I have this friend named Mike who happens to be a great guy with one major pitfall.
Without fail, every time Mike says something which he intends to be funny he has to follow it up by explaining to his quiet, confused audience that it was actually a joke.
Note: If you have to tell your audience when to laugh, you’re not doing it right.
Photo by ktylerconk
Humor is a delicate thing, whether it’s at the office water cooler or in the pages of your novel. When executed to perfection, it can achieve the perfect note but when executed poorly it can be corny, confusing or in some cases even offensive.
To toe the line with precision and hit the perfect humorous notes, ask yourself these four questions.
1. Who is your audience?
Even a seasoned comedian could struggle to elicit a chuckle if he was performing stand-up in front of the wrong crowd. Not everyone understands or enjoys the same brand of humor and not every situation calls for an injection of laughter.
If you’re unsure about your audience’s comedic preferences, just ask them! Take a mini survey on your blog to find out what brand of comedy appeals to them. Once you’ve figured out what kind of comedy your audience appreciates, there are three main areas of comedy you can include in your writing: characters, scenes and dialogue.
2. What makes a character inherently funny?
In the south we have his expression – “He’s a character!” It’s the semi-polite-sweet-tea way of saying someone is a little bit crazy in a very amusing and entertaining way.
My preferred method for developing comedic characters is to take mannerisms, characteristics and life experiences from some of these real life “characters” and mix them up to create a unique, humorous persona.
You can also take a stock character and add a twist to bring humor (and added dimension) to an otherwise flat part. Carl Hiaasen, a favorite author of mine, frequently uses this technique with some of his twisted, hilarious characters. For example, one of his recurring stars is a former career politician and Florida governor who became a homeless, Everglades-dwelling, one-eyed, passionate environmentalist after he left office.
From anachronisms to oxymorons, there are many types of comedic characters to choose from, just find the ones that will appeal to your audience!
3. How would you describe a humorous incident you were involved in?
Comedic scenes can be tricky to script. Just like action sequences, it requires equal parts perfect description and illustrative verbs.
Compare these two descriptions of the same event:
Suzanne’s heel snagged in the street grate causing her to pitch forward and strike the ground with force. Blood seeped from small cuts on her palms and knees as she struggled to get back on her feet. A crowd gathered around her to gawk at the scene.
Suzanne’s heel caught in the grid of the street grate. Her arms flailed in the air, desperately seeking a safety net, but came up empty. As her body took the quick descent to the pavement she muttered a desperate prayer begging to disappear from the wide eyes of on-lookers.
See how using words like “flailed” and “muttered” create a more colorful, funnier scene than their bleaker counterparts like “strike” and “seeped”?
You’ve undoubtedly been in a few humorous situations yourself (even if you didn’t find them funny until the scabs came off!). Just imagine recapping the scene to your friends and you’ll find the comedic details are more entertaining than a black-and-white analysis.
4. How do your characters express humor in conversation?
A character’s true personality always seems to come out in exchanges with others. Whether it’s sarcasm or witty comebacks, great dialogue can always elicit a few chuckles from your audience. Authors like Elmore Leonard have mastered the subtlety of comedic dialogue, but you should also look to comedy television for inspiration in this category.
Just make sure your characters stay true to themselves—not every character has a natural sense of humor (like my friend Mike) and that’s okay!
PRACTICE
Take your pick from the three comedic writing methods above (characters, situations and dialogue) or create your own combination of elements to write with your funny bone for fifteen minutes.
Share your results in the comments below and be sure to provide your feedback for others as well!
Funny is one of the deepest writing mysteries. Of course, as Woody Allen says, “If you know how to do it, it’s not difficult at all.”
Agreed. I guess I don’t know how to do it because it’s pretty difficult for me!
Great quote PJ 🙂 It can be difficult to learn if it doesn’t come naturally, but it’s not impossible!
I’m reading this book on how to get a man to propose,
because I’ve been seeing Demus for nine months come Christmas, and he hasn’t
once mentioned matrimony. So far I’ve
tried the following:
1.
