I’ve always known that it takes more to be a successful stand-up comic than being deemed funny by your friends.

However, I’ve only recently come to understand just how much more.

Picture, if you will, a frigid night in February; it’s the kind of night where very little beyond the promise of a lifetime supply of poutine would get me out of the house.

However, I’ve decreed that this particular Thursday night is going to be my first foray into stand-up comedy, so I make an exception.

Every Thursday at the Rose ‘n’ Bee Pub (61 Sherbrook St.) is Comedy at the Rose ‘n’ Bee, an stand-up open mic hosted by local comedian Mike Green.

As I enter the pub, it’s already busy.

Bustling about are familiar faces, notebooks in hand, going to town on cheap Standard and Sailor Jerry.

A slight buzz of anticipation and anxiety hangs in the air because tonight is no ordinary night, it’s “New Shit Night,” when comics try out material they’ve never done before. It’s the perfect time for me to go up because all of us are in a similar boat: we don’t know if what we’ve written will illicit laughs or crickets.

Robin Williams was the comic who made me fall in love with stand-up.

Watching his Live on Broadway DVD is the first time I clearly remember laughing so hard that I was left with sore abs.

I was 17 when it came out and that was when I began to understand stand-up as an art form.

At that point though, doing comedy seemed like such a scary concept to me. I knew it existed in Winnipeg, but I was too terrified to even consider giving it a try.

Let’s skip ahead 10 years.

That’s when I met a brilliant comic from London, England who ignited the passionate appreciation for comedy that had been smouldering quietly in me for the better part of a decade.

It was through him that I started paying attention to present day comics like Louis CK, Garfunkel & Oates and T.J. Miller, along with legends like Bill Hicks, Lenny Bruce and Mitch Hedberg.

I felt like I’d been living under a rock and thusly became obsessed with consuming as much comedy as I could.

Also, it was through him that I was introduced to the Winnipeg comedy scene.

I started frequenting open mics and comedy nights at places like the Cavern, the King’s Head Pub, the Cheer Bar & Grill and the aforementioned Rose ‘n’ Bee.

I was hooked.

I started envisioning myself onstage making people laugh and began paying closer attention to how comics construct a set, their timing and just how important it is to be your own biggest fan.

Confidence is key because if you don’t think you’re hilarious, nobody else will.

After months of studying and writing, I made it known to my peers that I was going to take the bull by the proverbial testes (that’s the expression, right?) and get onstage.

The encouragement I received from other comics was overwhelming - established local comics and newcomers alike were excited for me and offered all kinds of support.

When I heard my name called to the stage for the first time, the next few minutes were a blur. I remember how disoriented I was by the brightness of the lights and how I stumbled over a punch line.

However, nothing stood out more than how amazing it felt to hear the audience laughing. 

Now, let me explain why I find writing material for stand-up somewhat challenging.

During the day I am a high school teacher and because my comedy is influenced by what happens in the world around me, I inevitably find humour in my classroom and in the conversations I have with students.

The nice thing about drawing inspiration from education is that everyone can relate to it in some way.

What can be difficult is remembering to maintain my professionalism.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe in censoring what a comic can say, but in my situation, self-censoring (to a degree) is a necessary evil.

I’ve had nightmares about the superintendent of the division I work for walking in on one of my bits about pornography or stalking my junior high English teacher, and firing me on the spot.

“ Confidence is key because if you don’t think you’re hilarious, nobody else will.

I recognize that the topics I’ve just mentioned aren’t particularly contentious, but my moment of hesitation in discussing them relates to the subjectivity of comedy.

What one person finds hilarious, another finds downright offensive and this is what I think makes stand-up so thrillingly risky and rewarding.

Through working with and watching local comics in the city, I find myself constantly in awe of their ability to walk that fine line between humour and the abhorrent (some do it more gracefully than others) while maintaining a unique, distinct voice. 

After I walked off stage on that first night, I was greeted by a barrage of congratulatory hugs, handshakes and drinks.

Winnipeg’s comedy community is a welcoming, supportive place, as long as you show some respect.

In a nutshell: don’t be an asshole.

Acknowledge the “your time is up” light (a lesson I learned on my first night out), don’t talk over the comic on stage, don’t take constructive criticism as a personal attack and be willing to take some ribbing, especially if you also dish it out. 

I’ve gone up again since that first night, with varying degrees of success, but each time I’ve learned something important about perseverance and about the thrill of opening yourself up to disappointment.

In a culture that fears failure, it’s a refreshing change - albeit crushing - to fall down, brush yourself off and keep going.

This city is bursting at the seams with talented people who will encourage you, support you and even tear you down a bit when you need it.

Comedy is helping me uncover my most raw, honest voice and I’m looking forward to the next time I get on stage.

Whether I hear crickets or cheers remains to be seen.

Published in Volume 67, Number 24 of The Uniter (March 21, 2013)