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Aug 31, 20233 min read

Funny Writing, Not Funny Looking

After being serious for a long time, I decided to get back to the art of humor.


A smiling yellow face

I've been listening to the late Bob Saget's book Dirty Daddy. It's a combination of heartfelt stories and private parts humor. In fact, there's probably a joke about the twig and berries every few paragraphs.


In other words, Dirty Daddy is a book for the 12-year-old inside of me. I ate him a few weeks ago. Thank you. Try the Impossible Veal. I'll be here for the next five shows.


Additionally, Saget's book is filled with stream-of-consciousness segues. He lovingly speaks about his father one moment and slides into a paragraph about phrases that should no longer be part of the English language. Plus, private part humor.


As I listen, I think about my writing. Once upon a time, I filled it with humorous asides and references to obscure subjects that Dennis Miller would've been confused about. See what I did there? I referenced a Saturday Night Live cast member from four decades ago.


Don't Be Funny

However, my writing shifted a few years ago. Part of it was due to my mental state, which was darker than a Guillermo del Toro children's movie. The other part came from something said by an editor.


I was working for a pop culture website, peppering my articles with generous dashes of salty, humorous goodness. Out of the blue, an editor emailed me with a sandwich message. In other words, a layer of critique between two layers of good news.


There's no doubt they enjoyed my work and knowledge of pop culture. However, they wanted me to pull back on the humor. Not simply lessen it but remove it altogether. The editor said their site needed to be the truest source of evergreen pop culture on the interweb.


First, pop culture is not evergreen. Shows, movies, and superheroes come and go faster than a recently digested Taco Bell $5 bundle. Even pop culture history isn't evergreen. New items are revealed in memoirs, interviews, and anniversary specials.


Second, I wasn't sure where they were headed. The company has a group of sites that report on amazing Hello Kitty cosplays and fan theories that say I Love Lucy and Avatar are in the same universe. These topics aren’t humorous?


Ben Stein from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"


Becoming Unfunny

Needless to say, the editor's words triggered doubts about my writing. Wasn't I professional enough? Was I jeopardizing future writing opportunities? Was Lucy Ricardo really a member of the Na'vi?


It stopped me hard enough that I became unfunny. My stories were simply bland, sewn-together sentences presenting the basics of the article's subjects. I shunned any moments where I thought a piece required an interjection of humor.


In turn, writing became a meaningless, ordinary job. No wonder I tumbled into Alice's rabbit hole and kept going past Wonderland.


However, as my confidence has returned, I realized a critical item: I'm damn funny. Not in the Robin Williams sense. After all, who can match that man's brilliant talents? Still, I make people laugh with my one-liners and quips. It's the blessing given to me by the Universe and an authoritarian childhood.


A scene from "Goodfellas"

What Did We Learn Today, Rich?

Humor is returning to my writing. Of course, there are places where it doesn’t work. For instance, I can't insert potty jokes into a technical document unless it's instructions for an AI-operated toilet. Plus, there are stories and poems in my soul that won't include a hint of a giggle.


Still and all, it's coming back folks, whether you want it to or not. In the end, as the world continues to simmer in chaos that dates back to Cain and Abel, we need to laugh at something once in a while.


All the best.

Rich Scott Keller

 

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