Some time back, my wife took notice of my writing proclivities: "Whenever things aren't going well, or whenever you are stressed, you write a bunch of idiotic humorous junk."
Very interesting. Insightful. Perhaps even spot on psychologically correct.
But then, there has always been a correlation between humor and drama, between the need to laugh and the realities of the human experience. There was a movie entitled, Punchline, starring Tom Hanks and Sally Field, which dealt with this reality. And writers like Woody Allen and Jerry Seinfeld have also noted the long-standing intersections between humor and real life. In other words, we want to laugh about death, suffering, and hardships because it's one of our coping mechanisms.
Okay, enough psychological mumbo-jumbo.
I've been writing scads of humor lately . . . in fact, some of the best laugh-out-loud material I've composed in years (but that's just me), and I have about a dozen essays now that I feel compelled to send to publishers for a look-see. Trouble is, every magazine editor in America says she wants more humor, but humor is notoriously difficult to place (and sell), and it is also the most difficult form of material to write. Every editor, every publisher, every movie producer, every writer, will admit this.
When I read a book, or go to a movie, and I end up crying at the end, I'm never as impressed with the narrative or the screenplay for a drama as I am with a knock-down piece of humor. Humor is far more difficult to pull off, and those who can do it well always amaze me. When I read something that is incredibly funny, I often study it for weeks, reading and re-reading the words, the sentences, the flow, to get a better perspective on why it works and what makes it work.
Funny . . . but I just work that way.
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