5 Writing Tips for Breaking through Procrastination

Using anxiety to write jokes, blogs, and even, write a book

Procrastinating about writing? Is your creativity block? Guess what? Professional writers are just as anxious as you are and often use shame to fuel their creativity. Read on…

Yesterday I went to a writing meetup and my friend, who was supposed to go, bailed on me. The reason she gave, “I don’t feel creative. I have no ideas. I just don’t feel like writing.”

This begs the questions: Do we wait for inspiration to write, or does writing inspire ideas?

I’ve had a career writing books and speeches/TED Talks for myself and others, yet most of the time, I haven’t actually felt like writing. I’ve often sit down to do it, not with an abundance of ideas screaming to put themselves onto the page, but fearing that I have nothing to say. Each time, I question why I accepted this assignment and become terrified, and that’s what gets me to the computer. At the basis of my writing is fear of public humiliation.  

One would think that something I’ve done my whole life would build confidence. But, what sticks with me is not the recollection of my last standing ovation from a corporate keynote or the lovely email from one of my readers. No, my writing foreplay is imagining an entire audience looking at their iPhones while I’m on stage, letting me know I’m boring. I fear I’ll write a blog no one finds interesting. You would think that this negativity would stop me from writing but, no, shame is my motivation. I have to prove to myself that I’m not as bad I think.  

Each creative process is a mess to success. The extreme anxiety I start with stirs the adrenaline that fuels a rant, joke, blog, or even, a book. When working on a project, I record snippets of ideas on my iPhone and write morsels on junk mail envelopes, thinking these vague ideas don’t deserve real paper. Looking at them confirms that I was right, filling me with frustration and anxiety, because my calendar says I have to get this mess into some kind of shape. If you want to see what happens when I’m preparing a speech, look at this video. It’s sure to make you feel better about your own process. 

Writing is hard. That doesn’t mean it’s not going to be good. There’s nothing as unfunny and un-fun as writing a speech or a comedy. Remember how on "Seinfeld," Jerry and George would brainstorm ideas for their “show about nothing” -- and everything seemed so easy and made us laugh?

In the real world, writers are often frustrated, anxious, doubtful, and frequently find themselves staying up past midnight staring at a laptop and guzzling pitchers of coffee, desperately hoping something will occur to them other than the awful first, second, and third drafts they’ve been staring at for hours.

But -- what comforts me is to realize that all of our successes start out as messes. And the people who succeed are the ones who stick with the mess, finally uncovering the material that works.

So, if you have dreams of giving a TED Talk, writing a book, doing standup, or getting paid to speak, just start. Don’t give up because you’re weighed down by the feeling that every idea has to be perfectly formed in your head BEFORE you start typing it.

In my online workshop, everyone learns that material doesn’t come out of you fully formed like a newborn colt that can just leap to its feet and gallop. New material comes out raw and unformed, and most of the time just lays there like a baby bird, until with rewrite after rewrite, you finally feed it enough that it can fly.

So don’t paralyze yourself with the need to be perfect.  Whether you’re writing your story, an act or a speech, what you start with doesn’t matter. What does is that you start. Nurture and parent the idea, and it will gradually takes on a life of its own. Your job is to show up, even if you have nothing. Remember “build it and they will come?” Trust me on this.

5 Steps to Completing a Writing Project

1. Set a time to write and put it in your calendar. Honor it as if you would if you an appointment with a doctor (not the way they do it, however). Take it seriously.
2. Set your timer to go off after 10 minutes and write until you hear it. Then increase the amount you set aside for writing. It is a mistake to have the WHOLE day to write. Be time specific.
3. Use Twitter as creative writing prompts. See what trending on Twitter and write about that.
4. Use a creative writing prompt to get started and see where it goes. Here are 365 creativewriting prompts http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/
5. Have a support team. A friend, a meetup, or join our online community at https://TheMessageOfYou.com and we’ll make sure you don’t procrastinate.

