"EDDIE WILLIAMS, former Middleweight Champ., says." Sporting Globe (Melbourne, Vic. This interview has been condensed and edited.Article identifier Page identifier APA citationĮDDIE WILLIAMS, former Middleweight Champ., says. And it might make you want to tell your story. I didn’t care what people thought about me. Every story I told, I told from the heart. It’s about a young black woman growing up in America who felt like she was invisible.
Persuade someone to read “Rabbit” in 50 words or less. My brother’s a convicted felon, and I tell him all the time: “You should really do comedy. They just give you a mike and say, “Be funny.” They don’t give a damn that I’ve been shot. I thought, “He gets paid to do this, and they don’t check his criminal background history?” That’s what moved me toward comedy - they don’t care about your criminal background check. Watching his DVDs influenced me to open up even more. And I would look at Richard a lot, because I was more of his style: blunt, in-your-face and honest. He’s the greatest storyteller, him and Bill Cosby. When people told me I was a storyteller, I started to study Richard Pryor. When I moved here from Atlanta, Avery said, “You should tell those stories.” I said, “People won’t get it.” He said, “It’s horrible, but they’re funny stories.” They told me to really dig deep and just be honest. Who is a creative person (not a writer) who has influenced you and your work?Ī comedian friend of mine, Tom Simmons, and Avery Dellinger, who works at Morty’s Comedy Joint, the comedy club here in Indianapolis. Find a way to laugh at it, because when you laugh at it you have control of it.” I’d tell them: “I’m glad you can laugh at it. When I was talking about me and my daughter being 13 years apart, people started coming up to me and talking about their stories, people from every race. I didn’t know anything about white people I just knew about where I was from. I thought teenage pregnancy was just in the black community. But that’s not true this stuff happens to everyone. Honestly, I thought only black people went through what I went through. First, I had to get over embarrassment then I had to get over worrying about people judging me. I’m 15 years into comedy, and that’s helped me talk about crazy stuff. And the editor said, “You’re a comic now, and you don’t perform like it’s a pity party,” so she made us kind of start over and I tried to tell it with humor. When we first set out, it was nitty-gritty, we didn’t hold anything back. In what way is the book you wrote different from the book you set out to write? Now I tell her that she’s the sister I never had. I was like, “What?” I had to explain a lot of things to her. She didn’t even know what a food stamp was. We had some ups and downs, because she’s Canadian and I’m African-American, and those two blacks don’t know much about each other. I thought, “Oh my god, she called.” I always thought I had a unique story, but that’s when I really thought, “Hey, maybe this could happen.” She said, “I’ll call you in two weeks.” And she called. In this business, you hear all kinds of stuff about what people think you can do, and I come from a place where you don’t believe half of what you see and none of what you hear.
She heard me on Ari Shaffir’s podcast, and she ended up coming to a show and introducing herself. When the co-writer, Jeannine Amber, approached me, maybe three years ago. When did you first get the idea to write this book? Below, she talks about finding the right tone for her story, protecting the people who abused her, the influence of Richard Pryor and more. Williams writes of her life’s unlikely trajectory, “is to tell you exactly what went down.” Her book tells how it went down with brutal honesty and outrageous humor in unexpected places. Now, living in Indianapolis, she is a regular guest on comedy podcasts and has appeared on television shows like “Last Comic Standing.” “The only way I can explain how it happened,” Ms.
PAT WILLIAMS ISCRIBE CRACK
She went on to sell crack (she was shot twice) and spent time in jail. Pat, grew up in Atlanta during the crack epidemic, one of five children of an alcoholic single mother. In her new memoir, “Rabbit,” Patricia Williams writes that there is no “simple answer” to the question of how she went “from living in an illegal liquor house, to running from the cops, to living in the suburbs with a flock of ducks outside my window.” This standup comedian, who performs as Ms.
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