Mike Drucker is one half of the writing/comedian pair “The Drucker Brothers”. They’re subversive and funny. Mike has hustled to put together entertaining words purely for your amusement at online and television destinations such as The Onion, Saturday Night Live, McSweeney’s, and Twitter. We first came across Mike’s stuff when we read a short piece of his entitled A Robot Performs Standup Comedy to a Lackluster Response. Which, in our opinion, if you don’t laugh at, probably means you have a faulty TZ500 Sense-of-Humor Unit. He’s currently writing for a hush-hush video game project for Nintendo, but he found the time to talk to us about his creative process.

Junior: Can you tell us a bit about your background, and how you ended up writing comedy?

Mike Drucker: I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I did my undergraduate at New York University in English Literature and Journalism. My intention was to go into publishing and become a novelist while supporting myself off magazine articles. That wasn’t happening, so I stayed on another year after I graduated to get my Master’s in English Literature. My thesis was on parody novels in Victorian England. I was lucky enough to be in grad school when I started doing comedy, and a graduate paper on comedy was a fun way to bow out of my education.

As far as performing goes — when I was eight years old, I entered my daycare’s kiddie talent show. I read jokes from a book of dinosaur knock-knock jokes. I was booed off stage by other children. I still own the book somewhere, but those children are long dead to me.

My more modern entry into comedy was while I was still at NYU. After years of procrastination, I decided to try my hand at stand-up. I think my mindset was that I preferred to try it and suck and know I sucked than be the sort of guy who spends the rest of his life claiming he could’ve been great but never got around to it. I don’t mind failing, but I hate “what if?”.

Writing comedy followed. As part of my journalism degree, I wrote for NYU’s newspaper. The sports section. I’m not a big sports fan, but the position was open, and I wanted to see my name in print. I wrote for the hockey team, which was ill-supported to say the least. Every April Fool’s Day though the paper would do a fake issue with jokes. That’s where I really enjoyed it. I wrote an article called something like, “Record 12 Fans Come Out To Hockey Game.” The team loved it and the coach threatened to have me fired from the newspaper.

Over years, I went from a crappy comedian to a sometimes crappy comedian. Along the way, I began contributing jokes to a few television shows and websites, from which I began to get hired to write for bigger projects, and ghost write for a few celebrities. It’s hard to describe what happened in the transition from amateur to professional, because there’s no actual change. You don’t get a set of keys to the professional writers’ gym and a tote bag. You just keep doing it and eventually someone thinks you deserve money.

Jr: Now you’ve found yourself working on video game scripts. How does writing for such a non-linear, interactive medium work? Is it quite mind-blowing when you deal with all the possibilities that can play out?

M: Yes, in the sheer scope of things. I’ve just started on my project and I’m already mind-blown by the amount of text in a video game. There are so many things that happen, so many things that will be seen and won’t be seen depending on what the player does or doesn’t do. It’s exciting and terrifying at the same time.

But video games are a lot like live comedy – you create branching pathways based on how the audience reacts. They like this, you do this. They like that, you do that. The interactivity – and temporality – of both art forms make them some of the most fun and exciting to work in. They’re the few art forms that the audience really feels a part of in a visceral and real way. Please, touch this painting. Change it. Make it your own.

Thankfully, video games are also like movies in that you have a team of very talented people working together so nobody feels too lost. There is (usually) an overall vision of what the game will be, which helps rein me in and make me feel less scared.

Jr: Roger Ebert caused a stir recently when he said that video games couldn’t be art. What are your thoughts on the matter?

M: To be fair, he later went back and said he hasn’t played or enjoyed enough games to make that sort of blanket statement. He had only seen YouTube clips of video games, which is akin to seeing a photograph of a movie and saying they couldn’t tell good stories.

But even if he hadn’t reversed/apologized, would his opinion really matter? We shouldn’t need permission to enjoy the things we enjoy. Does Roger Ebert’s dislike of games make our childhood memories invalid? I hope not. Nobody should invest that much power in any other individual. Opinions are important, but defining what’s kosher to enjoy, or even worse, influence is weird to me.

I honestly think anything created is art. I’m liberal that way. Even if nobody cares, your expression is your art. Doodles in a notebook are art. Park benches are art. Are they good or interesting art? That depends on who you ask.

The key isn’t whether or not what you create is art – it’s whether or not people a) enjoy it, b) take something new away from the experience, and c) some cool third thing.

Jr: Ha! Can you describe your creative process? Is there any structure to it? Are there any Drucker™ tricks that you’ve found help the ideas flow? Or is it just a matter of sitting down and forcing your brain to go through the process of trial and error?

M: It honestly depends on the assignment. When writing for a television show, there’s usually a topic. “We need jokes on Obama’s XYZ.” So I approach that writing like a research paper – I pull up news stories, opinion columns, Wikipedia pages, and research my way into jokes. It takes a long time, and most of the jokes aren’t too pretty, but it works. Research helps me. I was a staff writer at the ESPN sports awards (ESPYs). I’m not a sports person. But research helped me make it work.

Of course, there’s a creative element to it. Just like a research paper, the information provided only takes you so far. The conclusions you draw from it are what’s important. I’m not saying I have a math formula I pour into comedy. I just try to know as much as I can before writing jokes.

When it comes to more freeform ideas such as The Onion articles or stand-up, I just try to draw from everyday experiences. There is a lot of staring at a screen waiting for ideas to come. A lot of trial and error. But it works. You just keep writing and eventually something funny will come out. Maybe you won’t have the time to write a masterpiece of stand-up, a masterpiece of fiction, and a masterpiece of cinema. But eventually you will write something funny.

Jr: What advice would you give to young people who want to write comedy?

M: Write what you think is funny, not what other people think is funny. Eventually, you’ll find a way to bring the two together. But if you start off doing jokes that you think you’re supposed to do instead of the jokes you want to do, you’ll hate comedy very, very quickly.

Think about what makes you laugh. Keep a notebook of jokes, articles, and stories that you like. NEVER copy them. But look at them and try to figure out what about them interests you and makes you smile. Take note of your interests outside of comedy. What is there you can write about or talk about?

If you can talk endlessly about music, you will be able to write about music. If you know everything about Austrian history from 1750 – 1975, you should be able to find something weird about it that people can relate to.

It can be an uphill battle to write about what you like – as opposed to the vanilla “sex is weird” / “race is weird” duo - but you’ll find it much more fulfilling.

Jr: How does writing for publication differ from writing for performing, if at all? Do you find the two play off each other, strengthening your skills in each process?

M: The two definitely play off each other. And when one idea doesn’t work in one form, it often works in another.

The biggest benefit to performing is seeing people react right in front of you. On the other hand, publications allow you to be super specific. You generally know who’s reading. Audiences are more generic but also more personal.

Jr: What’s your ratio of good stuff to bad stuff? Stuff that’s sold/published vs. rejected?

M: There’s a lot of bad stuff. A lot. More than you think. Nine out of ten ideas that are written never even get submitted or make it to the stage. Then out of that 10 percent, I’d say only a quarter of the resulting material is any good.

There’s a lot of rejection, a lot of failed jokes. At first you’re mortified and feel embarrassed. After a while, you get used to it. Rejection is never fun, but the more you mature as a writer; the more you mature as a person. Worst-case scenario, they outright reject the piece. Best-case scenario, they give you feedback and you grow as a writer or performer.

Robot Comedian was actually rejected by McSweeney’s with notes on the ending. The ending was a little more dramatic, a little more boisterous, but didn’t mesh with the rest of the piece. I changed things around, spiffed it up, and I believe that it became a much funnier piece because of those notes.

Jr: It seems a comedy writer’s strength is often in seeing through the bullshit, cutting through the facade and seeing the messy underside of things (pop culture, etc). Does this mean one has to have a cynical approach to life?

M: It depends on what you mean by “cynical.”

If by “cynical” you mean angry and hateful, no.

But if by “cynical” you mean analytical, yes. A careful approach to viewing the world is vital to comedy writing.

Unfortunately, comedy writers often confuse the two. A lot of people think hating something is the same as taking a critical view of it. “I hate my children. I hate my wife. I hate, I hate, I hate.” It gets tiring. To be honest, there are very successful comedians who do it. I even do it sometimes, I guess. I wish I didn’t, but I know I’ve fallen into it. It’s okay to have problems with the world – the world is full of problems – but nobody is helped by a wall of fury.

I’m much more interested in comedians and writers who talk about things they love. Eddie Izzard is amazing at this. Simon Rich is the best comedy writer in the world for this reason. Their comedy is so innocent; it comes from a place of joy. Even in the darkest moment, it feels like they’re sharing something special with you rather than having a shouting match.