Took him to a cemetery so he’ll realize life is short. Standing next to a headstone, wearing heels,
makes you look (a) like a living breathing beauty and (b) someone who could
extend the life of a career bachelor who eats pizza five nights a week.
2.
Bought panties three sizes too small and tossed
them across the handlebars of the stationary bike in my bedroom, hoping he’d
see them and believe I was one of those tiny women whose behind would fit into
a toddler’s car seat. Apparently, a tiny
behind makes a man weak with wonder.
3.
Went camping.
Pretended to like it. Got up at
three in the morning to put on makeup at the bathroom a half a mile away so I’d
look good when he woke up. Saw what I
believe was a bear. Cursed the bear, cursed
society for making women wear makeup and cried in the oozing light in the primitive
bathroom and sat on a toilet what looked like a jumbo metal trashcan and read
the next chapter: Making Him Make You His
Queen.
Which is why I sent myself flowers
today. A big bouquet of cabbage roses
and green carnations and white peonies that cost me two day’s salary. The card read: Thinking of you and wanting
you and dreaming of you. Of course I
didn’t sign it and I texted Demus and I thanked him. And then I took a picture of the card and I
sent it to him. And then I took a
picture of the flowers and sent that.
Then I waited. He didn’t text me back, but he sets up people’s
cable, so he can’t always talk during the day.
By three, I was sweating a little, I’ll admit that. I took my boss I was having lady problems and
I grabbed my flowers and headed home.
Where Demus was. Sitting in his truck, his head resting on the
steering wheel. Which signaled a big
Bingo, I thought.
So, I put on some lip gloss and I
swung my legs out of the car, like I’ve seen actresses do, and I stood up. Demus had straightened up and was watching me
in his rear view mirror, so I leaned way over and I unbuckled my flowers from
the passenger seat and I clutched them to my chest like they were the most
cherished thing I’d ever gotten.
Demus got out of his truck, his
brow furrowed and didn’t smile once.
“I swear, Demus,” I said. “Aren’t you just full of surprises
today. First the flowers and now here
you are at my house!”
“You’re home early,” he said, real
flat and broody. “You expecting
somebody?”
“Lord, no,” I said. “I came home early so I could throw on some
steaks and then call you up and see if you’d come over and have dinner with me. The flowers,” I said, and then stopped, like
I might cry if I went on.
(Chapter 7 – Steak and Make Out –
The Recipe for Matrimony)
“About that,” Demus said.
I interrupted. “I had no idea you knew my favorite flowers
were cabbage roses. And pink. You know me so well. I was telling Aunt Sally. I said, ‘Demus Abbott is better than a
weekend in the deer woods, followed by two nights of football.’
Demus smiled at me, like he was
seeing me for the first time.
“You said that?” he asked.
“I surely did.”
Demus shook his head. “I never met a girl like you,” he said. “You wake up just as pretty as when you went
to bed. You like camping and football
and beer. And you’re as innocent as a
child, Livie, I want you to know that.
Men look at you all the time and you never even notice. I’ll bet you got guys wishing they were in my
shoes all the time.”
I liked where this was going. “Oh you,” I said, and set my flowers on the
walk beside me. “Nobody pays me no never
mind.” I looked off, like something real important had just occurred to
me. “Well, almost no one. There’s this guy. He owns the Bloomer’s Diner downtown. Sometimes he delivers burgers to the office and
he’ll tell me I look nice. Sometimes he’ll
throw in a strawberry malt even though I didn’t order one. He asked me out last week but I told him I
was seeing someone. He asked if we were
exclusive and I thought, Well, I am. I
don’t know about Demus. Are you
exclusive, Demus?”
Demus was swinging his keys around
his index finger. Fast. And he was frowning.
“Hell, Livie,” he said, “of course we’re exclusive. Why, we’re more than exclusive. You and me, I figure, you and me are headed
for the altar.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re
saying?” I asked.
