My last couple of blog entries, I’ve been breaking down how to write humor. The problem with looking at the nuts and bolts of the craft of humor is that the craft itself isn’t funny. It’s like a magician showing you how the trick is done: cool to see, but ultimately, sort of a let down because it’s no longer magic.

That said, if you want to catch up to where we are today, check how Part One and Part Two and then come back. We’ll wait. Go on, scamper.

(While they’re gone… let’s vote that the new readers buy drinks, okay? And chips.)

I left off in the middle of listing some mechanisms for humor. This is not going to be an exhaustive list (cannot stress that enough). Think of them as handy brainstorming guidelines, but be aware that you can combine them, as well. Okay, lessee…. up next is:

Exaggeration / HYPERBOLE –

This is one of my favorites (go figure) because it can be used subtly (yep, I know, seems like a contradiction in terms: subtle exaggeration), and it can be used balls out.

Subtle: She loved the pie so much, she’d marry it if it were legal. Which it probably was, in the deep south. So long as it was a Christian pie.

Big: She knew she wanted that man. She had always known. The Universe had known. Eleventy billion years ago, some DNA somewhere paired up with some other DNA and they hatched a plan so that right now, at this moment, she would be here in this spot where she’d see him walking across the vast, empty parking lot, and she’d be able, with just the right touch, to stomp on the gas pedal of her little Prius and get up enough speed to mow his lying, cheating, bastard ass down without a single witness in sight. The Universe was smart like that.

Understatement –

Understatement works by utilizing a reversal of expectations and downplaying the obvious with sarcasm (generally). It’s difficult to give an example out of context, so here’s one from Bobbie Faye’s book 3 (WHEN A MAN LOVES A WEAPON). Bobbie Faye, Cam (her ex who is very unhappily helping her find her fiancé, Trevor), and Trevor’s sniper friend, Riles (who hates Bobbie Faye), are all approaching a very large casino boat on Lake Charles. Riles looks over the boat and, knowing of Bobbie Faye’s propensity for disaster:

“I’m stunned they don’t have your picture with a slash through it out here somewhere,” Riles muttered. “That’s a class-action lawsuit begging to happen.”

Misguided proclamations —

A moment later, in the bar inside the casino, Bobbie Faye is assuring the bar’s owner, Suds, that she is not going to cause any harm to his establishment.

“I promise, Suds. That last time was a total accident.”

“Honey, you took a chainsaw to three booths.”

“They beat up Lori Ann after school.”

“I know, Sugar, I’d have held the idiots down for you, but the booths were innocent.”

…and a couple of exchanges later…

“I’ll make this quick and clean and then we’ll be outta here. Give me some time before you call the cops.”

And by this point, anyone who’s read anything about Bobbie Faye knows that place is toast. At that point, it’s just a matter of how it will unfold.

Other misguided proclamations occur when we see, for example, that there is a problem, but the person the scene is focused on tries to imply that there isn’t one by claiming, “Oh, move along, nothing to see, all is well.” The comedy comes in the anticipation of how bad that is going to rubberband back on them.

Shock Value –

Socially inappropriate behavior will either horrify us or make us laugh, and sometimes, both at the same time. Someone naked where they aren’t supposed to be, someone saying the first thing that comes to their mind when they shouldn’t, someone acting completely age inappropriate or status inappropriate. For example, if you saw Queen Elizabeth on a YouTube video humping the leg of her husband, you’d be horrified. If she were drunk and people were trying to stop her, but afraid to touch her, but trying desperately to salvage her dignity, you’d be laughing. If she were humping the leg of a gorilla, you’d probably be in tears.

The problem with shock value is that it can almost immediately backfire on you if the reader / viewer thinks too much about what they’re seeing. It elicits a purely visceral, fast reaction, but we are also almost always embarrassed by the fact that we found something like that funny. To pull this one off requires a lot of perfect timing if it’s going to be the central moment around which the comedy is built. Alternately, shock value can be the premise of an entire piece which does gag after gag after gag. (Monty Python stuff, lots of slapstick comedies, farce and satire utilize shock value frequently.)

