On the Fringe

When your dream is delayed, where do you go?

Nancy wasn’t even 30 when she died.

Becca, Rachel, Kathleen, and I had worked so hard alongside her to create a show we called “Birdcage”. It was everything.

It was sketch comedy.

It was One part Laugh-In, one part Muppet Show.

It was in the middle of the dang night.

We found an Off-Broadway venue (A Black Box at CenterStage), off-hours (two shows, 11pm and 1am), and we sold the place all the way out leveraging our off-color characters.

 Despite jobs with odd hours, we wrote together every week at hookah bars, in coffee shops, and occasionally in our own crowded apartments.

My friend Renee brought everyone giant signs. My 4 roommates brought noisemakers of all kinds all the way over the river from Astoria, and my colleagues from CNN brought every person they’d ever met to make it happen.

We were riding high in our fedoras and slip dresses as we headed to Trailer Park Bar for Redneck Margaritas after the show.

We were barely into a new century. The sky was the limit.

“Let’s go to Edinburgh!” Nancy shouted over the bar noise. (I like to remember her standing on the table, but that could’ve been any of us, really. They really allowed nearly any kind of behavior at Trailer Park and this was the era of Coyote Ugly.)

“TO EDINBURGH!” we all shouted.

“TO THE FRINGE!” Nancy led.

“TO THE FRINGE!” We slurred back.

Now, I was from DEEP East Texas, and even after graduating with a degree in Musical Theatre from NYU, I had no idea what Edinburgh was. I had been stretched within an inch of my life into failed ingenue role after failed ingenue role, until John Simpkins and Greg Ganakas finally cast me as Dora in Fiorello! and Baby Rose in Babes in Arms. That was what got me an agent and a chance at a future. But, I was trained for the traditional path to Broadway via Summer Stock, an Equity Card, and a chance at an understudy role. I hadn’t experienced this wild world of experimental theater with noises, shapes, and colors until I met Nancy Brown.

Nancy had attended the Comedia Del Arte. She was a real-life clown in every way. Her face could do gymnastics. Her body was like a slinky on a wheelie cart. Her voice, a kazoo or a violin depending on her mood.

She seemed to me like a real grown up. She and her husband didn’t share their apartment with 4 other roommates. They rescued cats and listened to folk music. They distilled their own spirits.

So, if Nancy thought we should go to Edinburgh, I believed her with my whole body.

I had to take a new job when they cut the tour department in half at CNN, and I ended up at a law firm. The pay was great, the work uninspiring (but also unchallenging), and the hours allowed me to take on the Off-Broadway show that got me my coveted Equity Card. I was over the moon, but had less time to meet up with my friends and make our art.

I got her funeral notice a day late.

I had started crying at my desk when my boss tried to send me home. But home to what, now?

What could I do now?

I’d missed everything I thought I was going to do next.

So, we chipped in to put on her name on a seat at her favorite Broadway theater, and mostly lost touch over time.

Though, I still slept in her hand-me-down bedding from when she helped me move into my first NYC apartment, I drifted away from our dream of Edinburgh. I drifted away from our own creations, and over time I drifted away from New York too.

The magic was gone. The people that I was creating with didn’t seem to enjoy it.

Everyone seemed frazzled, underslept, and - frankly - undershowered. I had moved into producing for film and TV, and while I was touted as incredibly efficient, I seemed an odd fit. I was always just a little too creative to be the spreadsheet dictator, and little too organized to show up and act.

I tried a few other jobs, then ended up in business school doing Marketing for nearly 10 years at Fortune 100 companies before AI emerged making jobs scarce and pay so low it didn’t justify the hours.

It wasn’t worth it anymore, and I had worked myself sick.

So, I started writing again.

Not agency briefs, or applications, or parody songs for the sales showcase afterparty, but actual writing.

I wrote plays, screenplays, and poetry. I started a TikTok of first drafts that didn’t yet have a home.

I self-published a couple of books just to make sure I didn’t die – like my dad did – with unfinished novels on the computer because nothing is ever quite perfect.

Then, doing research one day for another script, the stupidest thing I’ve ever conceived crawled into my brain and started to pour from my hands.

I finished the first draft in a day.

I had a passable draft for sharing with people I trusted in a week.

After a month or two, I got brave enough to send it via cold query to agents. (Surprise! No response.)

That should have deterred me, but it didn’t.

I’d almost died the previous year, and I knew I no longer had time wait around for someone else to find me.

I’d been an actor, a producer, and a marketer.

I might as well do something with all those latent skills.

So, I found a venue. I lured a cast. I consigned a cameraperson. I tested a LIVE.

And…I made a thing.

The words worked.

They worked for the characters I was writing for and for the actors who played them.

So, I’ve decided to take this literal show on the road.

The Road to Edinburgh. I’m aiming to be On The Fringe.

As of today, I’m preparing Ben Barnes: A Love Story for a LIVE STAGE at the world’s most eclectic festival. Taskmaster was discovered there. Many of the British Comedians you know and love were discovered there. And frankly, odder projects have found their audience there.

So, I’m gonna shoot my Scottish shot. (My ancestors will be so proud!)

I’m aiming for 2027.

Here’s the plan:

Today-August 2026: Hone the script and get it edited to the ideal length for the show

August-October 2026: Finalize Venue Target(s)

November-December 2026: Perfect Pitch

January 2027: Apply

February: Sign Contract

March: Cast the Show

April: Send Program Details

May-June: Launch Marketing

July: Licensing and Rehearsals

August: Perform the Show

I’ll chronicle this here as well as on my social media - @HHFStrategy on Instagram/FB/YouTube.

How You Can Help:

If you enjoy reading – Offer to read a draft over the next couple of months and give some feedback.

If you’ve got money - Donate to our show fund on my Venmo with the description: BBALS

If you’ve got helpful tips from your own festival experience – Send them to Holly@HHFStrategy.com

If you’ve got talent – Send your headshot (if applicable) and resume to Holly@HHFStrategy.com

If you’ve got contacts who can help me – Connect us at Holly@HHFStrategy.com, OR you can provide them the link to the recorded LIVE reading on YouTube, here

And join me, On The Fringe.