Having Election Anxiety? Therapists Report Trump Trauma

If you’re finding that your emotional well-being is being challenged by this presidential election, you are not alone. The Washington Post writes, “Psychologists and massage therapists are reporting ‘Trump anxiety’ among clients.” According to the Post, what seems to be anxiety producing is, “How can Trump be so divisive AND popular at the same time?”

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

My own case of Trump Trauma started shortly after the Republican candidate called Mexicans “rapists.” Like many, I thought, “Well, that will end his campaign.” But that didn’t happen. His rallies grew and so did my anxiety level.   

His insults continued. He mocked the disabled and people of color, and he body-shamed women. We then saw tapes of him bragging about sexually assaulting women while proclaiming, “No one is more respectful of women than me.”

And yet, Republicans didn’t get out of endorsing him while I was having a hard time getting out of bed. Seeing women wave “Women Support Trump” signs, I took to having a cocktail – maybe two -- after the evening news.

There was no 12-step program or halfway house to get over the mania. Going “Trump Free” was impossible as he was on every iPhone news feed, the subject of every Facebook conversation, and even sleep provided no escape as he appeared in my dreams to tell me I was not a 10.  Still, I heard him saying, “You’re fat, you’re old, I’m going to grab you by your pussy, and you can’t stop me!”

In that dream, Trump’s face was replaced by my father’s. Although there was little resemblance between his family and mine, in therapy, the connections surfaced. Both Trump and my father had an undue sense of privilege. In the 1950’s, men were thought of as princes. When nights became violent, my mother made sure that by morning everything looked perfect. The man leaving our home, in a coat and tie, was off to work, providing for his family and a dutiful wife who took care of the house. Those who knew the truth about what was going on in our family – my mother, some neighbors, even the police – did nothing to try to stop it. Men were given a pass.

Trump revealed by his own words that he was a sexual predator. My father didn’t have a videotape with Billy Bush, but he kept a meticulous journal of all his conquests. When I found it after he died, I saw that my mother wasn’t his only victim. If he were alive today, I can imagine my father putting a Trump spin on it, “That never happened. Believe me, she was ugly and flat chested.”

And the women – Melania, my mother, and others – lack the courage to stand up to the monsters sleeping next to them or giving them a pass by chalking it up to "Boy talk."

But, understanding the roots of my Trump Trauma and writing this blog, my anxiety has lessened. Also helping has been the polls showing that others are crossing political lines making a statement that this behavior is not acceptable.

Unfortunately, there will always be men like Trump and my father. But if anything productive comes from this election, I hope there will be more honest conversations about them, and we will unite to help women protect themselves and their children from these men.

Getting Depression to Move Out and You Move On

Part 4 in a 4 part series on Depression

View others in this series:
Part 1: "Are Comedians More Depressed?"
Part 2: "When Depression Visits and Stays"
Part 3: "Do We Have Any Control Over Depression?"

Mr. D. was firmly planted in my being, but I was determined to unseat him.

Since I started writing about depression I’ve been inundated with well-wishers giving me solutions, including: meditation, MDMA, exercise, various TED talks, and moving to join a cult. I do appreciate the intent behind all my readers, and since exercise didn’t involve packing for a trip to be in a cult, I put on my Target tights, gathered my dogs and went out for a jog, moving slowly enough so that someone on crutches could whiz past me. I kept going, waiting for a runner’s high. It never came. But, something else happened that changed everything.

I ran past a man walking his dog and my dog’s leash got tangled around his leg. He bellowed at me, “God damn it!”

The force of his anger shocked me. It was excessive. All that was going on was two leashes getting involved. I quickly untangled mine, apologizing, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” over and over again.
Glaring at me with hateful eyes, he kept yelling, “God damn you!”

I hadn’t run more than half a block before I ducked into an alley and collapsed in a puddle of tears. We all have our limits. Both the external world and my inner world were conspiring and yelling at me. But, this time, I recognized those angry eyes. I also noted the voice was familiar. It belonged to my father, drunk and screaming at 6-year-old me for spilling milk at the dinner table, “God damn it! You are worthless, worthless.” In that moment, I found out who Mr. D was.