Comeuppance –

This is when the bad guy gets his due, done in a funny way. The easiest example is when Daffy Duck has grabbed away the gun from Elmer Fudd (I believe) because he’s being selfish and screams, “Mine! Mine! Mine!” and it goes off, blowing his beak around to the back of his head. Or when Wile E Coyote is determined to trick the poor Road Runner and ends up off the edge of the cliff himself, scrambling for purchase of thin air, knowing he is doomed.

(Obviously, this is used with non-cartoon moments. But you cannot help but love Daffy and Wile E.)

Humiliation / Self-Deprecation –

Entire careers can be made off these two. For humiliation, think Jim Carrey in LIAR LIAR. In that movie, Fletcher, an attorney, cannot lie for 24 hours due to the birthday wish of his young son, and the truth-telling is about to kill him because he has no control over it. Here’s one of many exchanges:

Office Worker: Hey, Fletcher, how’s it hanging?
Fletcher: [groans] Short, shriveled, and always to the left.

For self-deprecation, think about nearly any movie Hugh Grant’s been in. Four Weddings and a Funeral, for example:

Charles: Ehm, look. Sorry, sorry. I just, ehm, well, this is a very stupid question and… , particularly in view of our recent shopping excursion, but I just wondered, by any chance, ehm, eh, I mean obviously not because I guess I’ve only slept with 9 people, but-but I-I just wondered… ehh. I really feel, ehh, in short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version, eh, the words of David Cassidy in fact, eh, while he was still with the Partridge family, eh, “I think I love you,” and eh, I-I just wondered by any chance you wouldn’t like to… Eh… Eh… No, no, no of course not… I’m an idiot, he’s not… Excellent, excellent, fantastic, eh, I was gonna say lovely to see you, sorry to disturb… Better get on…
Carrie: That was very romantic.
Charles: Well, I thought it over a lot, you know, I wanted to get it just right.

and here, this one is his friend, Tom, speaking:

Tom: Oh, I don’t know, Charlie. Unlike you, I never expected “the thunderbolt.” I always just hoped that, that I’d meet some nice friendly girl, like the look of her, hope the look of me didn’t make her physically sick, then pop the question and, um, settle down and be happy. It worked for my parents. Well, apart from the divorce and all that.

and here:

Tom: The great advantage of having a reputation for being stupid: People are less suspicious of you.

And from the third Bobbie Faye book:

She’d sunk a boat. A whole boat. A boat that was bigger than a house. Bobbie Faye had never sunk something bigger than a house before. Where does that go on a résumé? Hobbies?

Sarcasm –

Webster’s defines sarcasm as the “use of irony to mock or convey contempt.” In book 3 (WHEN A MAN LOVES A WEAPON), Bobbie Faye and Riles argue. Often.

“Right, because it feels so much better to think that there might be two homicidal maniacs out there who want me dead.”

“As opposed to all the regular people who want you dead?” Riles asked.

“Shut up.”

In Jennifer Crusie’s FAKING IT, Tilda has just completed a van Goh like mural on a restaurant wall and her client is looking it over.

“You didn’t sign it ‘van Goh,’  did you?” Clarissa bent down. “Wouldn’t that be forgery?”

“Not unless he had a Kentucky period we don’t know about.”

Kate was like a force of nature, so unbelievably strong, managing to find the irony and humor in any situation. The vitality of her life makes it hard to accept her death.

She passed away on Sunday. We’re all trying to come to grips with that fact. There is not a soul who worked with Kate, met Kate, or knew Kate in any way who doesn’t have a wonderful story about her. She was generous to a fault, and I’m not referring to money–I’m referring to her spirit. I told her once, when she asked me to go to a luncheon at a conference, that I felt guilty–I wasn’t writing for Kensington at the time. She told me flatly that Kensington still had my books for reprint, and who knew? Life was ever changing. One day I could write the piece that they’d fight for, and I wouldn’t be able to refuse their offer. She was the same with everyone.

Lost authors were welcomed into her fold.

I met her in 1982. Nowadays, we’re the old guard. Not the oldest guard–some came before us–but a pretty old guard. Kate was there for the groundwork of the genre. She saw the beginning, she saw the trends, and more than anything, she had a vision for what she wanted, for what was coming, for people, and for books. Kate knew that books were more than a commodity; she knew authors. She was an advocate who was never afraid to speak. She loved her authors, but demanded that they work, that they imagine, and turn in nothing but their finest work. She let nothing slide.

