Why did a comedian become an editor? The Life of Takeshi Fujiwara
平田提シェア
Takeshi Fujiwara's career as an editor began as a comedian he "thought would sell." He and a junior high school classmate joined Yoshimoto's training school (NSC), spending their days honing their material while working part-time at a convenience store. He never thought of quitting, but his partner did. This is the story of how he became an editor.
From junior high, all I thought about was making it big.
――Mr. Fujiwara, you were originally a comedian, weren't you?
No, I just aimed for it, but it never worked out. I've loved comedy since I was in elementary school. I watched Downtown on TV all the time and yearned to be a comedian.
――When did you start aiming to be a comedian?
There was a classmate in junior high who also loved comedy. We went to the 2 Chome Gekijo theater and even did manzai in the classroom. We said we'd go to Yoshimoto's training school after high school, and after graduating high school, we entered NSC. I continued doing comedy while working part-time.
Since I found my partner in junior high, I couldn't imagine any other way of life. I lived thinking I would become famous and marry a TV announcer (laughs).
――(laughs).
But then, my partner sent me a message on my flip phone, "I'm quitting." I replied, "Okay." By email. And that was the end of it.
――There was no discussion?
I’m a timid person, you see (laughs), not the type to discuss things. If someone dislikes me, well… it’s like that. So I was stunned. All my plans fell apart. It had been since junior high, so the extent of the disruption was immense. When my plan to marry an announcer couldn't come true (laughs).
Became a backpacker, quickly got bored
――What did you do after that?
Having nothing to do, I happened to pick up Kotaro Sawaki's "Shin'ya Tokkyu." I took on more night shifts at Daily Yamazaki, saved about 500,000 yen in half a year, and went on a trip. I traveled around Southeast Asia all the way to India. But after about two weeks, I figured out the routine. I understood how to make things like laundry and daily life feel fresh. When I thought, "Oh, I can easily continue this for a year," I started to feel like going home quickly. It lasted a little over three months.
――How much "Shin'ya Tokkyu" changes people's lives. What happened after you returned home?
This time, instead of performing on stage, I decided to go into "writing." I formed a comedy troupe with my seniors, peers, and juniors. I would write, and they would perform. There were about six or seven of us.
――Is it like Dow 90000?
It might be like that now, but it wasn't that amazing (laughs). We did it for about a year, but then a comedy boom came, and everyone started saying they "wanted to do it at Yoshimoto," so we disbanded.
――That's also disheartening.
It was disheartening. I had nothing to do again. At that time, someone who had helped with the lighting for the troupe told me, "You can write, so why don't you go to a screenwriting school?" I opened "Keiko to Manabu" at a convenience store and saw an advertisement for an editing school next to the screenwriting school, and thought, "This is it."
――So you went there.
Screenwriting is a talent-based competition, isn't it? I was already tired of that. The editing class seemed to lead to publishers and I thought I might even get social insurance (laughs). So I chose that path.
Joining an editing production company with my back against the wall
――Did going to editing school lead to a job?
About half a year after I started attending, a job opening came up, and I jumped at an editing production company, which turned out to be incredibly tough. There were two female seniors who usually left around 6 p.m. because they had children. It was just me and the president as the men. It was non-stop all-nighters. The first three days were all-nighters, things like that.
――But you didn't quit.
I thought, "This is my only option." I had sent resumes to every job opening that came to the editing school. I was hired by a small design company, but after three months, I was fired for being "useless." So I felt like there was no next chance. It was do or die. It was pretty black, but I just couldn't quit.
The true nature of "wanting to be popular"
――Mr. Fujiwara, you still say "I want to be popular," don't you? Even after quitting comedy, have you always pursued that?
That's right. I think aiming to be an editor-in-chief at a publishing company, going independent, and trying to create a magazine in Nishiyodogawa were all attempts to find a way to "sell." But none of it went well, and I guess my direction gradually changed.
――What's your current image of "selling"?
Well, being a unique person probably isn't going to work anymore, so it's more like being invited to talk shows at bookstores, I guess. I admire people like Mr. Shinpei Aoki who holds events at DIY BOOKS. I could never do something like that. Hmm, if I could become an editor who can stand on their own in publishing, I wonder if I'll have become someone. That's what I think now.
Bipolar disorder, self-esteem, and the window seat at the izakaya
――May I ask you something a bit personal? You struggle with the ups and downs of bipolar disorder, don't you?
That's right.
――I'm the same, but isn't spring a difficult season? Even with hay fever!
Please, everyone, if you're struggling, go to a psychiatrist immediately. That's the one thing I really want you to do. There are people who complain and complain, I don't know if it's pride or what. But more than anything, I think, "Just go once!" (laughs).
――I went in my early twenties too.
Oh, really? It's easier when you realize your illness early on. You can process it, so to speak.
――I heard that the period when you were organizing local events was tough.
When you start doing things for the community, people ask you for all sorts of things. And when they ask, I get happy and give my all. But then sometimes it feels like I'm not really needed, or conversely, when I ask for something, they act like it's a bother. Since it's free, things can drag on. When that kind of thing piles up, it becomes tough.
――As Kyohei Sakaguchi and the Kandabashi aphorisms say, for people with bipolar disorder, serving others is their raison d'être, so being hindered from that is tough. It's a matter of self-esteem.
That's right. If only I had self-esteem, none of this would be a problem.
It got a little easier after I started teaching.
――Is there anything you changed that made things a little easier?
I run a "Writing School" where I teach how to write, and that's good. It's made things easier. Having students is really great. You can love your students, right? With people I work with, I tend to think, "What do you mean by that?" (laughs), but with my students, it's like, "I understand that way of writing." I can talk to them on a flat level.
――I'm the same. There's that heartwarming feeling when a ZINE school student Slack messages me, "I'm struggling with this here."
That's right. Because it's a relationship where I get paid to teach, we can be equals. That's completely different from voluntary involvement in the community. And I get thanked (laughs). Classes are great.
――On the other hand, you continue to hold events, don't you? Isn't attracting people to events difficult? I'm not good at promotion either.
Indeed, some events continue, and some don't. I think what's important is the reaction rather than the number of people. The events that continued had a different reaction from the customers who came. They would say things like, "That was interesting," or "Are you participating in this kind of initiative next time?" There was some kind of action. Just that makes it completely okay even if there are few customers. Ultimately, I can act if I'm expected to. If there's no expectation, it's really tough.
――Mr. Fujiwara, you're truly like a maiden, your pure side is wonderful.
When I'm having a tough time, I drink at a window seat in an izakaya. I deliberately drink where everyone passes by, hoping they'll notice me (laughs). ...Even though I know no one will, I still do it. I think to myself, "I'm such an attention-seeker."
――But you want companions, don't you? Selfish as it may be, companions you can associate with moderately. Reading Hiroki Azuma's "Genron Senki" makes me afraid of working with a sense of camaraderie, though.
That's right. But there are also events where I get invited because I'm looked after like that. I guess I need to find the right balance.
(This article has been edited based on the recording of "Tsukureru Honya no Radio.")
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