If you’re going to hate something on stage or in a written piece, at least have a good reason why. This is my scholarly background talking, but if you have no supporting evidence, you have no point. If you want to go on stage and tell me something like women are stupid or immigrants need to leave, you better have five solid supporting paragraphs. And most comedy writers and performers don’t. They appeal to emotions and get applause for saying something easy or dirty. That’s not interesting for me.

A good comedy strategy I try to use when writing is to think of things I dislike and view them from the opposite perspective. I may still not like what I’m writing about, but it gives me a perspective that’s deeper than vitriol.

Jr: So tell us.. what’s the funniest thing ever?

M: So many things.

1. Simon Rich is the funniest writer alive today. His books are unbelievable. Just read this short piece.

2. Portal is the funniest video game of all time. Even if you don’t like games, it’s an amazing look into the power of interactive writing and the participation of a player in a comedic scenario.

3. The Onion was funny before I wrote for it and will be funny long after I’m dead. “Daddy Put In The Bye-Bye Box” is one of the saddest, funniest pieces of writing put to Internet.

3.5 Side note, the funniest Onion headline of all time is “Man Who Likes To Move It, Move It Still Searching For Perfect Song”

4. I don’t know why, but this Old Man Murray article on America after 9/11 has always struck me as particularly funny, even years later after people stopped reading the site.

5. And finally, anything that reduces the epic to normal. McSweeney’s articles like this. The funniest thing in my head is taking the grandiose and making it small and petty.

Interview by: Pete Majarich

Matt Eastwood told us last week how as a fledgling copywriter his mentor got him to read all of the good stuff to become a better, and knowledgeable writer. The famous, the historic, the informative.. and also the dictionary. One of those authors that should be top of your reading list is Kurt Vonnegut — a staple of American literature. He’s as crazy as a coconut in his fiction, witty in the speech he gives below, but more than anything is a pretty onto it, and influential character of the written world. Watch ‘em, then get out and buy his books! Your writing will love you for it.

Alright, alright. We know what you’re thinking, “Another ad-guy? When you kids gonna get over this ad-schmer-tising thing, huh?” Well you’re right. Evan Fry is an ad-guy. But he ain’t just any ad-guy–he’s a true-blue award-winning ex-Creative Director of Crispin Porter & Bogusky style ad-guy, and he has some good shit to say, so chill out, bro. That sort of heritage makes him better than most ad-guys, who on the whole are a dime-a-dozen, and definitely don’t look this good with a head wrapped in ostrich feathers. He just left CP+B to start up the world’s first ad agency utilising the power of crowd-sourcing, named Victors & Spoils. That’s pretty cool-magool if you ask us. You know what else makes Evan cooler than most? He’s an old-school copywriter. Which tends to be rare these days. So if you’re one of the few who want to take up the lost art of copywriting, listen to what Evan has to say. You can actually use his advice–which is darn considerate of him, seeing as most of these so-called ‘ad-guys’ have a lot to say about nothing. In summation: Evan Fry ain’t just your average ad-guy, he’s a super-talented old-school copywriting mega-machine, and wants you to Be Fucking Awesome.

Junior: We heard somewhere that you’ve got a crazy story about getting a job at Crispin Porter + Bogusky. Apparently it’s a ‘doozy’. May as well tell us the whole thing!

Evan Fry: Sure. But it’s a long one. It basically began with me having been fired from the job I had and sending my book to Crispin. At that point, this was the spring of 2002, I had been a writer/ACD for 8 years already, and I wanted to work for CP+B more than anywhere else–so I sent my book. About a month after I sent it in they returned it to me with a form letter, “signed” by Alex Bogusky himself. It was encouraging, but standard. Very professional of them to be that on top of their shit, I thought. And then I forgot about it. About two months later, after becoming a bit bored of not getting much play from the shops I truly wanted to work for, I had an idea: what if I acted as though that letter really was a sincere letter from Alex to me, and started sending him weird notes from the stance of ‘jilted-lover-gone-psycho-at-not-getting-any-more-letters-from-Alex’?

So I got some really precious stationery like a grandma might use, a super nice calligraphy pen, and went to it. My thought was keep them short, keep them anonymous, and keep them weird. And not think for a minute that Alex himself would ever even get them. I think the first one said, in really weird cursive, “It’s been two months since you last wrote me, Alex. Don’t you love me anymore, Alex?” Nothing else. A few days later I sent another one. And then another, after a few more days. For the fourth one, I reduced a photocopy of the original form letter he’d sent me, but used black permanent marker and inked out my name on it. I accompanied it with a psycho note on the psycho stationery that this time said, “Perhaps by now, Alex, you’re wondering who the hell I am? Well maybe I’m a lot like you, Alex.”

Four days later as I was thinking about how to take it up a notch, I got a FedEx delivery. It was from Miami. When I opened it, it was clear something was weird. There was another envelope inside. And then inside that envelope was a Ziploc bag. It had the vibe of an evidence bag like in lawyer movies. I opened the Ziploc and there was a Photostat-camera blowup of the part of the form letter I’d sent where I’d inked out my name. But by blowing it up 10 times, its size had revealed the name under the ink. ‘Evan’, just huge. Stapled to it was a copy of my letter, and in red ink someone had circled “… who the hell I am.” And that was it. It was all just one big fucking “touché, motherfucker. We got you.”

I was psyched beyond belief. Because all of a sudden I had concrete proof that not only had my letters been getting to him, but they’d been actually getting to him, you know? And he took some time and effort to play the game. So I immediately loved Alex. And the day after I got the envelope, Veronica Padilla, his assistant at the time, called for my book again. I thought I had a job in the bag, or at least a flight out. But it didn’t work like that. I didn’t hear anything for weeks.

By then I’d started a whole other self promotion idea where I was mailing a weekly photo of myself to the top 30 or 40 creative directors around the world who I wanted to work with. Each one was literally just a 4×6 photo – showing how much time I had on my hands. Like, in one I was having a tea party with stuffed animals. In another I was drinking tallboys with bums on the street. On the back of each, every week, I wrote in pen something that went with it, like, “God I need some work,” and I’d include my phone number.

So I had these going on, and was also sending them to Alex. But I still didn’t hear from him. However the photos were working, and I was getting a lot of great freelance so I didn’t care as much, although CP+B was still where I really wanted to be.

About six weeks later Alex himself finally called and said, “I’ve been meaning to call you, why don’t you fly out.” I did, and had a great interview. Thought I had it in the bag for sure, and… didn’t. He didn’t have a slot for me. So I kept the weekly photos going, kept freelancing, and then four months later I was freelancing at Mad Dogs & Englishmen in San Francisco and got a message on my answering machine. “Hey Evan, it’s Alex, call Veronica back and tell her the code word is pineapple.” I called her back and she said Alex wanted to offer me a job. It was literally one of the best days of my life. P-e-r-s-e-v-e-r-a-n-c-e.

Jr: Wow. Ok. That definitely is a doozy. It’s nice to see someone with experience and good work struggle like the best of us. In fact, your website mentions that at twenty-six you “weren’t exactly setting the advertising world on fire”. How did you push through that? Did you ever want to give it up and go mountain biking for good?

E: Oh man, you got that right. Actually, a few times. I got out of school from the University of Oregon and unlike my partner in school, Glenn Cole, I didn’t take a good job out of school. My book was shit and I spent a year working on it but the only job I could land was at the ‘third biggest place in Portland’ – which basically means nowhere you’ve ever heard of. And even though I only stayed there a year, it seemed my destiny was sort of set. I couldn’t get play in the Weidens or the Goodbys of the day, so I was just floating around at the mediocre places, like 95% of us.

I moved to San Francisco in 1996 and experienced more of the same. But I moved to be in a bigger market with more chances. I kept at it, kept trying, and just didn’t give up. I guess that’s why I ended that last question by saying perseverance. That’s really the only answer when you feel like you’ve got what it takes, when you know that in your heart. If you know you’re good and you know you’re smart but can’t seem to get a break, you’ve got to prove how smart you are and make your own break. I’m 100% convinced of that.

Jr: You’ve written your entire career. But a lot of young people aren’t taught hardcore writing anymore. From our experience, advertising education tends to be more ideas-focused. What advice would you give to young writers?

E: I think this is true. I went to a School of Journalism program, and was lucky enough to be a decent writer just inherently, I dare say. And then in school at University of Oregon, I was also lucky to have two great ad professors who were classically trained. So the mix was pure writing and grammar, mixed with classic concepting classes, and barebones, fucking copywriting courses. It didn’t hurt to have Dan Weiden himself teaching a couple of intensive seminars. But today, you’re right–ad programs stress concepts first, at best. Copywriters today, I swear to God, most of them shouldn’t call themselves “writers” at all. But it’s not really the game now, nor is it anyone’s fault really.