She drew the best from us. Once, I was irritated, hearing about a book similar to one that I had suggested to her. She told me that it was different–she was expecting far more from me and she intended to get it.

My heart bleeds for her wonderful family. And for all of us. Whether people in publishing worked with Kate, they knew her name. They knew her for her amazing sense of humor–and the truth, and for the fact that she was certainly not a shrinking violet. Kate fought constantly for what she believed in. She took the blows that came from being honest at time, but she would just fight back again. Nothing ever quelled her spirit.

Kate never offered lip service. What was–was. Usually, she could give any subject an ironic twist of humor.

There was no better friend. There was no such thing as being afraid to ask for a favor. She had a temper, and fur could fly. But she listened, and when something was really needed, Kate was right there.

Friends are calling me who didn’t really know Kate, still saddened because they had heard about her. And I’m glad. Whether we knew her, worked with her, or just heard about her, Kate seriously changed the world for the genre, for books, and for human beings.

Her loss in unimaginable, and I pray that she left those of us who loved her with just an iota of her strength, passion, and spirit.

Heather Graham

One of my favorite ways to forget the stress of everyday life for a little while (besides reading a great book) is to watch a movie.  This weekend I was in the mood to shut out the world (and the deadline looming) with a movie.  Believe it or not, I rarely watch romantic comedies. Give me a killer with a unique way of committing the gruesome act of murder and an intense, high action plot and I’m right at home. But watching a certain young lady (who shall remain nameless) move on with her life and forget her first love has fascinated (and infuriated) me of late. So, when my On Demand channel previewed The Ghosts of Girlfriends Past I took the bait. After all, Matthew McConaughey is very nice to look at.  And I’ve loved Jennifer Garner since Alias.  I banished the world and dove in.  A fun movie! It left me with much to think about (believe it or not!) And though I rarely watch sentimental movies of any sort, the truth is–behind all the murder stuff–I’m a bit of a romantic sap inside.  Yes, yes, I said it! I love the bringing two people together and having them fall in love despite the chaos around them or whatever. That’s why every single story I write has the act of falling in or toward love somewhere inside it.

Back to the movie, some of the things that Connor Mead (Matthew’s character) says is: True love is a myth. It’s comfort food for the weak and uneducated.  That may not be word-for-word, but you get the drift.  Connor Mead used his vast charms to seduce every woman he encountered but the ghost of his dead uncle (who taught him everything he knows) took much glee in showing him his past, present and future and the consequences of maintaining his current path.  You see, dear old Connor fell in love with Jenny (Jennifer Garner) early in his teens and got his heart broken (totally not Jenny’s fault btw) and never wanted to feel that way again.  One of my favorite scenes in the movie is when Connor and the ghost of his uncle are standing on the street and it starts to rain. Connor makes some remark about the weather and his uncle lets him know that it’s not rain–it’s the tears of all the women whose hearts he has broken.

I watched this movie (twice in fact) and I thought this is why, in my stories, I always write an  ending that includes the hero and heroine moving forward with what they’ve started. Maybe not into marriage immediately but at the very least into an exploration of the relationship that blossomed between them during the course of the story.  I DO BELIEVE IN TRUE LOVE.  No reservations, folks.  I DO BELIEVE IN TRUE LOVE! Getting back to the certain nameless young lady and her peers–WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE YOUNGER GENERATION?  Has true love become a casualty of this “throw away” society? No one is worth sorting out the issues and putting a little hard work into?  No problem, there’s someone else right around the corner! You don’t like this one–move on to the next one.  Now I’m pretty darned progressive for a southern girl. I’m completely down with the playing the field and the idea of “moving in together,” particularly to ensure both parties get through college.  I’m perfectly okay with checking the fit, so to speak. Getting to know the family (after all, when you get married you get the family too).  I understand that there are many levels to the whole relationship thing and that many don’t get past a certain point and of course it’s best to move on.