Sobbing, I continued to sit in the alley. This was no movie star cry. It was ugly and heaving. I thought about my father, about all the angry old people, and that horrible angry man. As a child, I wasn’t allowed to cry. Now I could let it all out. I comforted myself by wrapping my arms around my torso. My dogs caught on and licked my face. Somehow I felt lighter when I got up. I was feeling again.
I continued my jog around the golf course. In the distance, I saw the angry man walking towards me. My inclination was to go another way, but an inner voice challenged that, asking, “Why change where you are going?” It was a voice I hadn’t heard in a long time. Kind. Strong. Reasonable. It was the voice I heard when doing standup comedy, the one I used to make sure that the hecklers in the audience didn’t have the final say. It was the voice that had my back, the one I could count on now to deal with the angry man.

With my head held high, I looked directly at him and said, “Have a good day.” Saying this simple positive phrase was a triumph. I didn’t let him turn me angry. I realized that his anger had nothing to do with me, and my sadness had nothing to do with him. And in that moment, the course of my personal emotional history shifted. People do and can trigger the past, but it has nothing to do with who I truly am in the present. And today, in this this expression of positivity, another angry person didn’t get to have the final word.

That night, I woke up while it was still dark, stunned to discover the voice that had been telling me I didn’t deserve to live was gone. Mr. D had left the building, replaced by the voice of quiet. I could hear and enjoy the quiet snoring of my beloved dogs. The birds welcoming the dawn. And I was pleased to again feel a sense of peace, something that had been eluding me for a long time.

It’s now my 3-month anniversary of celebrating life. My energy has returned. Mr. D has come back, but it’s temporary lodging and he no longer hangs around for long. I uploaded an app that tracks moods that helps keep Mr D at bay. I’ve stopped being ashamed of depression because I understand how much it has given me. Depression has escalated my power of empathy. It’s magnified my inner strength. It’s made me accept that life is not a series happy events, but rather it’s a series of disappointments where we learn how to transform messes to successes. Happiness is not delivered free of charge, but realized.

Regardless of which voice is in my head at any moment, I’m grateful that I am again able to feel something. Anything – sadness, anger, fatigue and joy. Mostly, I appreciate feeling love: the love coming from my friends, family, my dogs, and you, the readers who write me with your own stories.

Do We Have Any Control Over Depression?

When doing good deeds for others makes you feel even worse...

Part 3 in a 4 part series on Depression. View others in this series:

Part 1: Are Comedians More Depressed?

Part 2: When Depression Visits and Stays

Are we able to control depression? 
My readers might have noticed the huge gap between Part 2 and 3 of this series on my “winning the fight against depression.” After all, I had my happy ending totally mapped out when writing about it, which triggered a return visit from Dr. D. Maybe because I live in California, I likened it to the aftershock that inevitably happens shortly after you’ve returned all your tchotchkes to the shelf when you’re convinced an earthquake has ended. Or, as they like to say in Hollywood, I had a sequel.

I thought I was done writing about it, but when I was speaking at a Toastmaster event in Las Vegas, a woman came over and let me know how surprised she was that someone she perceived as being successful and funny dealt with the same condition she had. She thanked me and said, “Because you wrote about yours, I’m stopped being secretive about mine. And that’s helped.”




That made me think I might be on to something. Is this the new “coming out?” It might be harder to



admit to being depressed than being gay. Depression hasn’t acquired any cache. There are gay role models, stars, musicians. Gays get parades. There are no Zoloft-sponsored Depressed Pride Days.

Some of you have suggested I look into childhood trauma to see if there’s a connection. I want to let you know: I have had therapy, EMDR, primal scream, exercised and cut out sugar. I took Landmark training, Quested, did Burning Man, took drugs and stopped taking them. When all that failed, I wondered if I was too self-absorbed and considered doing charity work. Maybe Mr. D would leave me alone if I were more of a do-gooder. I pictured how my new friends would create a ripple effect of happiness in my life as they gushed with gratitude. When my energy returned, I might even be able to write a book titled, “Curing Depression by Giving.”

