand-up and wanted to level up; some were trying something to push their limits, or that they’d always wanted to do. And those reasons were powerful enough to get them onstage, alone, holding a mic in front of an audience of mostly strangers.

Ingredient #2: Education and Experience

The day before the show I sat in on the “comedy boot camp” workshop for the participants to practice their act and be coached by veteran stand-up comedian (and producer) Carole Montgomery.

Carole has been in this business since 1979 (I’m not outing her; she’ll be the first to tell you). She’s faced plenty of challenges and discrimination in a mercurial, highly competitive business where jobs are so hotly competed for that comedians often wind up working “for a mozzarella stick,” as she puts it, just for the chance for their work to be seen. (Sound familiar, writers?)

It’s also a business that often marginalizes or dismisses women—especially funny women of a certain age. But instead of letting any of that discourage or daunt her, Carole persevered and built a five-decade career (so far!), including multiple TV appearances on shows like Today and Oprah and on MTV, ten years as a Vegas headline act, and eleven overseas tours for the U.S. military. And she created her own opportunities for sharing her work, and that of other women-comic colleagues, in three fittingly titled Funny Women of a Certain Age specials on Showtime, and national tours by the same name.

In her boot-camp class at Erma, Carole offered straight-talking feedback about what was working in a comedian’s jokes or presentation and how they could strengthen their act: She gave detailed, constructive input on timing, on length, on where their jokes shined and where they could shine even more brightly by changing the focus or trimming the fat. She brought the benefit of her expertise and experience to their efforts, and she did it with kindness and encouragement. Their confidence and skill grew even as I watched the workshop.

Ingredient #3: Assertiveness and Confidence

For those whose nerves hampered the effectiveness of their jokes, Carole coached them on ways to deal with it. The audience wants you to be funny, she reminded her students—and it’s the same for writers: Readers want to be enchanted and transported by your story.

That fact always fortified me when I was an actor auditioning (another terrifyingly exposed process): I reminded myself as I stepped into the casting room or onto the stage that the decision makers in front of me were hoping as hard as I was that I was exactly what they were looking for. I trained myself to assume goodwill and receptiveness.

That can help you gain the confidence you need to make good art: Let your audience (readers in our case—but also agents and editors you’re pitching or submitting to) relax knowing they are in good capable hands; give them reasons to trust you and be drawn in by your work. Fake it till you make it.

And don’t undersell, undermine, or negate yourself. “How many of you think you’re funny?” Carole asked at the beginning of the workshop. Less than half of the class raised their hands—in a roomful of people who were there to perform stand-up.

Carole wasn’t having it—she asked again until every person in there raised their hand. If you don’t believe in yourself, who will? And if you don’t ask for what you want you’re not likely to get it. Don’t be a shrinking violet, or step aside or let yourself be shunted there.

That’s especially important for women. Carole pointed out what I’ve often noticed in my own classes: When given a chance to speak, volunteer, or participate, nearly every man in the room will eagerly step up, yet women often hang back, and I will end up with predominantly male voices even in a room where there are far more women than men.

But no matter who you are, be your own champion. Take yourself seriously, take up space, and take the damn spotlight—literally and metaphorically.

Ingredient #4: Support

None of us can do it alone, despite what self-declared “self-made people” may like to believe. We rely not just on the efforts of others who forged the paths we want to walk, but those who walk it with us.

Among my favorite parts of the comedy boot-camp class was watching Carole’s warmhearted, full-throated support and encouragement for every person in that room. It was seeing the comedians themselves bond together while they waited and watched one another, offering bolstering words, compliments, reassurances.

At the show the next night Carole reminded the audience of writers and others in attendance in the very large crowd—at least a hundred of us gathered to watch—how hard it was for the comedians to step onto that stage in front of them and take a chance. She asked us to be generous with our responses, and during the show the laughter was rampant, the applause ready and fervent. You could see it make the comedians feel welcome and encouraged, relaxed and more confident over the course of their two ephemerally brief allotted minutes. Our reactions made them even better.

I always say creativity responds to the carrot, never the stick. Support lifts us up and carries us along. It creates the freedom and space to try, to experiment, and to grow and gives artists the resilience and courage to keep at it. Because that’s the only way our work becomes good art—which brings us to the fifth ingredient.

Ingredient #5: Practice

This show was just a beginning for many of the comedians, and just a single step on their artistic journey for those who’d done it before.

The journey itself is long—and there is no destination. The practice of art is the practice of art—not a specific result. You’re not a writer because you have written. You’re a writer because you write. If you want to be a better writer, write more. Keep learning and honing your skill. As regular readers have undoubtedly heard me say, I’ve spent my entire career as an editor—better than three decades—and I’m still learning about my craft all the time.

Carole Montgomery has been at her career even longer—and yet in our conversations she told me how she will still keep tweaking a single word or a beat of timing in her act to make it tighter, better, funnier. There’s no peak of the mountain, just the experiences along the climb. If you don’t train and develop your skills and experience, then you’ll never make it past base camp.

Authors, I’d love to hear about what—and who—factors into your own writing career to help you along the way. What’s the spark that keeps your flame lit? Who are the people who help fan it? How do you grow and expand your skills, and find the confidence to share your work?

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