In her book The Bedwetter, standup comedian Sarah Silverman writes of life’s embarrassing moments.
Was it challenging writing something that would be read versus sketches or jokes you’d use on your show?
Yes, at first. As a comedian I’m so used to boiling a story down to the nut. I had to fight that instinct—kind of unlearn it. And I started out writing with such furrowed brow, like I was trying to write the way I thought writers wrote. But once I threw all that away, I think that’s when I was able to really start.
Imagine all—instead of none—of your sketches aired on SNL. What would your life be like now?
First of all, SNL would have been long canceled. I reread my old sketches recently while writing the book and, oh, my, they were pretty terrible!
How did you convince God to write your afterword?
This is so trite but, sex.
Is there any subject you’d consider too taboo to riff on?
Not if it’s funny enough to make you forget the terribleness. Though, of course, that’s subjective.
In your book you describe a sleepover when you wet the bed, and just when your friend’s mother was about to yell at her for ruining the sheets, the father came in to tell everyone that Elvis had died.
Yes, his death saved me from one of many very humiliating moments in my life.
Any advice for all the other bedwetters out there?
I promise this will not always be a deep dark humiliating secret in your life. It’s okay—it’s just sheets.