I rushed to volunteer to deliver meals to those who couldn’t get to 7-Eleven. I got my schedule, loaded up the car with meals that looked like the bottom of a shoe with runny baby poop on top. No matter, these poor, elderly people, living on meager funds in a tiny apartment were pleased to have company, regardless of the quality of the food. I would be the person to change their lives.

On my first delivery I double checked the address as I couldn’t possibly be delivering meals to this luxury high rise, right on the beach in Santa Monica. I buzzed the video intercom and was escorted by a security guard through marble floored hallways, past the indoor and outdoor swimming pools, the exercise room with a TV on every treadmill, to the apartment on the 14th floor. When I knocked on the door, I heard a man yell, “God damn it, who is there?”

“It’s your meal delivery,” I said, trying to keep my voice cheery.

“God damn it, just open the door!”

Opening the door, I saw the most exquisite view of the Santa Monica Bay. But that was overshadowed by a ghastly stench and a disturbing amount of clutter, so much that the door opened only part way as it was blocked by stacks of newspapers, magazines, and take-out containers. A disembodied voice from the next room screamed, “Just leave the food in the tray and leave, God damn it.”

Nervous, I put the meal on top of a magazine with Nixon on the cover, and closed the door. OK… no cookies. No WWII stories. The next place would be better. In a Venice home, a long haired, Baby Boomer in tie-dyed screamed at me for not having a plastic bag to put the meal into. As he slammed the door in my face, I was the one apologizing.

My third stop was to a woman also living in squalor, but she seemed nice. There was no yelling. I tried to start a conversation and she said she was about to watch a TV show. On the screen I saw the DirecTV logo bouncing about. “Do you want me to turn it to a program?” I offered.

“No, I like watching this,” she replied.

I returned home even more depressed. From what I saw, getting older is like pouring Miracle Grow on one’s defects. Was this a glimpse into my own future? When does saving stuff turn into hoarding?

I found the answer and it is in the final blog of this series. Stay tuned and please post your dealings with Mr. D in the comments.

Sign up for Judy’s online free comedy workshops here.

Depression: When Depression Visits and Stays

This is Part 2 in a 3 part series on Depression

Read part 1 here: Are Comedians more Depressed?

If you’re like me, you may have met someone on vacation and said, “If you are ever in my town, you must stay with me.” Then, this person shows up on your doorstep and you regret it. You’re stuck with them. At breakfast. At dinner. Hanging out in your space. You have an intruder sucking your energy, occupying your time, and making you listen to their unending disapproval.

That was how I experienced depression. Mr. D entered my life and, like an unwelcomed guest, wouldn’t leave. I lived with him in misery for three months until the day his sorry ass left. My energy returned and I’m no longer exhausting my resources dealing with an alien who’d taken over my life.

I became aware that he had left when I woke up in the middle of the night, and the voice that would tell me various ways of killing myself was silenced. I didn’t have to hear about whether hanging or jumping was a better way to go. It was quiet. The change was profound. It was as if the angriest family member had just packed up and taken off.

With depression gone, I was able to feel. Whether sad, angry or happy, I’m grateful to be feeling again. I can read in the newspaper about people being murdered and feel sad, but that’s different from depressed. I feel happy about the small stuff, even just finding my keys. I have extreme joy hearing birds sing, walking the Venice Canals with my dogs, and I don’t fall apart if I say “Hi” to someone and get no response. That doesn’t go into the column of “Reasons not to Live.” My thrust is to live and to make a difference. Mr. D had been heckling me for three months and I’m glad he’s gone.

When depressed, it was exhausting to try to appear normal. I had to outshout the voice telling me that everything I was doing was wrong. Adding to the mess was my sense that everyone I encountered knew I was depressed and was judging me. The maid I passed in a hotel hallway knew. Audience members listing to my jokes knew. The DMV clerk knew.