The advice I would give is to read a lot. And to pick up the book Grammar for Journalists and study it like there’s going to be a quiz on it every day. I’d also say to use self-discipline. And read The Book of Gossage. Teach yourself. If you’re a copywriter who can actually write, you’re set for life. Love the headline, love long copy, do it all the time, get better at it, write hundreds of options for each headline idea. Treat it like a craft. That’s what it is. I still love to write ads.

Jr: Do you get the urge/time to do any writing or other creative stuff outside of advertising?

E: Nope. I really don’t, not writing. I get the urge to do other things besides advertising though. And I do those things. It’s why I started sharklove.com and also befuckingawesome.com. Be Fucking Awesome, especially, is just a labour of love. I kept having this idea where I would write a book that would be a sort of “guide for living.” I had this idea for a title and it was “How to Be Fucking Awesome.” This was while I was really cranking at CP+B, on the road producing all the time. So I didn’t really have the energy to do it, but I bought the URL befuckingawesome.com and felt good enough about doing that. Then I just sat on it for a couple years.

Finally I had John Parker, my partner at the time and now a CD at W+K New York, do up a branding identity for BFA. He rocked it. And it sat there again. Then I had the idea to tweak it into a social network of sorts where you could post your Fucking Awesome deeds, let the world vote on each one, and those votes would contribute to your Awesome Quotient. So then I fucking had to do it. And that’s what I did. I found another amazing designer to help with the design, a fantastically talented developer, and sunk a lot of my own money into paying him to develop it. It’s been live now since the end of September. It isn’t really taking off the way I’d hoped, but I am learning a whole lot from it and know what to try to make it take off more. It’s really satisfying, in some ways. But mostly, it’s just a massive learning experience.

Jr: So, now that you’ve left CP+B to start your own agency, what can the world expect from Victors and Spoils?

E: Good question. I think the world can expect to see a viable new way of coming up with ideas for the advertising industry. A way where the clients feel like they get the service and attention that traditional agencies give, but ideas and work that is devised from a much broader base of amateurs and/or the users of their products and services–then directed and shaped to be on brand and on brief. So it’ll feel like an ad agency to the client, but engage the world to help solve their business problems. What we’re trying to do is show that there is a new way of doing things. A way that works and can let more people into the process. We’re all savvy critics of ads and marketing communications nowadays – because we’re exposed to it from birth. There are a lot of people out there who could be really good at it, and we want to give them a way of working on things just like those of us who went to school to become experts. There’s a shitload more to it than that, obviously. But the world can expect some really interesting briefs to work on for some really interesting clients. At least.

Jr: The business model you guys described on launch, was anything but ‘more of the same’, but there’s going to be the inevitable detraction from folks not into the whole model. Are crowd-sourcing naysayers the new ‘30-seconds-of-TV-is-the-only-media-we-need’ dinosaurs?

E: I don’t know; that’s a good question. There are naysayers out there. Basically what the internet gives people is a voice, and they love to use it to say how dumb everything is that isn’t their own idea. I learned pretty fast after we launched that I just had to turn it off, it was exhausting trying to answer or consider everyone’s points. Which we still care a lot about, but so many people were just being so aggressively mean and negative, so full of hate, that we realized very fast that no answer would satisfy the vocal minority. It’s one of the most loaded issues out there right now and because we consciously launched with as much hoopla as we could create, we became the brightest bull’s-eye. It’s cool though; we intend to just continue doing our thing and trying to get some good clients and craft briefs that let people play with brands if they want to. If they don’t want to, that’s cool too.

Jr: How does a junior (or anyone for that matter) get a shot at working for a hot shop like CP+B or Victors & Spoils? Can you give us five awesome tips?

E: What if I give you one tip and explain the shit out of it?

Jr: Evan, you do what you feel…

E: Good.

1. Get really good at the craft of being a creative.

- Write down everything. Take notes as you learn. Take notes as you concept.

- Doodle as you think. Keep the pen moving.

- Do lots of options for everything. Only through looking at it can you know if something is better or worse than what you already have. Look at it.

- Take it seriously; don’t expect it to come easy. Focus on the brief. Do “concepting intervals” where you focus and write every idea down. Then have a break. Then get back to it.

- Sketch everything. Go analog. Don’t fucking concept on your fucking laptop. Pad of paper. Pen or pencil. You alone, or you and your partner. Find somewhere to get in sync and focus and riff. When writing headlines, that’s when I think writing on your computer is good. But try using all caps, or two spaces between each headline. Treat it like art, and have some pride for how the words look. Do a bunch. Edit them a little. Do a bunch more. Edit a little. Repeat. If you’re building your book, keep the presentation simple. But don’t ignore the presentation.

Jr: Is there life after advertising? Should advertising be a means to an end?

E: For me, I think there has to be. For anyone, for sure there can be. Depends on how much a boner it gives you, I guess.

Interview by: Pete Majarich

Mike Sacks is a comedy writer who has done a good thing. After spending years writing words (both funny and serious) for Vanity Fair, Esquire, The New Yorker, McSweeney’s, and Vice, among others, he interviewed twenty-six comedy writing greats and packaged the result into a book–a terrific book of incredible genius, may we add. And Here’s the Kicker is full of only the best advice interviews can give. Those interviewed include Al Jaffee from Mad Magazine, Todd Hanson from The Onion, George Meyer from The Simpsons, and many others, who, if you would like, are available for you to peruse here. We at Junior thought it might be interesting to see if any of this advice had rubbed off on Mike, which it clearly had, and the resulting interview quickly became a favourite in our office. We don’t even need to mention that the advice is pertinent for any creative industry. Except architecture. There’s nothing here for you*.

Jr: And Here’s the Kicker was such a great read! Every interview we read became a new favourite. Many of the guys you interviewed must have been your idols growing up. What was the interview process like? Fun? A party? Time consuming?

Mike: Yeah, it was fun, but it was also a lot of work. The finished product might have sounded like a casual conversation between two friends, but a tremendous amount of preparation went into each interview – up to 25 hours per conversation. There was also some pressure from my standpoint to make the interviews really work, because I knew that I often wouldn’t have a second chance with a lot of these writers.

With that said, the whole experience was great, but I’d never want to do it again. It took two years. It’s time to concentrate on something else: my next book will be a humor book. It’s a parody of a sex manual called Our Bodies, Our Junk.

Jr: Ha! Sounds hilarious already. One of our favourite quotes from your current book was from John Hodgman (Editors note: The PC!), who said that comedy writers shouldn’t worry about being funny. They should just concentrate on being the best writer they can be. And that the comedy will come from the truth. Do you have any similar bits of advice that have helped you in your career?

M: I think that’s a great piece of advice, too. When you look at the writers in the book, all of them can write in any genre, not just humor. David Sedaris is a brilliant writer of anything, not just humor. You have to learn the chops of how to write before you even attempt to be funny.

As far as my own advice, I would say the following:

Network and surround yourself with as many talented people as possible. Don’t look at it as being a competition. It’s hard enough to make it alone, and it’ll only help to go through the process with others. More opportunities will open for you.

Write every day. Or try to.

I would be wary of classes. They’re usually taught by academics or by writers who haven’t been too successful themselves. I think you’re going to have to teach yourself in the end, anyway.

Read as much as possible, both the good and the bad. Sometimes it’s more important to know what not to write.

Don’t limit yourself to reading humour. Read non-fiction, on all sorts of topics.

Experience as much as possible.

If you do receive advice from someone, don’t be upset. Then again, it could be bad advice. Show your work to someone whose comedic sensibility you trust.

Jr: Gosh Mike! Such good succinct advice. You’ve almost answered all our questions in one hit! But we’ll keep going, because, well, we can. So what’s the best training in your view for a writer? Is it on the job? Trying to get your scripts up at an ad agency? Pitching to a magazine? Starting your own publication/site?

M: I think it depends on what type of writing you want to do. But no matter the medium, it’s very important to just do it. Write as much as possible, write what you want to write (and not what you think will interest those in Hollywood), and just keep on improving. You have to assume that no one’s going to really help you succeed. It’s up to you: not only to write, but to promote yourself and your work.

Jr: Creative types often seem to have a lot of talents. In our experience they sit on the generalist side of things more often than say, the guy who always knew he wanted to be an accountant. Do you ever get the urge to try your hand at anything else other than funny words on paper? Your IKEA gag in Esquire for instance, isn’t so much a gag about the written word. A comic maybe? A hint at a directing career perhaps?