But what about the one that does?? What about the one that still puts a knot in your stomach when you hear his or her name? The one that you just can’t forget…the one that haunts your dreams at night and when you see that person speaking to someone other woman (or man), it tears out your heart? One year turns to two and that person is still in your thoughts even if you never voice them…you still want to reach out to that person but fear of rejection prevents you from taking the risk. That’s the kind of love I’m talking about and if you’re my age and your career is writing romance novels, by golly you know it when you freaking see it! So you watch as, just like hunkalicious Matthew says, the male in this scenario insists “Love is a myth.” And the female says, “I don’t care. I have someone new who loves me.” It’s all around me!  Perhaps I am the archaic thing here (rather than the institution of marriage as suggested by McConaughey’s character in the movie).  Just maybe, this day and time, true love is a myth. So what if you actually find it…you can find it again….can’t you? At least that appears to be the general thinking of those under twenty-five.

What is your definition of true love? Or do you think it even exists anymore?

Join me in welcoming Mark Arsenault to Murder She Writes! And if you get a chance, go cruise around his website, read the excerpt and you will be hooked. I’ve already pre-ordered my copy of LOOT THE MOON. And now, here’s Mark to talk about Dangerous Rainbows and Other Nighttime Disasters.

For years I’ve kept a notebook and pencil on my nightstand like a dreamcatcher for any brilliant thoughts about my writing that strike during the night.

This almost never works.

The first problem is that my handwriting is terrible even in the daylight. Sometimes I’ll wake in the morning and notice I had scribbled some unintelligible note that looks like “Thadentop um dairythee.” One of the words might be circled or underlined for emphasis.

I ponder desperately over these messages like a Bletchley Park cryptographer trying to crack the Enigma code. What was I trying to say? Was this a can’t-fail title for my new manuscript? A bit of witty dialogue? Or the Unifying Theory of the Universe that had eluded Albert Einstein? Gaaaaa!

Eventually there’s no choice but to shrug and put it aside.

There are other times that I can actually read my handwriting but can’t remember what I meant when I wrote it. I’ll find a note in the morning that’ll say something like, “The SHED!!!”

Yeah? What about the shed? What the heck is that supposed to mean? Should I set a scene in the book in a shed? Did I really wake up at 3 a.m. thinking this was brilliant? And what’s with the exclamation points? What’s so exciting about the shed?

Sigh.

Shrug and put it aside.

Then there are those rare times when I can both read my handwriting AND remember what I meant when I wrote it. Usually this ends in crushing disappointment. The most notorious true example is the time I snapped awake in the middle of the night with a brilliant and original turn-of-phrase. I carefully jotted it down and went back to sleep, imagining different ways to use this cleverness in my next novel.

In the morning I found this on the notebook: “It was as if he had been strangled with a rainbow.”

Huh?

Laugh and put it aside.

The notebook by the bed hasn’t been a total waste. I find that my final conscious thoughts after a day of writing—my chicken scratches just before I shut off the light—can serve as take-off points for the next day’s work. I assume that my subconscious mills these thoughts at night and leaves me the stoneground answers in the morning.

And I hold onto hope that some morning I’ll find something brilliant on the notebook. I may yet discover the Unifying Theory of the Universe, if I can read my handwriting.

I can’t be the only one who does stuff like this. Does anyone else have a method to capture stray thoughts that might turn into something brilliant?

Mark Arsenault is a Shamus-nominated mystery writer, a journalist, a runner, hiker, political junkie and eBay fanatic who collects memorabilia from the 1939 New York World’s Fair. His new novel is LOOT THE MOON, the second book in the Billy Povich series that began with GRAVEWRITER, a noir thriller praised for a fusion of suspense, humor and human tenderness. With 20 years of experience as a print reporter, Arsenault is one of those weird cranks who still prefers to read the news on paper. His Web site is: www.markarsenault.net

I just bought a new, fairly expensive camera, and can’t wait to use it. I’ve always wanted to be an artist, but I have no talent for drawing or painting. But I do enjoy photography, and I’ve been doing some fun photoshoots for Web sites lately. The results have been pretty good, except I decided I needed a better camera.

My little point and shoot digital has done a good job for me, but I want some action shots and better options for lighting, zoom, etc., so I went ahead and got a Canon Rebel. That said, I have enjoyed the pictures I got from my little Kodak, so I thought I’d share a few of them with you.