Demus took my hand in his. “I believe,” he said and then stopped. “I reckon,” he said, and stopped again. I looked up at him, and a little tear rolled
down my cheek. Demus smiled.
“I am definitely asking you to
marry me,” he said. And then he more or
less quoted the card that came from my flowers.
“I think of you, baby. I dream of
you. I want you.”
I fell into his arms. He picked me up and swung me around. He kissed me.
Inside, the book on bagging a man sat hidden under my panties, the ones
that actually fit me. I imagined the
book opening and shutting fast, the pages clapping together, like a magic book
filled with spells. Tomorrow I would
write the author, a gushing endorsement. Or maybe the next day. I needed to get a ring on my finger first. A
big fat ring, my own sparkly trophy.
LOVED this Marla! Perfect tone, funny where appropriate, but still conveying the serious undertone of the scene (waiting impatiently for a man to propose is always a serious situation, right?). I take it that this is part of an overall WIP right? What’s the name of it? I’d love to read more. Great job!
Waiting is the worst! Thank you for your kind comments. It’s not a work in progress. I just wrote a little yesterday. Maybe I’ll try a little more with Livie. I like her.
Please do! I enjoyed getting to know her a little bit (and Demus, too). Sounds like a good start to something great 🙂
Well I’m glad she got her man. This made me laugh Marla. You have an amazing imagination.
Thank you! I’m so glad I made you laugh.
Poor, sweet, dumb Demus.
I like Livie. She’s different than most of your characters. Most of your females seem so sad, even within your humor. Livie doesn’t.
But I’m trying to figure out how big she is (or how small that darned book can be) if she fit the book into her panties…
Great read, as usual.
I find humor in the most inappropriate places, like churches and funeral homes. In my first church after seminary, I had a lady in my choir who could have been Dana Carvey’s inspiration for the Church Lady. She worked so hard at being prim and proper and she was the nicest Christian lady you would ever want to meet. But if you got on her bad side, beware. She could greet you with her Southern charm and a smile all while inserting the 8-inch butcher knife in your backside without you ever noticing.
But I loved, Miss Peggy. She was a hoot, even when she didn’t mean to be. One time, she invited the church staff and our wives over for pie and coffee, along with some other senior lady friends of hers. Everyone was having a wild and crazy time. I believe I got so crazy, that I added extra whipped cream on my slice of pie and even dolloped some in my coffee. And might I add, the coffee was NOT decaffeinated! I told you, it was wild and crazy.
So, anyway, she was going on and on with some of her lady friends, reminiscing about long-lost friends and their whereabouts. They would remember funny little stories about each one and giggle while covering their mouths with their gloved hands. At some point, in the midst of their happy memories, Miss Peggy said in her most animated voice, “Ladies, you remember Ethel Shrewsbury?”
“Why yes,” they chimed. “What ever happened to her?”
“She died,” Miss Peggy said matter-of-factly.
There was dead silence in the circle, until I turned and made eye contact with my Pastor’s wife and we both started laughing. Silently at first; the kind of laughing where you try and not let anyone know, like in church. But the more we tried not to laugh, the harder it became. Tears were running down our red faces and we couldn’t stop. We were both too stupefied to think clearly and excuse ourselves, so we just sat there, laughing and crying while the sweet ladies mourned the loss of their dear friend, Ethel Shrewsbury.
It was both inappropriate and awkward, but it was hilarious.
HAHA! I hope this is a true story, Tom, because it’s hilarious.
This is funny although I do feel like the last line is a tad bit redundant.
Haha that was great Tom! A funny story with funny anecdotes and imagery, perfect. I could picture the scene unfolding and I was snickering right along with the main character 🙂
That really is funny!
And you know how to PARTY, don’t you? Whipped cream and real coffee!!! Steady now…
So, so funny!
Nice job, Tom. Really funny.
And, honestly? Miss Peggy was kinda asking for it, what with serving regular coffee and whipped cream. You can’t expect to keep order when that kind of stuff is readily available.