M: I wish I could draw and I wish I could direct, but I’m happy just trying to improve myself as a writer. But I do like to think of different type of ideas, such as the IKEA piece. In such a case, I try to work with really talented people who can pull off the visual look of a piece. I think that’s really important: work with the best people you can find. They’ll make you look really good in return.

Jr: What are your thoughts on the web as a creative medium? Web comics for instance seem to be full of some burgeoning, surrealist talent, like The Perry Bible Fellowship. Do you think the web will produce new ways of making people laugh beyond putting clips on laptops?

M: Oh, definitely. And I think it’s fantastic that anyone now can produce something creative without leaving their bedroom. In years past, one had to have access to an expensive camera or computer program or recording equipment, etc. Now, if you’re talented, you can easily find the way to create (and also distribute) your work. Which should give you less of an excuse to not work really hard. Anyone can do it now! Not just the sons and daughters of the Hollywood rich.

Jr: A common theme amongst creative types seems to be how hard-working they are. But then we also hear things like, ‘if you don’t have fun writing it, no one will have fun reading it’. How do you resolve the two in your mind?

M: Good question. I can only say that sometimes the process is rewarding, whereas not every moment is really that fun. I don’t think that a writer has to be screaming with laughter in order to produce a work that will be thought of as funny. In fact, it’s just the opposite. It’s similar to producing a piece of jewelery or creating a wood table in your woodworking shop. You know what you have to do and then you do it.

I think what most writers are talking about are the instances of it being tortuous. The reader will usually notice because the piece might be clunky or a little stiff. Some of the best writing usually happens very easily, but that’s not to say that it’s going to be easy every time. Everyone has a difficult time at one point or another, even those who have been in it for sixty years, such as Larry Gelbart or Irv Brecher.

Jr: Larry and Irv are kings! Everyone should take advice from them. But the modern day game has changed! Things seem to be in a flux. We’re in a world where content creation is becoming more and more of a hazardous way to make money. Much of the print media like The New York Times and so many other newspapers and magazines are struggling. For folks whose livelihood depends on a vehicle, say a magazine column to flourish, what is the way forward? Do you think good writing will find new ways to thrive in the cracks or do you envision a world where cheaper and easier content like reality TV is all we have left?

M: I think there’s always going to be a need for quality work. The problem might exist more for the reader. There are just so many options now (millions of internet blogs and sites, hundred of cable channels, etc.) Where will one go? A reader might hit 30 places each day, as opposed to just one or two. I do think that the major newspapers and magazines are in trouble… Unless they drastically change their ways. I never understood why newspapers and magazines gave away content for free. It doesn’t make sense to me. If they want to retain quality writers, they’re going to have to charge for their services. And I don’t think readers will have much of a problem paying a nominal fee for a yearly on-line subscription to The NY Times or The New Yorker or any other great publication.

Jr: How much does geography matter when trying to make it as a writer?

M: I think networking is very important. If you want to write TV for Hollywood, it’s vital to know a lot of Hollywood people. If you want to write late-night TV in New York, you should be in New York. Once you’re established, I think it matters less, especially if you write books and articles and so forth. But if you’re just starting out, I would definitely recommend surrounding yourself with like-minded people. It can only help your career in the future. And it’s more healthy to go through the process and struggle together. Not to mention more fun.

Jr: So many comedy writers are from Ivy League schools. Especially out of Harvard Lampoon fame. Why? Is it all about the connections?

M: I think a lot of Ivy Leaguers are obviously very intelligent, but I do think a lot of it has to do with connections. There almost seems to be a gateway from Harvard to Hollywood. I think it’s more difficult if you happen to come from a non-Ivy school, such as myself. I knew no one who was a writer, and actually, I didn’t know anyone who knew anyone who was a writer. The more connections you have, the easier it’s going to be. But it can be done if you work really hard and have some semblance of talent.

Jr: If you had a son or daughter who wanted to get into writing, what would you say to them?

M: Well, I have a daughter, and I’d love for her to get into writing, but not necessarily as a career. With that said, all careers are difficult in their own ways. And writing is a hell of a lot more fun than most jobs I’ve had, or could have had. I think it’s important to just know what you’re in for, though. Which is why I’m going to force my daughter to read my book, after she pays full purchase price, of course.

Jr: What’s the funniest thing in the world?

M: Anyone or anything who isn’t aware of their funniness, such as a dog, a monkey or a drunk person. The more aware you are of your cleverness or potential to amuse, the less clever and amusing you’re going to be.

Jr: What are you waiting for young comedy writers? Buy the book!

Interview by: Pete Majarich

*Ha! Joke’s on you architects! It IS relevent. Read and weep.

Most interviews we read in magazines are shit. It’s what inspires us to do what we do. That and other magazines that do brilliant interviews. Magazines like SneakerFreaker – Melbourne’s very own incredibly good and culturally important international publishing success. Founded, edited and owned by the original sneaker freaker himself, Woody has built SF into a global behemoth. He’s also seen his fair share of young upstarts float through his office, lived and worked overseas, moved from career to career, started a family, and even has SF translated into Spanish. Which means he has some fascinating shit to say and some incredibly crucial advice to give. As usual, over many a beer, we sat and talked for hours. Ergo, this fucker is long. But that’s cool, cause the ones who need to read it most have a lot of time on their hands. So grab a tea, put on your headphones and use this as a guide to figuring out what the hell you’re gonna do for the next twenty years.

Junior: Hey Woody. What’s your coming of age story? When were you at uni?

Woody: I spent five good years doing the Media course at RMIT in Melbourne. I was involved in a bunch of stuff and ended up becoming the co-editor of the student newspaper, Catalyst, which was literally a catalyst for me in terms of how my life panned out. I was introduced to a whole bunch of people who’d been the editors before and I ended up living with them for years, and for some reason they took me under their wing, which was weird because I was a wildman from the suburbs. Fitzroy was a very creative place then. We started a magazine from our house called Radar and had these awesome parties in the bank vault where we lived on Smith St. They were good times. I hate getting nostalgic when we’re only one question in…

Jr: Ha, man, you can do whatever you want one question in – it’s your interview. So tell me more about Catalyst; the student newspaper.

W: Oh yeah. So because we won an election to edit the newspaper, all of a sudden we had to learn how to make it; you know, write, design and create the whole thing. We were the first editors to get a Macintosh computer too. It was totally primitive before that point. We started the year with a bromide camera which we used to put screens on images for manual paste-up, as well as creating multiple tones for hand-made colour work which we did with scalpels. My memories involve a lot of sliced fingers and layouts lost in the wax machine. When we saw a scanner for the first time, we were really, really impressed. Actually my entire design career started when my friend Bert showed me how to move things around on the Mac screen. It’s hard to imagine how boring life was before the machines existed. No one I knew was a graphic designer. It was a trade, like being a plumber. People spent years learning how to do things in a really mechanical sort of way. When the computer came along, all of a sudden, you could have fun with a machine and make stuff. Straight away I really got into design which was totally unexpected. I never thought about a career in design at high school, where art classes were seen merely as a bludge. Random things can spin your life off in a whole new direction, it’s the kind of thing your mum tells you but you never believe her.

Jr: Damn straight. As long as you open yourself up to happy accidents you’ll be fine for sure. So we know you moved to London for a while after uni. What brought on the London thing?

W: I’d encourage everyone to head for the hills immediately after school finishes, because you’ll never get a better time to do it. But the real reason I left was because I almost got involved in some trouble with the fuzz after doing the O-book where we wrote the usual student articles about shoplifting and taking drugs and shoplifting while on drugs and not paying for tram tickets. All the cliches.

Jr: Ha! Wow. Really? That was you?

W: Oh yeah, it was par for the course in those days. It was a tradition to stir the pot so we just rewrote the same articles over and over every year. I think a year or two after my indiscretions they nailed the editors of Rabelais (another student newspaper) for the exact same type of content and it seriously fucked them for years – so going to London was a great move.

Jr: Sounds like it was. So what was the plan?

W: I thought I could parlay my limited experience into something design related, but all I really knew was that I didn’t want to work in a pub like every other aussie dingbat. I’m pleased to say I did one day as a street cleaner and that was enough motivation for me. I got so, so close to a design job at NME, which would have been awesome. I also made the final two for Penthouse as well. That would have been interesting for sure.

Jr: So were you into ‘The Face’ and all those types of magazines coming out of the UK at the time?

W: I was obsessed. I never felt iD so much but I loved Raygun and The Face. From a design point of view, Neville Brody’s work was great but it was the mix of content that hooked me. The Face made London seem underground and wicked cool and it had fashion and art and politics and serious stuff as well as loads of club news and even it has to be said, quite a few sneakers. It was probably the most effective marketing tool any city has ever had but you go there and you find that it’s a grey depressive shithole. But that’s only one visual side of London, the other is that it has the most vigorous youth culture – certainly it’s the top city for music in my opinion. I really regret not keeping my collection of The Face, I had years and years of them but they were too heavy to lug from house to house.

