Here's something nobody warns you about being a creative person: at some point, you will have to decide how much of your actual life you're willing to shove into your work and then show to the people you stole it from.
Mandy's writing a book for her teenage daughters and discovering that words, frustratingly, do not arrive pre-edited. Ryan's twelve thousand words into a thriller and has realized he is constitutionally incapable of writing a scene without at least one silly billy. And Kyle just got tracked down through Instagram by someone who wants to produce one of his plays — which is both a beautiful story about good work finding its audience and a cautionary tale about maybe putting your contact information on things. We're all works in progress. Some of us more literally than others.
This week we're talking about truth — where it shows up in creative work, how much of it you actually need, and whether "based on a true story" is a promise or a threat.
Pete's deep in a film series about fraud and discovers that the best true stories are the ones about liars. Kyle argues — compellingly — that he doesn't want historical accuracy at all, he wants you to lie to him
beautifully, and cites
Better Man (the Robbie Williams movie where Robbie Williams is a CGI chimpanzee) as possibly the most emotionally honest biopic ever made. Mandy confesses she once showed her mom a deeply autobiographical short film and offered to never screen it publicly, which was, and she will admit this, an absolute lie.
The takeaway is something like: the facts don't have to be true as long as the feeling is in creative works. Which is either profound or the motto of every con artist in history.
We also dig into fake it till you make it — that specific flavor of creative terror where you say "yes" to something you cannot yet do and then sprint toward competence before anyone notices. Ryan's been calling himself a writer since he was a kid, years before he was actually doing it professionally, which turned out to be less of a lie and more of a very patient prophecy. Pete walked into rooms full of people asking "what is a podcast" and answered "I'll tell you tomorrow," which is apparently a viable business model. And Kyle talks about the moment Mandy told him he was actually good at interviewing — after he'd spent an entire podcast series convinced he was faking it. Turns out most of us are faking it. The ones who make it are just the ones who kept showing up anyway.
Plus: the crew breaks down what makes them laugh — from the Zucker Brothers hiding A-list jokes in the background of hospital scenes, to
Rose Matafeo's Horndog, to a comedian named
Kurt Braunohler doing five minutes on 120,000 bees that plays like Shakespeare wrote a set at The Comedy Store. And our beloved fake sponsors return: The Other Orange wants your gambling money (they might train owls), and The Last Apple would like to buy everything you own and rent it back to you at a reasonable, eternal monthly rate.
We remain the only podcast either of them sponsors. Probably for good reason.