What a great anecdote!
Nelson Riggles
243 Badger Creek Rd.
Van Meter, IA 50261-8505
Re: Account number xxxxxxxxxxxx4182
Dear Mr. Riggles:
Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to respond to your dispute concerning how the above referenced account (“the Account”) is reporting to the credit bureaus.
We have conducted an investigation and have determined that the Account is reporting accurately. We have included a notation that the Account is in dispute.
Furthermore, we would like to take the opportunity to respond to some of the specific arguments in your letter:
Your claim that the Account is set up for “automotive payments”. We are assuming that you meant “automatic payments”, but we found no evidence that automatic payments had ever been requested or set up for this account.
However, on the off chance that you wished to inform us that you obtained financing for an automobile you purchased and are using this credit card to repay that obligation, first of all, as long as you’re not using the card to commit fraud or make illegal purchases, we seriously don’t care. Second of all, if you’re paying for a car with a credit card, we would kindly suggest that you have lost your freaking mind. Do you know what the interest rate on this credit card is? We’ll give you a hint: Let’s assume best case scenario, and your car is a used 2003 Hyundai Elantra or something and you only borrowed, say, $2000 for it. You’ll still be paying for that car until roughly the year 2156. And by then, everyone will have hoverboards and you’re going to look pretty stupid.
But, we are assuming you just used the wrong word for “automatic”. Either way, we would suggest you crack open a book every once in a while. I mean, honestly.
Your claim that we should have contacted you as soon as the Account was “in the rears” troubles us. First of all–and this is assuming by “in the rears” you meant “in arrears”–we send you a monthly statement that clearly lists what you owe, including any past due amounts. The past due amounts are even listed in a separate box, in large, bold print. We recently re-formatted the monthly statements to read this way because of you. And, let us be clear: When we say “you”, we don’t mean people like you whose accounts are past due, we mean YOU. We changed the statements specifically because Nelson Riggles apparently got himself a credit card even though he appears to be pretty much illiterate. Our records also indicate that our Collections Department made no less than sixteen calls to your primary and/or secodary phone numbers in the month following the missed payment due date. This leads us to believe that:
1) You may be suffering from early-onset dementia,
2) Bizarro World Nelson Riggles has obtained your confidential card information, or
3) Your pants are on fire.
However, if your mention of the Account being “in the rears” was not a reference to the Account being past due, it frankly puzzles us why it would be our job to inform you of such a situation, and, more troubling still, why it would not be (literally) painfully obvious to you, without a reminder from any outside party, that your credit card was “in the rears”. Should this be the case, we suggest you seek medical attention at your earliest convenience, and that you also contact Customer Service to have a replacement card sent to you at no charge.
Again, we appreciate the opportunity to respond to your dispute. If we can be of any additional assistance, please contact Customer Service at 1-800-CARD-NOW, where a Card Service Associate is waiting to assist you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.
Sincerely,
Customer Assistance, Credit Card Services
DoucheBank, N.A.
P.S.–We all laughed at your picture on the copy of the photo ID you sent in with your letter.
🙂
Lisa just got her driver’s license a few months ago. She seemed to enjoy driving but she hated parallel parking. My mildly sadistic self loved to watch her struggle and sob over her less than perfect parking attempts… but who am I to say, I never drove a car before. Never.
The hours trickled by slowly when she’d drive. There was a lot of silence, she was concentrating and I was tired and lost in my own thoughts. Occasionally she’d chat … our conversations in the car always seem to be interesting. We’re never sitting next to each other, looking into each other’s eyes, smiling and seeing each other’s face. We sit facing the front window, looking at the road in front of us … this is kind of nice – I do understand how some cultures get away with no eye contact – eye contact can feel unsettling sometimes.
We drove.
Lisa talked…
“Sometimes I try running over Indian Mynas, like in Queensland how they run over cane toads – since there are too many of them in the country, well apparently there are too many Indian Mynas … so yeah, it freaks June out but I think it’s fun.”