Jr: Ha, awesome. What year did you go?

W: 1993 or something.

Jr: OK, here’s a good question: For a lot of fresh faced uni kids that go overseas, the ‘big break’ rarely comes. They haven’t got any contacts, they haven’t done any work yet, so they’re not even that good.

W: Well the thing is they’re pretty much unemployable. Sorry to break it to you kids but it’s the truth, no matter how cocky you are. I think bullshitting is perfectly acceptable in order to get a break, just be sure you can do what you say you can do. I was fortunate enough to get picked up by a freelance agency. I also went to the UK at a time when no one really had the skills that I thought I had, so it was a bit easier in hindsight. My big break was to learn on the job at someone’s expense even if I taught myself.

Jr: What were the skills?

W: Well, I mean, desktop design as it used to be called. At that time it was Quark Express, a very early version of Photoshop and Illustrator – so the programs are still the same, but at that time no one knew how to use them. You couldn’t learn it anywhere. It wasn’t in the tertiary system. So I turned up to London expecting them to be high tech and super advanced but then realised I was one of maybe a few hundred people in the city at the time who knew anything at all about Macs.The advertising agency I worked for had no computers except for the receptionist’s PC. Everything in the creative department was done by hand and illustrators did all the mock ups with Yoken markers. It was seriously like the Dark Ages.

Jr: So who picked you up?

W: I started working for a few freelance agencies. I bought a suit to wear to big banks to create flow charts which I did for about three or four months.

Jr: Did you make much money?

W: I think I earned ten pounds an hour or something like that, which was pretty sharp in those days, certainly better than pulling pints. Luckily my agency really liked me and they gave me a crack at a job that was going at a small advertising agency in SoHo.

Jr: How long were you in London all up?

W: Quite a while. I developed a really bodgy English accent that got me through. I guess you could say I was slightly overstaying my welcome, officially speaking.

Jr: Ha, yeah we know the one. Did you make friends when you were there?

W: Yeah. I made all my friends, still ten or more years later, based on this time.

Jr: Really?

W: Yeah. All my closest English friends except one have emigrated here to Melbourne.

Jr: Wow! Really? Why?

W: It’s a great place to live. To come here from London and have sunshine and space and freedom and this ‘Neighbours’ lifestyle dare I say it, it gets more and more attractive as you get into your 30s. One of my oldest friends even had his mum emigrate. I think going back to London now would be pretty devastating from a lifestyle point of view. Melbourne has its weaknesses, but the lifestyle isn’t one, although with the price of houses now, we’re in danger of it becoming unaffordable for anyone creative or less than committed to the corporate grind.

Jr: A lot of people think the same way I suppose. Although London has all the culture and so on.

W: When you’re in your twenties and you’re mad for it, for sure. If you’re going out all night, every night, it’s a great place to live. It was absolutely brilliant, there was always something entertaining to do.

Jr: Did you do that? Did you go out all night, every night, while you were working?

W: I gave it a good nudge!

Jr: What happened when you came home?

W: After the usual case of mild post-travelling blues, I worked in advertising for a year at Patterson Bates (GPY&R). It wasn’t a great time for the company; I think they lost a lot of pitches. It was ok. I wasn’t excited about what I was doing. It wasn’t that creative. Maybe I should have been pushier and tried to get into writing TV ads or something. But my priorities were elsewhere, I was DJ’ing and organizing events at night and doing other stuff that was a lot more fun.

Jr: Did you like the advertising industry?

W: Yes and no. I was a little disenchanted creating junkmail which to be honest, which is what I did. In the 80s, it must have been a wild scene with so much money floating about. In London I arrived at the tail end of that and they were all misty eyed about these crazy times when, you know, ‘Steve rode his Harley down the hallway and crashed, knocking himself out on the photocopier’ or one classic I remember was when a new guy called Nobby joined the firm. The story was on his first day he managed to spill a Flaming Lamborghini on the boss and set his shirt on fire at dinner. In Australia it was much more conservative. I had green hair. It wasn’t going to end well and I wasn’t thinking about a career. I never have really.

Jr: The employment prospects haven’t always been great for school leavers have they?

W: Nope. When I left Uni, there was nothing going on. I think a lot of kids leaving university are facing a similar sort of situation. The pressure is to get a break somehow, but beyond that, if you are useful and you can justify your own existence at a company they will always find room for you. The hard thing is when you have no experience and you can’t prove that you can or can’t do something. You have to make yourself valuable.

Jr: Is that something that you had to work on? Making yourself valuable? Or were you just like that?

W: I wouldn’t say I ‘worked on it’. I just worked. The harder you work, the luckier you get. I was annoying, quite frankly. I got into radio by annoying people, and ended up working at various radio stations while at Uni. I bugged people til they let me have a go. I think that just being super keen is all you can really expect from somebody at a young age.Think about it, you can do whatever you want with your life but only if you have a crack. However, I think there are some things you can teach people and some things you can’t. An understanding of the world and how things interrelate – you can’t teach anyone that. It’s an instinctive thing. If you are going to work in fashion, you need to ‘get it’. There’s no point just trying to be in that industry because you think it’s glamorous or you’ll get to root models. You’ll be chewed up by someone who’d climb over your dead body for a job.

Jr: Have you gone through your fair share of young people who aren’t diligent at Sneaker Freaker?

W: We’ve had a pretty good track record. A few times I’ve tried to advertise and get someone out of college but never really found the right person. We’re a really small outfit and I don’t have time to teach someone from scratch. It’s frustrating for me but I learned that you can’t expect too much initially, you have to be patient and let them work it out. I’ve had some pretty funny experiences. One kid trying out for a job told me that I couldn’t teach him anything about Photoshop, and he’d probably been using it for two years. He was actually quite skilled, but I think his attitude alone rang bells for a potential employer. You want a little bit of cockiness but you don’t want someone who doesn’t listen and doesn’t think that they can’t learn. You mainly want accuracy and speed, that’s super important. That is one thing that the school environment doesn’t seem to promote in my experience. Young kids get tired and need a little nap to get back on track. It’s a grind. You’ve got to be productive 8 or 9 hours a day.

Jr: There’s a lot of talent going around, but not a lot of work ethic. I suppose there’s always going to be someone more talented than you, but it’s about how passionate you are and how hard you work.

W: True. I gotta say, the work ethic of Gen Y kids is a hot topic amongst my peers right now. I think that’s because they are now managing staff for the first time, but there’s definitely a sense that the GFC could be a good thing as it might take a few uppity kids down a peg or two. I’m not so sure this generation’s work ethic is that much different from my own Gen X clique… just a little more distracted by the overdose of technology.

Jr: What’s the most valuable skill to have aside from being keen?

W: A knack for networking. It’s a shit name for it but it is what it is. You can’t teach someone how to do it, though you might learn the secret someday through observation. It’s a vague business. Some people just have a knack at making friends with other people who can help them. That’s why starting a mag or writing a blog can become so universally useful. You meet people. Forget about the rest of it, meeting people and connecting the dots is crucial. You can base an entire career on knowing people.

Jr: Oh god, don’t get me started on social media and ‘networking’. I think we’ve got to be careful, you know. Everyone seems to get so caught up in the conversation and being part of the technology that they actually forget to do stuff. Everyone is talking about it, making comments, but not actually creating anything.

W: No shit! I picked up a biz card recently where this kid had over 12 ways of contacting them and I wondered how the hell he gets anything done? People get obsessed with Twitter, but six months ago something different was happening. I’ve seen it with trends, and in footwear, certain things have come and gone so fast I’m still scratching my head. I must admit the pace of change recently has really kicked up a gear. We’re now facing a world where TV, newspapers, magazines and even radio are no longer the foundation of our media diet. The porn industry is on its knees! Books are on the way out as well, at least in a printed sense. I’m really intrigued as to whether this new Kindle could really do for books what the iPod has done for music.

Jr: That’s an interesting point. Sneaker Freaker is kinda like a book. It’s a bit nicer than the usual magazine really. You must sell a few more older issues than any other magazine. Do you think the content goes out of date?

W: It does and it doesn’t. You can’t buy those shoes anymore, but every magazine becomes a document of its time so you can go back and still enjoy them as a snapshot of the years they were made. We sell a lot of our old issues, more than most magazines perhaps. Magazines are a good barometer of style and opinion and when you go back you do get a good insight into the times. We’ve been going about seven years or so and really the first one was pretty raw when you look at it. I have to say it was actually designed that way on purpose, but still, it was pretty loose. I wish I could have seen into the future.

