When actor and screenwriter Josh M. Brener ’07 was first profiled by The Crimson as an undergraduate, he joked that his biggest fear was unemployment. 18 years later, he laughs at how accurate that prediction turned out to be, and how vital that risk was to his now impressive career in the arts.

“It’s one of the crazy realities of taking on this career,” Brener said. “Working a good year might mean six or eight one or two week jobs over the course of the year.”

Brener called acting a test of endurance and optimism.

“There’s a lot of in-between time to sit there and contemplate your life,” he said.

As the former president of The Hasty Pudding Theatricals, however, Brener knows the inside scoop of casting deliberations and admits that casting often has little to do with an actor’s talent, but rather “silly stuff” — superficial traits such as looks, age, and height.

While putting in effort often results in success. At Harvard, Brener notes that casting works quite differently. “You have to change your Harvard brain a little bit,” he said. Brener also recommended the “brilliant” podcast “Dead Eyes,” which discusses failure and how to move past it.

Brener therefore follows a different mindset in his auditions — “book the room, not the job.” In other words, make the casting director remember you, if not for the current role than for a future one.

Despite his growing success, Brener remains deeply connected to his time at Harvard, describing his thesis advisor, playwright Sam Marks, as a “genius.” Similarly, Brener still quotes his former English professor Gordon Teskey’s advice, which compared the act of writing to rowing.

“Every stroke you take, you’re moving the argument forward,” he said, but “you are always aware of where you’ve come from.”

This philosophy — of progress built on reflection — defines Brener’s approach to writing.

“If you’re going to write in TV and film,” he said, “you’re going to get very good at being told to throw away a scene or an act or an entire script.”

It’s this collaborative process on which Brener thrives.

“The director would be like, ‘Here are my suggestions.’ And then, this set designer would be like, ‘Well, we can’t do that, but here’s something we could do,’ and then you’re rewriting based on that,” Brener said.

Brener is the first to admit that unlike film — which he claims is a director’s medium — television is instead a writer’s medium. Brener is currently working alongside his wife, Meghan Falcone, to develop a CBS sitcom, “Seth and the City,” based on his brother’s dating life.

“Seth and the City” will not be the first project Brener and Falcone work on together. Three years ago, they filmed “The Good Life” — a short film that follows a couple who decide to quit their life and move to a van, “but they’re not chill,” making for a “hilarious and bonkers” adjustment to their van-life.

Even in his professional writing career, Brener notes that his time with Harvard improv troupe, On Thin Ice, has informed the way he introduces characters in a pilot or film — leaving breadcrumbs on their backstory and personality without dumping exposition. And unlike most writers who might claim a show’s heart lies in the characters or plot, he believes “comedy is more important.” In other words, the plot and backstory of a character should come alive through what makes them funny.

Luckily, he assured us that the Brener legacy in comedy would be secure.

“The baby is taking improv,” Brener said, about his newborn.

Brener’s advice to students hoping to follow a creative path is simple but sincere. “If you think you’re being real cute and funny, and somebody is writing down the things that you’re saying, be aware that those things will not go away and you might have to spend an hour reflecting on them years later,” he said, jokingly recounting his first interview with The Crimson as an undergrad.

On a less comedic note, he urged students to just start creating art.

“Not just so you have a calling card or so you can get discovered for whatever, but so that you can start finding your voice,” he said. “Find what makes you funny, what makes you unique.”

18 years after promising to risk unemployment for art, Brener has maintained a relentless pursuit for his passions with his humility intact.

“I think that’s the name of the game, is just finding out who you are and pursuing it aggressively,” Brener said.

With Teskey’s rowing metaphor in mind, Brener moves forward by looking back, pulling from every performance, class, and collaboration that shaped him. Each stroke is new, but the wake behind him — Harvard, humor, and collaboration — is what keeps him steady.

—Staff writer Anat Goldstein can be reached at anat.goldstein@thecrimson.com.