“Indian Mynas? What are they?”
“You know, those black birds…”
“OHHH I thought you meant like an Indian child.”
I’m feeling a bit sad today – a dear neighbour has lost her fight with cancer – she was 56. But alongside our sadness there is laughter. It lightens the load, it relives good memories and it honours her wish that we all carry on.
Humour is bound to people, their geography, history and culture but it is a fragile thing. I can tell a funny story – I can have friends holding their sides, aching with laughter. But when I write that story down it is like a butterfly specimen – still and stiff with a pin stuck through it’s abdomen.
I’ve been wondering why that happens and have come to the conclusion that laughter is a group activity. We share laughter with people, with friends, with family – laughter needs company.
Reading is a solitary activity. Funny books are rare and those authors that make us laugh are very precious.
Juliana, so sorry for your loss. You are 100% right — laughter is definitely best as a group activity. Even when you read a laugh-out-loud book, the first thing you want to do is read the line that really got you going to the nearest person (whether they’re interested or not). Storytelling in person is never the same as storytelling on paper, but for those who are able to pull it off it’s certainly something to be treasured.
So sorry. Glad you can remember the good times. And true, humor is very cultural. I have noticed over the years how my dh has come to appreciate American humor, while his best friend who married a British friend of mine has come to appreciate British humor. Where once the two of them used to laugh together, now they’re each more attuned to their respective wives and their humor.
And I guess I can laugh out loud when I read books, because I find books that I enjoy to be good company. 🙂
This was intended as a serious piece, but just didn’t want to stay that way. So I tweaked the beginning a bit and this is what came out:
“Oh dear Lord, what should I do?” Lucy
wondered. She watched the tall
dark-haired man across the street as he held on to a young girl, surely no more
than six years old, and hurried her along.
The girl’s long dark braids bobbed up and down on her sleeveless pink
shirt. She could see Dora smiling at her
from the girl’s purple shorts. The
girl’s shirt and shorts were an odd contrast to the man’s traditional garb and
large white skullcap. Even from where
she stood, she could see the little girl’s silent tears, the man’s set
face. The little girl was half walking,
half running in an attempt to keep up with the man’s long strides and
purposeful gait.
Lucy turned this way and that, but no one else seemed to be
paying any attention. And that in a town
not known for its lack of reserve.
“What do I know?” she muttered to herself. “I’m only visiting in the
neighborhood. Maybe people know them and
this happens here every day.” But
she didn’t manage to convince herself.
She still worried.
She stared at them as the two of them crossed the street and
passed right in front of her. She
followed them a bit uncertainly, not quite sure what she should do. Was this ‘kosher’? Should she say something? But then she remembered what life was like
with young children, and how annoying they could choose to be at the most embarrassing
moments. She remembered times when she
had been flushed and embarrassed, flustered by the untimely interference of
some well-meaning stranger. What did she
know?
Lucy spotted an old, dusty car parked on the side of the
road in front of them. Odd in this
upscale neighborhood. As they
approached, the car suddenly revved its engine.
Startled, Lucy glanced at the car and noticed another traditionally
dressed male inside. “Oh my
gosh! A getaway car! What do I do now?”
In a panic, Lucy looked around to see if there was anyone
around. Just a moment ago there had been
quite a few people, where could they all have disappeared to? Oh dear, what should she do. Relax, she told herself. She saw the man and child pass the parked car
and continue on their way and calmed her racing heart. Too soon?
The dusty car pulled out of the parking spaceand began to drive by. He slowed down as he passed the man and
child. Wait, was he stopping to pick
them up after all? Oh no! Lucy stopped n her tracks, her heart
racing. What to do? She pulled out her cell phone, prepared to
dial the police, write down the license plate, do whatever was necessary,
though she wasn’t quite sure what that was. No need, she belatedly noticed the car had its
signal lights on. As soon as the man and
girl cleared the intersection and continued straight ahead, the car made its
turn. Pshew, close call.
