So! Comedy Central aired my one woman show Herstory, thus officially retiring my favorite babies, my best material, my signature Tumi Morake ish. Wonderful. Now more South Africans and some parts of Africa know who I am. Which also means I now have a reputation to live up to. 

My chest tightens as I read the tweets streaming in: “Where can we catch you” “I wanna see this woman live” “Tumi Morake for president” “Best comedienne ever”. I freak out! THAT was my best stuff, my ‘do-it-in-my-sleep material. Now I need to prove that I am not a one hit wonder and bring in bigger and better punches. I pull out my trusty little black book, blow off the dust and creak it open to see what meat I had left marinating in there. Sweet fuck all. I grab a month-old copy of The Star and begin reading, circling headlines, doing joke webs and writing like a demon. One gag makes me chuckle, another makes me smile, nothing cracks me up. So, I am in a bit of  a fix. I realize I havent actually done the whole sit down and write material thing for a long time. The way I get material really, is that things occur to me in conversation or when i’m out and I quickly jot it down on my phone. So, i kiss my kids goodbye and tell them they’ll see mommy after Bitches, because until then, i need to chase material. I need to drink vodka and resuscitate my comatose social life to get my brain bubbling again.

In short, I am feeling helluva insecure about these big shows coming up where expectations are high and Tumi Morake has a reputation to uphold. I think it is the best thing to happen to me in my career in a while: Feeling under pressure and desperate to do better than well. Feeling like I need to prove myself. I’m trying new things to stimulate the creative juices, and milking old methods to get me into the right head space. So, I pen away, and pray the comedy gods throw some magic my way. 

So while i pen away, adding tickles to life’s prickly issues, i repeat my matra: “I’m Tumi Morake bitch, funnier than ever”