In this heartfelt and hilarious coming-of-age romance, Sean discovers his bisexuality and his true voice while chasing his dream as a stand-up comedian.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from My Own Kind of Person by Tim Manley, which releases on September 8th 2026.
Sean O’Brien copes with anxiety by being the funny guy—at school, in his relationships, and onstage at local open mics. But when his stand-up act starts feeling like a performance of someone he’s not, everything changes. As Sean struggles with awkward girlfriend encounters and rising panic, he meets Elijah, a new guy with quiet confidence and an honesty Sean has never allowed himself. Suddenly, Sean’s life, his comedy, and his self-awareness come into sharper focus.
With wit and emotional depth, My Own Kind of Person explores the courage it takes to speak your truth—even when your voice shakes.
EXCERPT
“When I was a kid, a girl would tell a guy she liked him by being mean to him and beating him up.” I hold the microphone tight and plant my feet center stage. “And let’s just say all the girls loved me.”
A couple of people laugh but there’s only a couple of people here, so maybe it counts as the crowd going wild. Maybe I am bringing down the house at the open mic night at McGuinn’s, the comedy club behind the McDonald’s across the street from the airport.
“There was one girl I had a secret affair with. Secret because it was only when the teacher wasn’t looking that she’d kick me in the shins.” I look wistfully at the lights. “That girl struck fear into my heart and urine into my pants.”
A little more laughter.
“She would knock me down and kick at my special area until I was numb. Then she’d roar and go, ‘You had enough?!’ And I’d respond—” I mime removing a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it, and taking a long drag. “‘Give me five minutes. I can go again.’ ”
Louder laughter.
“Thanks very much! My name is Sean O’Brien.”
I fumble to get the mic into the stand and I step down and walk to the back of the dark room.
An old lady turns in her chair. “Great job.”
“Thank you!”
The host, a retired firefighter named Bobby Bingo, takes the stage. He has thinning hair and wears a T-shirt with a bald eagle clutching a fire helmet. All his jokes are about the length of his hose.
“Give it up for Sean. For someone with such skinny arms, that kid has big balls.” This gets a lot of laughs. “Monthly showcase is next week. Top up-and-coming comics. Catch them here before they get big and have to be careful what they say.”
The house lights come up. The performers greet friends with handshake-claps and half-hugs. At the center table, my best friend Tony carefully removes his phone from the little tripod he used to film me. Beside him my other best friend Andi takes out a stick of gum and folds it into their mouth. You need to bring two paying guests to get onstage, and Tony and Andi dropped everything the second I asked.
I wasn’t planning on coming tonight at all, but when the rest of the night with Christy didn’t go as I dreamed it would, or reasonably hoped it would, or feared it possibly could, I felt so ashamed that I couldn’t stay in my bedroom. I couldn’t stay within a ten-mile radius. There was still time to make it to the open mic, so I begged Tony and Andi to attend as a not-yet-belated birthday present.
I’d rather not think about it, but suffice to say that instead of losing my virginity I had a minor, casual, extremely severe panic attack.
For some comics, getting onstage is a way to speak the truth and process what’s happening in their lives. They turn their tragedy into comedy in real time. I’m the opposite. I don’t want to process how spectacularly I just failed to have sex. I don’t want to ever tell anyone about it. And there is no feeling like making a room of strangers laugh. An hour ago I was a complete failure. Now I can do anything.
I take out my phone to send Christy a quick message, but my breath catches and my thumbs stop. Maybe I can’t do anything.