Lucy continued to follow them. Suddenly, she could see the little girl
pulling away. Was that a struggle?
“Let go of my sleeve!” she heard the man say
through gritted teeth. The girl pulled
some more. “I said stop pulling on
my sleeve!” The girl looked into
the man’s eyes, whimpered and stopped pulling.
“Oh my gosh!” thought Lucy.”That poor child
seems to be petrified of him!” Lucy
quickly opened the phone in her hand and dialed.
“Phillip?”
“Talk up, honey.
I can hardly hear you.”
“I can’t talk any louder,” said Lucy, shielding
her mouth with her hand. “I’m
following someone.”
“You’re what?!?”
“Quiet, Philip.
They’ll hear you.”
“Who’ll hear me?
You on speaker?”
“Just talk quietly.”
“What’s going on, Luce?”
“I’ve been trailing this man for the last few
minutes.”
“And why would you be doing that?”
Lucy could hear his mounting exasperation. She had to make him understand. And she didn’t want to lose sight of the odd
looking pair in front of her.
“He’s in this flowing traditional garb, and he’s
pulling along this crying little girl, who’s dressed totally different from
him.”
“I should hope so.”
“I’m serious, Phil!
He looks so conservative, she looks so modern. And she’s so little. Maybe five or six. It looks really
suspicious.”
Lucy could hear Philip sighing over the wires. “Luce, you remember when we were in
Disney? When Ronnie wanted to go on the
Pirates of the Caribbean for the third time and everyone else wanted to head
for Space Mountain? Do you remember how
we dragged him through the park with him screaming and yelling? Every time he managed to slip out of our
grip, he’d run back in the direction we’d just come from.”
Lucy smiled.
“Yes, I remember.”
She saw the man pull on the little girl’s arm again. “But, Phil, this is different. This isn’t Disney, and he really does look
suspicious.”
“Well, what do you suspect? The guy’s from the Taliban and he’s planning
to use the girl as a suicide bomber?”
“Don’t make fun of me, Phil. I’m telling you, it just doesn’t smell right
to me. Maybe he and his wife broke up
’cause he got all traditional and she stayed modern. Maybe he’s kidnapping their little
girl.”
“God, Lucy. I
don’t know what to tell you anymore. I
can’t figure out if you’re simply over-indulging in an already over-active imagination
or if this time you’ve gone totally over the edge!”
Lucy blinked back some tears. “That’s not fair.”
Phil softened his tone. “Honey, you still following
them on the street?”
“Yes.”
“So how about we try to apply a little logic here. Do you really think that someone out to
kidnap his daughter would be dragging her along a public street for how many
minutes now? Don’t you think he’d have
planned something a little less conspicuous?”
“You are so frustrating! Why do you always have to be so
logical?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Well, so am I, Lucy.
Look, one of us has to try and be a little logical. And besides, if you really think he’s
dangerous, I don’t want you following him.”
“So you believe me?”
“I totally believe that you’re following this guy. I totally believe that you think he’s, well—dangerous. I just don’t understand why you are following
someone you think is dangerous.”
“Phillip Ashton, you can be so darn frustrating!””And you can be real trial! But God knows, I
love you, Lucy. Life is never boring
with you.”
Lucy smiled softly. “I
love you too.”
“So listen to me,hon, I mean it. If this guy really is dangerous, I don’t want
you on his tail. And if he’s not, then
Lucy, why are you wasting your time?”
Lucy felt her steps slowing down, and the gap between her
and the man with the child began to widen.
“You think I’m silly.”
“Lucy, I think you have the warmest heart of anyone I
know. And I think you’re smart enough to
make your own decisions. So I’m going to
leave you to it and get back to work.
Just keep me in the loop. Bye,
babe.”
The phone clicked shut.
Lucy stopped. She
could see the man and the little girl in the distance. She slowly closed her eyes, calmed her racing
heart and replayed Phillip’s words in her head.
Then she opened her eyes. She
knew exactly what she should do.
(And she did it.)