You may know that in April I spent some time writing flash fiction in different genres and posting them on blogs across the internet, and if you didn’t know that…where the heck were ya? (check the categories dropdown under blogstreak)
I recently had a twitter chat with JH Sked who writes really funny tweets and makes me laugh almost every time. So I told her she should write humour. “I’ll post it on my blog,” I said. Being the writing trooper she is, she agreed. Her resultant post is below and I think it’s pretty durn good…for someone who says she doesn’t write humour. I think she’s pretty happy with stepping outside of her comfort zone, and now she has another piece in her arsenal.
I doubt many of you have attempted humour. I’ve tried it to some small success, but both in flash fiction pieces as I just couldn’t sustain it over the long term. Humor is deadly tough. Even folks with great senses of humour have a hard time being funny on paper.
Some resources that might help:
So the time has come to get you out of YOUR comfort zone. Your exercise today is to
write humour. Or try to. You can use the post below to guide you if you like.
Remember to come back and tell us how it went. The draw for Four Years From Home by Larry Enright is this week, and you KNOW you want a copy. (it’s funny even though it’s a really great mystery) And if you don’t like this exercise, The Writing Network (twitter ID @theladywrites) has a different one you can try. It’s just about getting creative and feeling inspired. Doesn’t matter to me whose exercise you do, just exercise.
Paris Hilton gets a fairy
By JH Sked, author of: Wolfsong
I looked around the room full of funeral attendees, chatting away in animated groups. All of us, the fairies of the world, gathered to the mourn the passing of one of own.
Atkins and Cabbage Soup were chattering at each other in the corner, carefully avoided by everyone else in the room. Allie Oops stood some distance away, an expression of utter dismay slowly creeping over her face. I shook my head. Diet pill manufacturers have a lot to answer for. By the looks of things, having a fairy shit herself at a funeral had just been added to the list.
Paranoia was gabbling away at Conspiracy Theory, then tried to grab his tinfoil hat. Conspiracy shrieked and burst into tears. I turned away to signal the trolls I’d hired as bouncers – and saw her.
Mincing into the room on a pair of Jimmy Choo’s and wearing the shortest little black dress possible. She stopped to tickle one of the trolls under his chin and coo as he flexed his abs.
Paparazzi whistled and took a series of pictures, then let Paris head for the buffet.
I grabbed his arm. “What is the human doing here?”
He shrugged, wings flickered in a quick burst of strobe. “It was her fairy that died,” he shrugged. “Besides, I told her it was a photo op.”
“Are you insane?” I hissed. “You can’t bring a human into our world!”
He looked at me, black shades firmly in place. “I thought you’d want to meet the woman who killed one of us,” he said, and nodded at the portrait on the stand in the centre of the buffet. “Took her awhile,” he added. “But I reckon it was her, sure enough. Common Sense just never stood a chance.”
He started towards the table, then turned back. “You know, you’re probably the most powerful one in this room. Think about that.”
I thought it about all afternoon, watching the socialite flutter from diet fairy to drug fairy to sex tape fairy. She said “Like” a lot, and a few other things that made my wings itch.
She avoided Decency as though the fairy carried an STD, which was strange since she’d hugged both Syphillis and Gonoreahea repeatedly, and gave Chlamidia an impromptu lap dance at some point after finishing most of a bottle of funeral wine.
I thought about it in the bathroom, carefully adjusting my spanx. I influence and affect millions throughout the world. Do what you want, unless the liposuction fairy smiles at you, once I’m there, I play for keeps. You will hate me until the day you leave this world.
I re-entered the room, caught Paparazzi’s eye, and nodded. Then I marched over to Paris, who had her face buried in Cocaine’s hair, and pulled her away from the party.
“Like, who are you?” she said, pulling away.
I beamed at her. I’m good at that kind of smile. Sugar and sweetness with no hint of the bitterness to come. “I’m your new fairy,” I said.
“Like, cool. But where are we going?”
I pulled out her schedule. “You have a nightclub booking in an hour. Let’s get you ready, shall we?”
And as we left the funeral, I heard one of the trolls speak to Paparazzi, following close behind us.
“Who’d the human get assigned to?”
“One of the big guns,” Paparazzi whispered back. “That’s the muffin top fairy.”
BTW: from Thea. I love the way JH was able to keep my attention and my pleasure
throughout the piece. I felt as though I was in the ‘in crowd’ with each line. There’s an intimacy to this humor that makes the ending very satisfying. Kudos, JH.
I try to find some humor…albeit dark humor..with J in Anomaly. Feel free to sample