KEVIN FULD

IN THE LATE 1990s, Kevin Fuld was a quiet, observant Lake Highlands High School student. He remembers writing his own obituary, an assignment from English teacher David Patton.

“I was into photography at the time, and I wrote about how I had lived life as an outsider, always observing,” Fuld recalls. “Looking back at that assignment, it was spot-on.”

Today Fuld remains introspective, and he holds a down-to-earth day job, but his creative self — back then just budding — is in full bloom.

He works 40-plus hours a week — customer service at a mortgage company in Fort Worth. (That doesn’t include the almost twohour-a-day commute.) He likes it, for the most part, he says. But he spends nights and weekends pursuing more-pressing passions, which include acting in, writing and producing plays.

On a Sunday afternoon in June, he’s inside the Margo Jones Theatre at Fair Park, standing on the set of a play he produced called “Silver Screen Killer.”

Lanky, bespectacled, mustachioed and bursting with energy, he paces the stage as he recalls his first gig at The Pocket Sandwich Theatre.

“In 1997 I started working there, in the kitchen. I first saw a melodrama there and I thought, ‘I get this. I could do this.’ I started percolating ideas.”

At 19 he landed his first acting role at The Pocket, and soon after that he wrote “Camp Death,” a slasher-movie parody.

“I remember handing the first scene to Joe [Dickinson], the Pocket owner, and he read it and said, ‘It’s good. I want more.’ As a young writer, that was all I needed to hear.”

“Watching other people bring to life something that you’ve written is blissful, wonderful and, well, it’s orgasmic, but lasts longer than that,” Fuld says with a grin. “I’m sure you’ll need to edit that.”

He didn’t come up with that last part, he says. It’s a version of what the old-timers at The Pocket traditionally tell new writers.

Since then, he has written two other plays, “Brandi: The Vampire Staker” and “Springheeled Jack and the Enigmatic Dr. Hu.” He has acted in dozens of productions includ- ing “Dracula,” “Ebenezer Scrooge,” “Captain Blood,” “Death: The Musical,” “Love, Sex and the IRS,” “The Nerd,” “Diary of Anne Frank” and “The Boys Next Door.”

At this point in his life, he says, he doesn’t have time to audition for big movie or television roles, though he’s held a couple of small parts and he might like to do that someday.

But local theater can be rewarding in its own right, he says.

Playing the role of Mr. Dussel in “Anne Frank” was intense, he says. “He was a real man. A real holocaust victim. In a play called, “Captain Phantasm and the Countdown to Doom!” Fuld had a blast portraying a “true villain — a prototypical Jersey cop,” he says, demonstrating his Jersey brogue. (One critic for thecolumnawards.org wrote that Fuld is a “genius at channeling stereotypes.”)

He created Camp Death productions last year after writing “Dr. Hu” for the Richardson Theatre Centre.

Fuld, director Joey Dietz and the cast of the show conducted a Kickstarter campaign to raise money to produce the murder-mystery melodrama.

That they raised funds quickly ostensibly is a result of the many friendships developed within the theater community, another gratifying aspect of this life.

“Now I am surrounded by a bunch of talented people who help things like this happen,” he says, throwing his gaze toward the “Silver Screen” stage.

“There was a time, about five years, where I focused on my other job and did not do any of this. I had about five friends then. Now I have dozens and dozens. My life is more fun now.”

An actor peeks in and tells Fuld he has seven minutes to exit the stage. Soon after, audience members roll into the theater. It’s nearly a full house, and the show is a punchy, laugh-out-loud hit.

Fuld announces to the crowd that The Pocket Sandwich Theater picked up “Silver Screen Killer” to run in August.

Cheers ensue. —Christina Hughes Babb

KEVIN FULD CAN BE SEEN in the Plano Courtyard Theater’s “Who Was That Lady I Saw You With?” through August 9. Call 972.941.5611 for times and tickets.

ARGUABLY THE MOTHERSHIP for Dallas’ aspiring comedians, The Dallas Comedy House on an average Friday night emits laughter from a small but raucous audience.

Neighborhood resident Christie Wallace and fiancé Tommie Lee Brown frequently are the impetus behind (or at least a substantial part of) the crowd’s collective mirth. Together they belong to two popular improvisation troupes, one called Franzia and the other Cupcake (they are also each involved with various other ensembles).

This particular summer night the couple has back-to-back shows. They take their various ad-libbed roles — a lesbian Bed, Bath and Beyond salesperson or an unnerved one-nightstand participant, for example — in stride, serving up pitch-perfect physical comedy and rapid witty responses to respective counterparts.

“It is not that hard,” Wallace says. “There are certain rules you go by that make it easier.” Having good chemistry and a history with your troupe helps, too. “You support each other, and everything will go well.”

At an improv show, an audience member gives the performers one word — maybe “pillow” or “hungry.” Then the lights dim and the players return with impromptu skits related either literally or indirectly to the word.

“The first rule,” explains Brown, “is you always say ‘yes.’” Meaning that a successful troupe supports one another in every move and never blocks the flow of action.

It is difficult to imagine the adeptly entertaining and energetic duo doing days behind desks. But as staffers in the mortgage department of Pearson & Patterson legal services, they are each parked at one Monday through Friday.

“Yes, well, when I tell people at work about the improv, they say they wouldn’t expect me to be involved in something like that,” Wallace says. “It’s like you almost lead two different lives.”

For Brown, entertaining is necessary fun and essential to a balanced life. “I do like my day job, something sort of mundane where I can turn off,” he says. “But the improv — it’s the closest thing I can get to playing make believe, like you do as a child. I don’t care what I do for a living as long as I can still do this.”

His attitude makes him a favorite among fellow improvers, notes DCH founder Amanda Austin.

“Everyone loves to play with Tommy on stage,” she says.

Wallace seems a bit more serious about her moonlighting.

“A lot of us have that goal, I think. Some people here at DCH work full time with standup, theater and improv. Several of us are filming a pilot it’s like a ‘Taxi’ meets ‘The Office’.”

Austin says Wallace is one of the club’s central players.

“Christie is what I like to call one of the original gangsters of DCH. She’s been here since we opened our doors. Talented comedian and an amazing improv comedy teacher, too. She’s sought out for her teaching; her students continue to rave about her classes every term.”

But the bills must be paid, and teaching improv classes, something both of them do, doesn’t cut it.

Still, life is pretty fun as-is, the couple agrees.

“Confidence, communication skills and quick thinking, which we learn and teach, are skills you can use in work and daily life,” Wallace says. “It is something I always look forward to. All of my friends are improvers, and, obviously, my fiancé.”

The two met about three years ago; Wallace trained Brown to wait tables at DCH, and, as Brown says with a grin, “I decided to continue my education.”

—Christina Hughes Babb