When I forced myself to go out with friends, like a battered woman not wanting others to see my internal bruises, I was acting. I pretended that I wasn’t suffering from Mr. D, my own abusive man. I would try to follow their jokes and laugh when it was appropriate even though it was a chore. Laughing and smiling had become strenuous, aerobic exercises. Faking joy – when I didn’t have a molecule of it - was grueling.

One of the hard aspects of being depressed is having people ask, “What happened?” I caught on that it was better not to admit it, but before that I’d make up a fake reason.

“Well, you know I got divorced… last year.” That satisfied them. But the answer could also have been, “It’s March, it’s sunny, it’s rainy.” Depression sometimes just arrives without a reason.

In addition to being exhausting, Mr. D provoked guilt. I believed I was responsible for inviting him in. And I felt shame that I was not strong enough to evict him.

One month into rooming with Mr. D, my therapist suggested sending me to a psychiatrist to put me on meds. I know they help a lot of people, but they felt wrong for me. I don’t like meds. I worried how they might affect the one gift God has given me - creativity – and I didn’t want to take any chances. So, I asked my therapist for time for me to try to get Mr. D. to leave, promising to try harder to make it happen.

Reading that exercise and music help, I jogged while listening to upbeat music. Jogging when depressed is like running as the TinMan, with lead as feet carrying a boulder on your back. I ran 5Ks, got home and waited for that so-called runner’s high with an inner voice congratulating me, “You did it!” But, no Nike ad ending. Mr. D was still in my head, saying that I hadn’t run far enough.

Next step was my idea to hang with people who were more depressed than I was. This was a different take on the assumption that hanging out with people who were fatter than I was would make me look thinner. I’m here to tell you that none of these works.

Things got worse before they got better.

Final Part of this series next week.

Some Day my Prince Will Come: Prince was my Prince

Opening for Prince was a peak moment in my standup career. He first burst into my life when I got a call from my agent to appear with this new singer-songwriter being described as a wunderkind at the world famous club, The Roxy, on Sunset Strip.

It was the late 80’s and I’d been warned by comic Ed Bluestone that a white Jewish comic (me) might not be ideal for Prince’s audience.  Challenged accepted! I needed a plan.

I got an idea.

I picked up my accordion and got to the Roxy early. Seeing people lining up for the show, I put on dark glasses and pretended to be blind, playing the song, “Lady of Spain,” over and over again for an hour. Some people were kind and threw quarters. As the line began to move, I could hear his hip fans comment, “Thank God we don’t have to listen to that crap anymore!”

When everyone was seated and psyched up to see Prince, the announcer said, “Now, opening for Prince is comedian Judy Carter.” I walked out on stage with the accordion and heard the entire audience exclaim in unison, “Oh shit!”

From that point on, it was a love fest between the audience and me. Supported by their enthusiasm, I was flying high. I didn’t want to end except that I couldn’t wait to tell Ed Bluestone that if there was actually a bridge, I’d crossed it and connected.

Later, Prince came into my dressing room and introduced himself. I was struck by how tiny is was. Onstage he’d had such a huge presence. It was obvious that he was painfully shy as he said, “Thank you for opening for me. You were really terrific.”

After performing more frequently, I learned that it was unusual for a headliner to watch the opening act, let alone speak to the underling. But Prince was unique – a kind, supportive, and generous man.
That led to me becoming the opening act for every African American act that appeared at the Roxy, including the Temptations, the Four Tops, the Manhattans and jazz singers like Clint Holmes and Esther Phillips. Those gigs were responsible for me getting a contract with Caesars Palace.

 Thank you, Prince. You will be sorely missed. Tonight I will party like it’s 1999.

Turn Your Life into a Deduction

In the interest of being more independent and, OK, saving money, this year I decided to do my taxes myself using Turbo Tax, rather than my expensive Westside LA accountants.  It triggered some past math trauma as I remembered Mr. Roche, my high school geometry teacher referring to me as the "dumb broad." This was way before Gloria Allred so there was no lawsuit, just a major amount of self-doubt and humiliation.