Jr: Ha, I totally have that copy. How many people were working on it then?

W: The magazine didn’t have any staff for probably the first four years. Hans DC came to work with me part time helping in various ways. I wish I’d ramped it up earlier but I just didn’t have the foresight to go for it. I was also still working on my label called Wankuss (with my friend Alasdair McKinnon), as well as doing design work for films like Ned Kelly and Queen of the Damned and other stuff. I liked to keep my options open.

Jr: Really? It was just you? Wow. Back then a lot of clever people put out free magazines. I used to read Stu Magazine and Large whenever I could get my hands on them.

W: Stu was good. Vice came along. And Lucky. There were about seven free magazines floating around. Our first edition was free then I decided to charge for it. People still think it’s free.

Jr: Yeah it seemed to be the heyday of free magazines.

W: Yep. Not sure we’ll see too many new ones open up for business. But I have a killer idea for a new magazine that would be awesome which only proves how out of touch I really am.

Jr: Haha. Maybe. Maybe not. You’d probably be surprised. I’m sure that’s what people said when you came up with an idea So why sneakers?

W: I thought that I was one of the few people who were into sneakers, but then I could see it was bigger than I thought – there were a lot of guys like me who had 50 or 60 shoes in their closet but we didn’t know each other. Sneakers are one of those things that men can talk animatedly, dudes are really into their feet. It used to be about Air Max and chunky runners but it’s flipped on its head now. Pointer and Clae and Gourmet are doing very well, brands with simple things, not super jacked-up runners. Trends are definitely changing. You can’t stop progress, but it’s easy to feel like a dinosaur.

Jr: Was it difficult starting up a magazine?

W: Not really, because I only needed a few thousand dollars to get it printed. Then by issue two people wanted to buy it. Our first international customer was a very well known store in Paris.

Jr: Wow! How did they find you?

W: Through our website. We were one of the first online sneaker sites. The reason they are so renowned is because they find out about something before anyone else. They’re the top of their game. I was in there last week and it was mental how many people go in there. It’s like a tourist attraction! Once we went international I also had to learn about things like international shipping, which became crucial to the business growing. Boring things like this are so important and can be the difference between survival and death.

Jr: That’s the thing with publishing in Australia. You can print it here but then you’ve gotta ship all those heavy issues overseas. Some magazines print overseas and distribute it that way. Do you ever do that?

W: Once about five years ago we sold out of an issue in about a week and we got another order of 2000 copies. The reprint quote locally was nuts, so I found a printer in China and got them shipped straight out of there. I haven’t done it since. We’re still printed in Melbourne, five blocks from my house. It’s just too stressful to not know where your job and therefore your whole life is at. I remember all too well a launch party in Sydney where the magazines were still on a truck locked in the warehouse as a result of a snap industrial action.

Jr: Can you raise a family on a niche publication?

W: I can now. In the first few years I never had staff to pay so the overheads were low. I learned over time how to make money from a variety of sources. You can sell magazines, advertising, online banners, syndicate your content and do marketing for brands and product development. I have to say in every respect, I learned the hard way. Piece by piece. I learned a lot from watching other people and making mistakes. I also had to learn to trust people in other countries. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. I’ve been pretty lucky in that department.

Jr: And I guess you have that giant monolith Nike to buoy you up.

W: Nike has always been good to me, right from the start. But we are also supported by nearly every other brand in the footwear biz. If you wanna start a niche magazine, make sure what you do is invaluable to the marketing managers of multinational companies or you’ll forever be pushing shit uphill.

Jr: How would someone who really wants to work in big brand sneakers approach getting a job at a company like that? How do they go about it?

W: Actually we did a feature about how to get into the business a while back. There’s a few simple things. Every brand needs accountants and pen pushers but if you’re talking about shoe design, a lot of the guys at Nike and other brands are originally architects or sculptors, in other words they had an idea of three-dimensional space that could be translated to footwear. Shoe design school didn’t really exist til recently. Doing research on any company that you want to work for is a must. Knowing everything about them, but also having an understanding of how they hire is essential. If you want to work for adidas, find out how to get in contact with their HR department. Start on the phones or in their factory outlet and build your way up. There are plenty of CEOs who started in the mailroom. It’s also thinking strategically. Working for Sneaker Freaker could be a good way to get in as it’s an insight into the industry. Foot Locker wouldn’t hurt either. You need to know what you’re talking about and have a foundation of knowledge.

Jr: Loving sneakers isn’t enough at the end of the day; you have to have some sort of skill or craft.

W: Correct. Loving something can actually be a handicap, if you wanna be a hardass about it. When you love something too much, your opinion and judgment can be clouded by sentiment. But if it was me, I’d go for the passion every time. I think one of the biggest things that kids could learn is to be persistent. Some kids expect to start as a junior and take over the company in two years. Or if you start your own thing, that you’ll be rich overnight. The reality is that businesses mature over a few years and it takes you time to work out what you are actually doing, unless you are super advanced or lucky. It’s human nature that is probably exacerbated by this frantic model we’ve built up. Everyone wants everything yesterday. If only it was that easy… whatever happened to paying your dues?

Jr: I think that’s a wonderful point to make. Persistence is something we’re big on. But sometimes persistence isn’t even enough. You know, it’s really hard to do something big in such a small market place like Australia. Take publishing for example: If you want to get distribution of your magazines, you’ve got to be in a bigger market.

W: That’s true, but I don’t think that’s a reason not to do anything. It’s like procrastinators who never do anything because they’re too cool to put themselves out there or they think it’ll never work so why bother. Melbourne is full of creative people, the only problem is that most of them are, like anywhere else, mildly talented at best. The most talented ones find it a struggle to attract the same benefactors they’d find in Europe or the US. Look how many talented Australians have to leave? We are a nation of 22 million, the same size as greater New York. So to answer your question, you def need to be in a bigger market, but it’s not going to happen sitting on your date in Fitzroy drinking Chai and smoking rollies. You have to work your ass off. In my own world, I realised that if I wanted to succeed beyond Australia, I learned from others that staying home in my office wasn’t gonna make it happen. I’m on the road a lot.

Jr: Isn’t Sneaker Freaker translated into Spanish?

W: Yeah, it has been for the past two years. It’s been going really well and we have a great partner running the office over in Barcelona. I’m pretty sure we are the first Aussie magazine to be translated into a foreign language.

Jr: Do you ever think about moving it all overseas?

W: I have at different times, but this is where I’m from and this is where I’m staying. The footwear industry in Australia is in Melbourne. But I think I do regret not moving a bit. Maybe I’m just not the personality type to really take it to the max… Either way, we have been successful on our own terms which is just part of the story.

Jr: Maybe because you married and had kids. Was that the plan? To settle down?

W: I think that cycle of life is inevitable. I wish I’d had a family earlier in hindsight, but we can all look back and say that. Luckily I have a very understanding wife who encouraged me to go for it, even if she recently confided that she thought the magazine was a crazy idea and would be lucky to last six months.

Jr: Any plans to expand your team?

W: I would like to find an Editor to take over next year so I can spend some time working on different ideas. We are always looking for writers. But it’s hard to find anyone who can write these days, as well as have a command of sneakers. If anyone is interested they can email info@sneakerfreaker.com.

Jr: So that means that you could focus on running the business.

W: Absolutely, I could move to the Bahamas and sit under a palm tree with my blackberry.

Jr: And a cocktail! Any final advice for the kids who wanna start a magazine and make a living out of it?

W: My advice is go for it. What the hell. What’s the worst that can happen? You might go bankrupt and have to flee to Brazil…  just don’t let anyone tell you something can’t be done or you’ve got a stupid idea. I had that plenty of times. How many people get rich from stupid ideas?

It’s a big interview. Very big interview. Can’t believe how big this interview is. Get it? We are mimicking that Cannes Lion winning ad for Carlton Draught, The Big Ad. Everyone knows it. But does everyone know who made it? We do! It’s Ant! Hello Ant! He’s made many more ads since then, possibly some better ones, but we’re the kind of dudes who like to hook in our readers with a popular reference to something well-known to get you all excited. Are you excited? You better be. We’ve used up our word-count trying to hype this interview. Wanna know some trivia? Ant was in Kenny! That crazy movie about the dude who cleans toilets. He also thought his folio was terrible when he started out. There’s more trivia than that, but we can’t fit…

Junior: The information super highway told us that you were a talented illustrator as a child. Apparently everyone expected you to study fine art or become an illustrator. WTF? How did you end up in advertising?

