Writing Humor

My husband made an interesting observation the other day. He said, “My life would be funny if it wasn’t my life.” If I told you some of the stories about his family, you would laugh and either: 1) wonder if it is really true, or 2) be thankful your family is normal, comparatively speaking.

I’ve tried to write short stories that incorporate some of his family’s antics, but they never come out right. I try to disguise the characters, change the setting, alter the words spoken, but somehow those adjustments make it so it isn’t funny anymore.

Writing humor is hard. I admire those who can put wit onto paper and make people laugh, or at least smile. It doesn’t always have to be a belly laugh kind of funny either—sometimes subtle humor can also make your day.

In my quest to “write funny” I found a few pointers:

1.       Humor comes from pain or embarrassment. As with my husband, his family isn’t funny to him because he lives it in real life, but to others it’s a laughfest. Like the time my mother-in-law started screaming at a waiter in a restaurant on a Friday night and the room went silent…

2.       Humor can’t be forced. I think this is my problem. If I tell the story out loud, people laugh. When I write the same story, I’m trying hard to make it funny because people can’t hear the inflection in my voice or see my facial expressions. Like the first time I went to my mother-in-law’s house and she handed me a wooden box and told me to meet her mother…

3.       Humor is relational. If people can’t relate to the situation, it won’t be funny no matter what. But who doesn’t have a family? Even if the family does and says all the right things, people understand familial dynamics. Like the Christmas my mother-in-law sent me one tealight candle, a “free gift with purchase”, and an extra-large tee-shirt that said, “Trucker From Hell”…

I dare write these things because I know my husband’s family doesn’t read my blog. Hopefully today isn’t the day they start.