So, my BFF Laura is a do-it-yourself-er who takes DIY to the extreme — no task rabbit for organizing this girl’s spice rack. She handled her own divorce, details her car, and I’m for her to do her own open heart surgery on herself with a knife in one hand and watching instructions on YouTube.

So, Laura comes over and we dig into itemizing deductions, figuring out just how many rooms in my house are used for business, and can I deduct my dog expenses as providing me emotional support?

No, but cat food, I discovered, can be considered a legitimate business expense. This is based on a case where a junkyard owner brought in local stray cats in order to drive away mice and rats. The IRS accepted that the cats were essential for his business. Still, it wouldn’t work for me as I can’t even get my cat to stop throwing up fur balls, let alone participate in my business as cats aren’t great at writing jokes.

Laura and I then researched whether or not I could deduct my considerable therapy expenses. What I found out about that makes a statement about the American culture.

Did you know that therapy for treatment of sexual inadequacy is deductible, but a couple’s counseling to improve a marriage is NOT?  So, if a couple goes to therapy to improve communication – that’s not a medical necessity. But if someone isn’t getting laid, STAT Code Blue – that’s important. These rules were surely written by a dude who doesn’t value talking.

I also learned that if you want to help solve your husband’s sexual problems by going to the gym and looking hot, you can’t deduct that either unless your doctor is willing to say that your life might be in danger if you don’t start exercising and losing weight. But, it gets even more confusing. Elastic hosiery to treat blood circulation problems IS deductible, but my Spanx tights that make me look thinner and may make the difference between my getting laid or not are NOT deductible. This doesn’t make sense as the elastic hosiery could well be the reason a couple has sexual inadequacy. When was the last time a guy said, "Wow, you look so hot in those support hose?"

It seems that expenses for female items are less likely to be considered important enough for a deduction. Artificial limbs can be write-offs, but not artificial breasts, even if you are diagnosed with gender-identity disorder. You can deduct various surgeries and hormone therapy, but breasts are considered to be cosmetic and deemed nondeductible. The exception is if you need big breasts to work as a stripper, then the IRS considers them to be props and a business expense.

So, after a few cocktails, Laura and I finished our returns. Lo and behold, I’m getting a 50% larger refund than I did when I used the fancy accountants. And now that I’m onto the IRS, next year my refund will be even larger as I’m going to redesign my life.

• There will be no more restaurant meals with friends. These will be business networking meetings… with friends… at restaurants.
• Supplements I buy on Amazon are to prop me up to work, making my gummy bear multi vitamins and Vitamin D part of my business operating expenses.
• My cat will no longer be a pet, but a YouTube star, bringing in revenue. No clicks, no kibble.

 Hey, Mr. Roche – whose the dumb broad now?

Judy Decodes Exactly What it Takes to be a Toastmaster World Champion of Speaking

Judy Carter autographing The Message of You 
and The Comedy Bible for Glenda Dickonson

When Mohammed Qahtani of Dharan, Saudi Arabia, District 79, became the 2015 World Champion of Public Speaking, I was in the audience at Caesar's Palace and heard his speech, "The Power of Words." I knew within 30 seconds that he would win.

We ALL can learn from what I heard, especially Toastmaster women. What a shocker that not one of the finalists was a woman. There were no Toastmistresses. And this was Vegas!

Study these 6 Essential Speech Elements of Mohammed’s speech and let’s turn you into a winner.

(Watch highlights from Mohammed’s Speech here.)

1.    Got message and stories? Mohammed’s “The Power of Words” was very clear. Each story supported what he was trying to convey. He talked about a friend who'd killed himself because of his father’s words, so painful and distancing. It became clear that his message was something he was living. It was authentic. What is your essential message that you are living now?