Ant: Yeah. I went to University (RMIT) wanting to be an illustrator. But even back then RMIT was pretty advertising-centric. The illustration side of things was a little rigid at the time so I think I lost a bit of interest in that. So at the final year show I had some ads on the wall and a judge said your headlines are funny, you should try advertising. Then I visited (designer) Mimmo Cozzilino and I think he said a similar thing and sent me onto Bruce Baldwin at the Campaign Palace. But basically my folio was pretty terrible at that point, just an even mixture of ads, design and illustration because I’d barely even laid eyes on an award book and didn’t really know what was possible. Then I worked for a year designing a magazine while at the same time doing Copyschool. That’s where I really learnt a lot about ads and met some of the people I could go and bug to give me a job.

Jr: And look at you now! Mr. Creative Director at Clemenger BBDO in Melbourne. How did you break into the industry. What was the first agency you worked at?

A: At Copyschool I teamed up with another writer. We offered to do briefs on spec for Y&R and then they produced our stuff which went onto win an award or two. After the awards they ended up offering us a job but we’d already taken a job at a smaller agency. Arhh! We stuck with the small place.

Jr: You stuck at the small place?! Eek. How’d you go getting through those first years in the industry? We all have a little trouble. What was your experience?

A: Yeah the first year actually wasn’t as scary as you would expect because Copyschool (which, back then, ran for nine months) actually got us used to working under pressure. I guess the learning curve was about actually making the ads. And that tiny agency that employed us? A year later, they retrenched us and then went out of business. So hopefully that’s encouragement for anyone having a tough time. I was retrenched from my first job.

Jr: Getting retrenched happens to the best of us! What advice do you have to kids just landing jobs and starting their creative careers so they won’t get fired like you did? (Editors note: Joke! Smiley face.)

A: Heh. The best advice I heard was, “Get in somewhere and then make yourself invaluable.” You see it a lot in a business – there are certain people – it might be a traffic manager or a receptionist – you can tell the place would fall apart without. Those people usually get taken care of.

Jr: You’ve had the opportunity to work on some amazing brands in your career – Carlton Draft springs to mind – it seems like everyone in this industry would kill for that kind of opportunity. How did you get to be in that position?

A: Well yeah it took a long time before I got to work on that, like ten years or so. I used to work on some accounts and think this just so isn’t suited to me. It’s funny because people now say, “Oh you get to work on beer. Beer is easy and fun.” Well, you know, Grant (Rutherford) and I made that opportunity. Carlton Ads weren’t like that when we started working on the account. Until a few years ago, beer ads in Australia were very serious affairs. More like Winfield ads. Get on youtube and have a look. Most stuff I worked on wasn’t a great account beforehand. But I was lucky because I got to create a campaign from the ground up. By writing the “Made From Beer” idea we were able to create a space where we got to play in an area very close to our own sense of humour. That’s why I’ve stuck with it for so long. We also enjoyed doing Barry Dawson The Cougar.

Jr: How do you stay inspired?

A: Look at other people’s genius stuff. Not ads so much. Good ads are few and far between but occasionally I get really excited by something, like the Skittles ads for example. When you first see them they kind of give you a giddy thrill.

Jr: Ah yes, this is a good segway. So you’ve built your career in advertising as a copywriter – yet you’re also a talented and recognised artist. At what stage did you decide to switch to the other side and become a writer?

A: Oh after a few years I started working on my own doing both writing and art. At that time I became interested in screenwriting. Also there weren’t many writers around and I felt it was a good way to be more in control of the idea. So next time I teamed up, it was with a Creative Director who was an Art Director (Darren Spiller at Mojo) so I became, by default, the writer. And from then on I was a “writer”. I went to Y&R then George Patts now to Clems. Except now I’m on my own again, back to doing both.

Jr: You’ve had a successful career in advertising, won many awards, and worked with talents. How does this compare to the success you’ve had as an artist?

A: Well I haven’t really had a great success in the art world yet although I would love to. But I certainly enjoy it. It’s pure and I tend to keep it away from my advertising. The trap in some respects is I had early success in advertising. And that tends to encourage you in that direction.

Jr: Every creative has a side-project. What are yours? We know you’ve got ‘em. We stalked you on Google.

A: Well I have my painting as I said (antkeogh.com) but I also have some feature screenplays on the go. I was in that film Kenny. I’ve made some short films. For a long time I was in bands and had a little bit of stuff on the radio.

Jr: Yes! So many fingers and pies. That’s what Google told us. Do you find the creative processes similar?

A: Well, in a sense I probably get to use many of those other skills making ads. Any film medium is especially like that – words pictures, sound. For example I’ve used my musical skills to make Carlton Draught’s “Big Ad”. The more knowledge you have the easier it will be. Computer skills are handy. I taught myself Flash and Dreamweaver although I’m a hack. To answer the question though, in advertising the creative process is highly conceptual and very tight. All about the “idea”. And people have to “get It”. In that respect, it’s great for teaching you how to think. What people call an idea in other disciplines often just wouldn’t cut it in an ad agency. I’ve heard a designer call something “a concept” which was actually just a typeface. With my own stuff I don’t try to be so conceptual and can be far more obscure.

Jr: How important is it do you think to have something else outside advertising?

A: It certainly is for me. If advertising is wearing me down, which it easily can because that particular creative process is often about rejection and is getting more and more bogged down with “process” such as research. It can take a long time to get something up. When that happens I can get creative fulfillment from other projects.

Jr: Thanks Ant. We owe you beers.

A: Cheers and good luck juniors.

Writing these intros can be such a bitch. Trying to think of something witty and original is super ghey, plus you get that added extra of thinking no one will laugh at your jokes. So seeing as we’re awesome journalists now, we decided to consult the almanac of Awesome Journalism 2009: Wikipediac.

“William James (Wil) Anderson (born 31 January, 1974) is an Australian comedian, performing stand-up, as well as on television and radio.”

That pretty much sums it up. Funny dude, funny name, famous enough to need a Wikipedia entry… Basically, Wil is a pretty rad dude and funny as balls. How funny? Check this out! These are the names of his stand-up shows since 1998:

“Wilosophy (2009); BeWILdered (2008); Wil of God (2007); Wil Communication (2006); Kill Wil (2005); Licence to Wil (2004); Jagged Little Wil (2003); Wil By Mouth (2002); Wil Of Fortune (2001); Who Wants To Be A Wilionaire (2000); Willenium, Terra Wilius (1999); and I am the Wilrus (1998).”

Ok, enough of that. We asked him all the questions us juniors might want to know about figuring out life, parents, being creative, the ‘process’, and other such in depth conversation. Read on and find the meaning of life.*

Jr: When was the first time you realised you could make people laugh?

Wil: I can’t remember when I first realised I could. That part of it still comes as a bit of a mystery to me. But I certainly remember when I realised I wanted to.

When I was about fourteen I lived on my parents’ farm in the country, and we only had two TV channels. Yes, that’s right kids, two. (And we used to eat nothing but pebbles and were grateful.)

We had Southern Cross, and the ABC. My two favourite shows were the Ted Robinson produced Big Gig and Andrew Denton’s Money or the Gun. I loved those shows because I finally saw people who seemed to look at the world the way I did.

I found the notion that interesting ideas, and counter-culture thoughts, could be presented through humor immensely appealing.

I could never have imagined back then that twenty years later I would have been lucky enough to work with both Ted (on The Glass House) and Andrew (on The Gruen Transfer).

Jr: And when did you then decide you wanted to be a comedian?

W: I can remember the exact moment. My appetite for comedy had been growing for a few years, and for my seventeenth birthday my Mum took me to see Billy Connolly live. Now I guess going on a date with your Mum on your birthday isn’t that cool, but I thought it was the coolest thing I had ever seen.

I saw this man talk for three hours in a row, swearing his head off, and have three thousand people aged ten to eighty piss themselves. (In the case of the older ones sometimes literally.) I knew that moment it was what I wanted to do for a job.

Jr: Yes! A lot of us can definitely relate to that feeling. But were you parents supportive?

W: I don’t think my parents were rapt when I told them I was going to give up being a journalist to tell dick jokes for cash.

But my Dad always said the secret of life was to find something you liked to do, work hard, and you would find a way to get people to pay you to do it. And comedy was what I wanted to do.

But secretly I don’t think it was until I bought a house they finally realised it was a proper career. They figured if someone would loan me cash based on knob gags and Shannon Noll material it must be a real job.

Jr: Ha! Yes! Do you think you got your humour from them or are they completely unfunny?

W: My Dad is a farmer and has a dry sense of humor. My Mum is the really funny one. I remember after I had got in trouble for saying something, a journo rang my Mum and asked: “Are you embarrassed by your son?”

