Leave Them Laughing by Nina Faye Morey

I’ve learned several ways to incorporate humour into my speeches and other writings. Toastmasters Advanced Communication Series manual, Humorously Speaking, taught me some useful techniques. I want to share these with you, along with some examples of how I’ve used them:

● Open with a humorous quote, joke, story, or personal anecdote. Here are a couple of opening lines with a famous writer’s witty quote from my “Becoming a Freelance Writer” speech:

“ . . . Do you see yourself travelling the world, dressed in glamorous outfits, signing your latest nonfiction book or novel for a long line of your adoring fans? Norman Mailer once famously quipped that ‘Writers don’t have lifestyles. They sit in little rooms and write.’”

● Add humorous personal stories to your opening and closing. The closing story should illustrate your main point. My speech, “Failure is a Stepping Stone to Success,” included personal dieting stories. Here are snippets of my concluding story, portraying holiday dieting pitfalls:

“ . . . ‘You simply have to taste this, it’s a fabulous new recipe I found in Good Housekeeping’s Christmas issue!’ . . . Each holiday seems like another discouraging battle in our war against weight gain. But we must not allow our diet to get permanently derailed. And, of course, it never hurts to cheer ourselves up with a bit of humour. As my sister-in-law would say, ‘Oh, well, isn’t that the reason they invented elastic waistbands?’” [Snap elastic waistband.]

● Take it up another notch by scattering jokes throughout your writing to illustrate the main points and engage your audience. Here’s a joke from the body of my speech, “Man’s Best Friend,” on training seeing-eye dogs:

“No professional trainer would want to match a handler with a disobedient guide dog who has a rap sheet that includes being ticketed for “running off leash while on duty.”

● Open with a self-deprecating joke, sprinkle sets of similar jokes throughout, and close with a humorous story. Jokes underscore your points and enliven dry, pedantic material. The closing story should accentuate your main point. Here’s a set of jokes I used in the body of my speech, “Murphy’s Law of PCs,” making fun of coping with new technologies:

“You see, as you get older, three things happen. The first is that your memory starts to go . . . Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what the other two are . . . Now . . . What was I saying? . . . Oh, yes, my son gets a bit touchy when he’s already explained the first three steps and I interrupt to ask if he could please repeat step one again. I perfectly understand his frustration though. It’s a lot like when I’m trying to figure out how to reset the digital clock on my microwave. It doesn’t appear too difficult until I actually attempt to do it. If you’re around my age, you’re probably familiar with how that goes [Mimic punching touchpad with each step.]: Read Step 1. Read Step 2. Repeat Step 1; Reread Step 2. Repeat Step 1; Repeat Step 2; Read Step 3. Repeat Step 1; Repeat Step 2; Reread Step 3  . . . [Pause & shake head] . . . Re-read Step 1 . . .”

● Use exaggerated comical stories and/or jokes to make a point about a particular theme/subject. Here’s an exaggerated joke about dealing with change I used to open my story, “If I’d Only Known”:

“I grew up in the era when you handwrote your manuscript on paper with a dip pen and inkwell and sent it off to a publisher through the Pony Express—no, just kidding!”

Go ahead and have some fun trying these techniques to add humour to your writing.

Photo Credits: Pixabay

Finding Humour in Tough Situations - Ruth L. Snyder

Luke, wearing his grad suit and giving us a thumbs up

Our seventeen-year-old son graduated in June. It was a wonderful day of celebration—his first Paediatric report stated that Luke would never be able to walk, talk, or feed himself. The day of grad, Luke pranced proudly down the aisle, waving at everyone, a broad smile on his face. One of his classmates bribed him not to talk during the ceremony—he loves to talk and spouts out information non-stop. At the banquet, Luke gave us a thumbs up as he walked in. Then he made sure his plate was heaped with his favourite Ukrainian food, and he ate it all. Luke and his twin brother have developmental delays, but they bring a lot of joy and laughter to our family.

Luke was very proud of his suit, so I asked him if he wanted to wear it to church the next day.
"Yes!"
I washed his shirt and wiped down the suit. Sunday morning I knocked on his door and handed his suit to him.
"Thanks, Mom"
"You're welcome, Luke. We'll have breakfast in a few minutes, okay?"
"Yup!"
I went downstairs and prepared breakfast, set the table, and then called everyone. A couple minutes later, everyone was at the table except for Luke. (Usually he's the first one around when there's food involved.)
I marched back upstairs, and stopped short. Luke was sitting on his bed, both feet protruding—from the sleeves of his suit jacket. He was stuck! His feet would not go forward or backward, even with me holding onto the sleeves.
At that moment, several thoughts (and emotions) went through my mind simultaneously:

• How in the world did he get his feet through the sleeves? And why did he put both feet in? (I felt bewildered and sorry for Luke)
• Was this the end of his brand new suit that he had only worn once? (I felt frustrated and angry)
• Everyone was downstairs waiting for breakfast, and there was no quick fix! (I felt rushed because I'm the church pianist and we needed to leave for church in 20 minutes.)

I took a deep breath. "Okay, Luke. I'll help you, but I need to go downstairs for a minute. I'll be right back."

He nodded, looking for reassurance. 

At that point, I couldn't find the energy to smile, but I squeezed his hand.

Downstairs I grabbed a pair of scissors. "Go ahead with breakfast. Luke and I will be a while."

My husband nodded, waiting for an explanation.

