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The best sketch I ever wrote got its first real laugh in a draft I nearly deleted at one in the morning. I kept it because I'd already built a scrappy spreadsheet tracking which lines survived three read-throughs, and the numbers disagreed with my gut. That's roughly how I work: instinct first, then evidence, then straight back into the room to see whether the evidence holds.

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Writer, analyst, habitual tester

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By trade I write; by temperament I analyse. My notebook is split down the middle — one column for what I meant to say, one for what the audience actually heard. Trends move fast through writing groups and improv nights, so I test ideas on stage before trusting them on the page. A format that looks elegant on paper often dies at a Tuesday gig, while something scrappy and half-formed can carry a whole Fringe hour once real people are in the seats.

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That hands-on practice is where any authenticity in my writing comes from. I'm not describing rehearsal from a safe distance — I'm the one rewriting a scene in the green room because the laugh landed two lines early and the ending stopped working.

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What you'll find here

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• Plain explanations with no gatekeeping, whether you're drafting a first sketch or tightening a fifth show
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• Approaches I've genuinely tried, including the ones that flopped loudly
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• Questions worth asking before an audience ever sees the work
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• Practical help with the unglamorous parts — timing, cutting, staging, surviving the tech run
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If that sounds like the conversations you're already having with your own writing partners, I'd like to hear from you. Drop me a note through contact, or head to the blog and tell me exactly where you disagree.

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