Mum simply replied: “When he was one I took him to the local shopping mall and he did poo on my face, nothing he has done since then has embarrassed me as much!”

Jr: When you were starting out did you have a ‘plan b’ – we heard you studied Journalism?

W: I had a teacher at school- let’s just call her “Mrs Brown”- who I told I was thinking about becoming a comedian. She told me I wasn’t funny, and wouldn’t make a living doing it, and I should get a proper job…

It deflated me. So I ended up studying journalism.

When we started doing The Glass House I always wanted to call it Stick It Up Your Arse Mrs Brown, so she would have to see every week she was wrong.

As soon as I started comedy I quit all my other work. I didn’t want a plan b. I saw an episode of Oprah where she was interviewing Roseanne and she said: “The problem with back-up plans is you fall back on them.”

Jr: Totally. Do you think though that having that background helps you be a comedian now?

W: It got me used to producing something to a deadline. Being a comedian isn’t about being funny, it’s about being funny on demand.

Roy and HG told me they often get approached in the pub by people telling them they had friends who were funnier than them. Their only response is: “Yeah, we are just able to be funny when the red light comes on.”

Jr: When it comes to writing new material; does it come naturally while you’re doing your daily thing or do you have to sit down and consciously work at it?

W: The one thing I have learned is that it is all these things… and sometimes none of them.

Sometimes something funny happens and I just note it down (that’s why I have to take my notebook to the pub or I come home with notes all over me like Guy Pearce in Memento.)

Sometimes I have a set assignment (ie. Write something about mother’s day for a column, or I want to write something about gay marriage for my stand-up act) and sometimes it just comes out magically fully-formed on stage.

Sometimes it’s a combination of all of it. Sometimes none of it works. Sometimes the trick is to stop staring at the page, walk to the shops to grab the paper, and in your head something clicks.

Russell Brand says his life is a series of embarrassing incidents strung together by telling people about those embarrassing incidents, but my life isn’t that interesting so I have to work at it.

Jr: OK, so we’ve sent you these questions and you said you’d answer them on the plane. Obviously you’re on your way overseas to do some shows… How well does comedy translate across continents? Do you find you have to change your approach?

W: People tend to laugh at the same things. Language is normally the thing you have to be wary of. For example I was doing a gig in New York a couple of years ago when I said: “I don’t mean to hang shit on George Bush!”

Of course they don’t have that expression there. So everyone stared at me like I literally wanted to “hang shit” on George Bush. Like I was some sort of defecation decorator, think Brown Eye For The Bush Guy.

Jr: You’ve done TV, radio, penned columns, authored a book and of course done stand-up shows, but sometimes all at once… Is this all part of being a great entertainer? Or if you had it your way would just concentrate on one area?

W: I tend to get sacked a lot, so I tend to do a lot of things because I have a hideous mortgage and no other skills.

Seriously though, having more than one string to your bow certainly makes you more employable, but you do run the risk of being jack of all trades, master of none.

In the last few years I have been trying to pick fewer projects (ie. Doing ten weeks of Gruen rather than 42 weeks of Glass House) and try to do them better.

I guess ideally I would love to get to a point where I could do stand-up full-time and just dabble in the other things.

But then again, while I don’t love TV, radio, writing etc in the same way I love stand-up, there are things about each of them that I really enjoy and I am certainly glad I have had the opportunity to try them all.

And like anything, no matter how much fun, you can get bored and that is the death of creativity. So after a long stand-up tour it’s great to forget about it for a month and go and work on some tele or write a book.

Jr: Tell us about The Gruen Transfer – How did you find yourself working with Andrew Denton on a show about ads?

W: I have a general theory that you should try to work with people who inspire you, or people you admire, and the idea will work itself out.

Andrew came to me and said he wanted to do a show that “gave people the tools to understand advertising, using humor, like Frontline did with current affairs”.

At that stage, that’s all the idea was. But I think if someone like Andrew wants to work with you, you take his hand, close your eyes, and jump off a cliff.

Jr: So is hosting shows like The Gruen Transfer and The Glasshouse the ‘top job’ to you? Or do you have other aspirations?

W: To be perfectly honest, as much as I love both of those shows, hosting television is about the least fun of all my jobs.

In fact, it’s the one that feels most like a “job”. I think the best way to put it is, I don’t think tele is fun to make, it’s fun to look back on something you have made.

(I also find writing a little like this. I don’t love to write, I love to have written.)

I certainly have some other aspirations, big and small, but if I could still be working in comedy at age 65 and never had to get another job, I would consider myself a success.

Jr: And lastly, any advice for young wannabe comedians?

W: Don’t do it… I’m not that good and I certainly don’t need competition for jobs from young, ambitious and talented people.

And only do it if you “need” to do it. If you need to, then nothing will stop you. If you are just doing it for money, or fame, there are much easier ways to get those things… like advertising.

* Ha! Got you. No meaning of life here!

Everyone knows you don’t make friends with science. But what many don’t know is that it can build your contacts. And make your ideas bigger. AND make you a better creative. It’s an age-old but relevant theory. Today, professor Stan has his white coat on and what he’s got to say ain’t boron.

Those of you who managed to stay awake during science classes at school are sure to be familiar with Newton’s Laws of Motion.
My favourite is #3: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
This law applies just as much to getting into the creative industries as it does to movement and science. Here’s how:

Work on your folio – It will get better.
Think big – You’ll have bigger ideas.
Ask for advice – You’ll increase your knowledge.
Seeks criticism – You’ll become a better creative.
Show your work to other people – You’ll build a network of industry contacts.

Somehow I don’t think old Isaac Newton had getting a job as a junior in mind when he developed his Laws of Motion.
But I’m sure he’d agree that you should definitely be applying his 3rd Law to your job search.

Has anyone seen that new Charlie Kaufman film Synecdoche? It’s pretty great. There’s a scene where the aging protagonist/writer is shown a best-selling book of apparent genius written by a four-year-old named Horace Azpiazu. You see, there’s always someone younger than you, doing something better than you, more authentically than you, and winning more praise than you. So chill the fuck out, realise that you’re younger than a lot of people and get to work. Because Stan reckons you’ve much more to offer than just enthusiasm and a will to work for nuthin’.

Big news from the fourth estate this week, with the appointment of 23-year-old Ben Naparstek as editor of The Monthly magazine.

Yes you read that correctly – he’s 23 years old!

So I guess that puts him in the Junior demographic. Except he doesn’t see himself that way and neither should you.

Talent is talent. Ability is ability. Age should be irrelevant.

As Naparstek himself said, “I’m old enough to be well used to people telling me I’m young.”

Despite what he himself thinks, Narparstek is very young for the position he now holds.

Yet he is, if memory serves, two years older than Aussie advertising legend Siimon Reynolds was when he was made Creative Director of Grey in Sydney.

“I’ve been an adult for, what is it, five years now,” said Narparstek. “I’m 23. How much longer is this going to continue?”

Obviously Ben Narparstek doesn’t consider himself a junior. So why do you?

If you have talent and ability, you’re just as capable of having a great idea as someone ten or twenty years older than you.

So rather than thinking of yourself as someone looking to get a foot in the door, start selling yourself as someone who can contribute to a business.

Someone with so much more to offer than just enthusiasm and a low salary expectation.

It’s no use calling yourself a creative if you don’t make things. We learned that lesson last week. But what to do? Where do you start? “I need briefs!” – Graduate student, 22.  “I need inspiration!” – Artsy Schmartzy Dude, 24.  Bah! You don’t need nuthin’. All you need is to start. If even that’s giving you grief, here’s some suggestions from our resident whip-cracker, Stan.

You don’t need me to tell you that getting a full time creative job takes time. It can take months, even years. Yes years.

But if making a living out of being creative is what you want to do, what you really want to do, then you will get a job. Eventually.

So what can you do in the meantime to put your creativity to good use?

Got an idea for a short film or a TV ad? Get some friends together, grab a video camera and post your work to YouTube. Believe me, it’s easier than you think.
You could start a blog. But there are literally a billion blogs already, so if you start one use your creativity to put together something new, different and uniquely you.
If you enjoy writing, set up a Twitter account. There’s no better way to sharpen your skills than by churning out pithy 140 character bon mots on a regular basis.
Photographers should be regularly posting photos to photography sites. Just be sure to set up an email list and let people know whenever you post new work.

Art directors and designers can get work by offering their services to local businesses. If a handful of shops in your area let you makeover their logo, or design a flyer for them, you’ll quickly fill a folio with real work.

There are loads of ways to put your creative skills to work. And all of them will make you more employable. As long as you understand that getting a job takes time.