I met the source of all my future riches and bragging stakes, Isma Almas, at the station in Liverpool today to have our second writing session. The previous meeting had been so productive, and basically just featured us laughing, that I was a bit worried today that, by feeling slightly tired, today would be disappointing for Isma as I would probably just sit there trying to come up with ideas whilst drawing blanks and her ticket from Bradford would prove a waste of money.
Indeed, as anyone who doesn’t have a proper job and just comes up with stupid ideas for a living will tell you, some days it works and some days it doesn’t and so the law of averages (that stupid law) will make some sessions more productive than others. And seeing as we live in different towns, over two hours apart, then there will be some wasted journeys.
Whilst some jobs, like being a pilot, are just about following a rigid set of instructions to do it well, I still don’t think there’s a profession in the world that you can do equally well each day. And when that job involves having (for want of a less showy word) ‘inspiration’ to make it work, then it’s always a bit of a lottery.
With the actual stand-up part of it, you can feel very uninspired and still do a passable job because you can stick to a well rehearsed script and just act as if these ideas are coming off the top of your head. But these gigs will never be as good as when you do feel genuinely happy and willing to play about a bit more. The writing however can never be forced and personally I don’t even think it’s worth bothering too hard if you don’t feel up to it. So today I was hoping that the rather lethargic mood I felt myself in during the morning would be replaced quickly when we sat down with paper in front of us in The Tea Factory, but at first this wasn’t the case.
I didn’t say as much to Isma because I didn’t want to throw the towel in early and confirm she’d had a wasted journey but was still convinced that I wouldn’t really be able to find any spark, and of course the harder you try and force an idea (especially a comic one) then the less chance of it happening there will be. Thankfully, after only an hour K turned up to meet us and provided all the ammunition we needed. Soon there was a notepad full of concepts, and this even shook me out of my malaise to contribute further. We got some really good stuff about Pakistan going (Isma is Pakistani). One idea about the general use of mopeds in Pakistan, and the amount of people that generally ride on one, should provide lots of avenues. The idea of a man’s wives running ten paces behind the moped, the last with a sign on her back saying ‘long vehicle’) had us giggling away. So it wasn’t an entirely wasted session.
But this could be a problem in the future because we will generally take it in turns to travel to either Bradford or Liverpool and it’s a costly and time consuming thing to do, so I think it will be more productive to come up with ideas separately when we feel we’ve got something, and then meet up to compare them. Who could have thought that such a silly job could have so many limitations and complications?
My plan now is clearly to get all the credit for Isma’s career whilst making sure there is a more competent and inspired comic writer on hand at all our meetings to come up with the bulk of the ideas. I am sure this is what the majority of comic writers do anyway, the crafty mirth-makers.
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