2.     Get Global.  Every personal message has widespread impact. Mohammed worked “global warming” into his speech. Smart thinking! He used a personal experience to connect to larger ideas. Women can learn from this. We find it so easy to talk about our bodies, our relationships, our experiences, emotions and opinions. These are great for starting; personalizing is connective tissue. But, to be a world champion, we must take a helicopter view of our lives and see what we have to say to the larger world. Thinking of your life in terms of where you fit into current issues will expand your message and increase its influence. 

For example, I brought Kimberly onstage during my speech at the conference, (no it wasn’t planned) and asked for a difficult moment in her childhood. She mentioned an encounter with her teacher in 4^th grade. I sensed there was a bigger story. Finding out she lived in South Carolina, I asked her, “What was it like to live as an African American surrounded by Confederate Flags?” That opened up thoughts and feelings that she'd kept buried for years and led to her proclaiming a powerful message, “No one should ever be made to feel less than.”

What part of history has affected who you are and, therefore, can be your message?

3.    Have “act-outs.” Let’s face it, speeches are not dramatic. They have none of the glitz of a Vegas show. There are no costume changes, no incredible scenery, and no big cast singing and dancing. It’s one person in a suit, usually pants, not a skirt. To strengthen the entertainment value of your speech, “act-out” the people you mention. Infuse them with life and character. In Mohammed’s speech, he said something along the lines of, “Data and graphs aren’t as powerful as words. We will never change global warming by having a scientist show us data and graphics.” He then acted out a boring scientist talking about the data of global warming and the audience fell apart. This is what it means to “Be your story” rather than to “Tell your story.” Show, don't tell. Stand like the characters, move the way they do. Bring them to life. 

4.    Be Funny. A newbie at National Speaker’s Association asked a pro, “Do I have to be funny to be a speaker?”

And the answer, “No, only if you want to get paid.”

Mohammed got a laugh on his first word – “What?”

Doesn’t look funny does he, but add facial expression, attitude, and audience interaction and he got a huge laugh on the very first WORD.

But most important, he wasn’t going for the joke, but rather for his message.

As a comedy writer, I never go for the jokes when I'm doing my first draft. I start with the message – stories and ideas and find the logic. When that's in place, I punch up the material. To get laughs, start by looking for people you can “act-out.” Get a copy of The Comedy Bible to put together a standup act, or use the Comedy Formulas for Speakers in The Message of You.

5.    Gain confidence by performance time. There is only one way to do this: prepare. Practice and get comfortable with your material. As soon as Mohammed opened his mouth, I felt his confidence. I knew I was watching a pro. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned from my years as a standup comic and coaching both comics and speakers is that it’s not always about how great you are or even how perfect your material is, but what you learn every time you get on stage.As a standup, there were countless painful gigs, such as performing for drunks who heckle, working small audiences, having to perform on a revolving stage so when I got to my punch line I had a new audience. As painful as those gigs were, I was gaining the brain and muscle memory I needed to handle any type of crowd. “Oh, this is how you do a small crowd, a tired crowd, a disinterested crowd and so on.” Get up as much as you can in front of your Toastmasters group or in front of any audience. Whether you bomb or do well, you are always learning.  That has a cumulative effect and the audience will relax when they feel you're a pro.

6.    Be selfish. Get help. Focus on what YOU have to do to win. When the finalists came out and it was clear they were all men, I overheard a 30-something female Toastmaster comment to the guy sitting next to her, “No women? We need to change that. We have to work together to help women become finalists.”

And the man sitting next to her said, “With that attitude, you'll never win. You’re thinking of helping someone and every Toastmaster man is thinking, “How can I become the champion?”

He does have a point. Women tend to be caretakers, always out to support someone else. That's something we should do for ourselves too. We have to consider what's our message and work on telling it the best way possible. It requires focus and looking inward.

I’m launching The Message of You University in the near future. This is where we focus on YOU. We find your message, your stories, your humor, and help you be your very best.

Meanwhile – please share this blog with people who need it!

With love – Judy

---

The Comedy Bible  •  The Message of You Judy Carter coaching & speech writing programs available here. Contact: judy@judycarter.com  •  Follow on Twitter  judycarter.com