"I'll tell you later."

Back upstairs, I took a fresh look at the situation. Luke's heels were both through the sleeves and by this time he was sweating. The actual sleeves were loose; it was the lining that was tight around his ankles. Little by little, I sliced the lining until Luke was able to pull one foot out, then the other.

"How about if you just wear your vest this morning?"

Luke nodded.

I inspected the jacket sleeves. "I'll sew the lining, and next time you wear your suit, you'll be able to wear the jacket too." 

"Thanks, Mom!" Luke gave me a big hug and a slobbery kiss.

Now that this event is in the past, I can laugh. It's another story to add to the "Remember when" collection. Parenting kids who have special needs can be a roller-coaster ride—I say that every day is a new adventure. I'm thankful that God gives strength, and humour, to see us through.

Are you able to find humour in tough situations? I look forward to hearing about it in the comments below.

Ruth L. Snyder lives with her husband and five children in northeastern Alberta. Grace, Luke, Levi, Jayson, and Dorothy have all taught them that being "specially-abled" brings unique opportunities to learn and serve. https://ruthlsnyder.com/blog

Spell check and then check again - Tracy Krauss

This month our lovely moderator, Brenda Leyland, asked us to share
an anecdote of some publishing or editorial incident that still makes you chuckle, cringe, or cry. I knew exactly the story I would share.

Here's a funny story (although it was disconcerting, too) about the difference between ebooks and print books. A reader contacted me when he was reading WIND OVER MARSHDALE to let me know that he found two errors in the book. Both of them used the word 'sBillyach' instead of 'stomach', and as he surmised, it was because of a 'find and replace' done on the book.

Originally, one of the minor characters was named Tom Chang. My editor felt that this was too similar to the main character's name 'Thomas'. (Rightly so.) I changed Tom Chang's name to Billy Chang.

You guessed it. I didn't specify my search enough and every time the letters 'tom' appeared in the manuscript, it inserted 'Billy'.  Think of the possibilities: stomach, tomorrow, stomp... it seemed the list was endless! Naturally, another spell check was in order, and I was able to fix the problem. Or so I thought. I guess even after the most diligent checking, a couple of mistakes still slipped by.

Here is the good news. I contacted my publisher and she fixed it quite easily since the book was still only available in its e-version. This would not be possible with a print book. Either you'd be stuck with a run of books that had the error, or, even in the case of Print-On-Demand publishing, it would cost to get it fixed. (Probably at my expense since I did sign off on the galley.)

Lesson learned? Spell check twice.

Canada - Life and Laundry in Small Town, Canada -- Pamela Mytroen

The back door nearly flung out of my hand as I opened it and stepped inside. There on the washing machine, where I intended so set my purse, were two pair of neatly folded men’s jeans.

I did a double take and looked back out at the clothes line. How did my husband’s jeans end up here, so nicely folded? They had been on the line just an hour earlier when I went downtown.

“Honey? Um. Thanks for folding your jeans!” I grinned. Had he really taken them off the line?

“Huh?” he said, coming around the corner. “I didn’t fold those. They were there when I got home.”

“That's...strange. Nice, but strange."

We live in a small town so it’s not surprising when people just walk in without knocking or waltz in and drop something off if you’re not home.

But this was just a little different. To take your husband’s jeans off the line, fold them so carefully, and leave all the other clothes on the line? Did somebody have something going on for my hubby?

I peeked out the side window and saw my neighbor puttering around in her yard. Aha.

I walked to the fence, leaned on it, and asked, “Do you know anything about two pair of jeans that folded themselves?”

She gave me a sly grin and told me the story.

“You remember how windy it was this morning?”

“Yes. Our regular tornado weather.”

“Right. This morning when I came out to the garden,” she said, leaning on her hoe, “there was a pair of jeans draped over the garden chair. They were laying so neatly on that chair, just like somebody slipped them off and took time to arrange them properly. Well! I took one look at them and thought the worst!”

Her husband had just had surgery and was still on morphine for pain. She assumed that in his high state he had decided to strip down in the garden and really enjoy the summer weather. So Mary, my dear somewhat girthy neighbor, grabbed those jeans and went charging down the sidewalk, certain that she would find her jovial and high husband trotting down the sidewalk in his briefs. Running down one street and then back up the other, she came home exhausted and worried, thinking that he had likely made it all the way to the Li Wong Café to visit with all the regulars. She limped into the house to catch her breath.

“Hank? Ha-a-a-a-nk!” she had called. There was no answer. Before she called the Café, she decided to check upstairs.

And there was Hank, clothed and in his right mind. Well, almost right mind. He was sitting up in bed bidding at an invisible auction. But fully clothed.

Mary took one look at the jeans stretched over his lean frame and sighed a breath of relief. “You’ve got your jeans on.”

“Of course!” He looked at her oddly. “Nice bull, eh?" He pointed to the wall. "Should we bid on it?"

So where did these jeans come from? Mary wondered turning them over in her hand. She paused at the window and spotted another pair of jeans laying in her tulips.

That’s when my saintly neighbor finally took time for a good long chuckle, realizing that the gale-force wind had knocked those jeans off my clothes line, over the fence and into her garden, landing daintily on her garden chair. Giggling, she folded them and when I wasn’t home, she just walked on in and left them there for me.

And that’s life in small town Canada. Where your neighbor feels quite at home walking into your house, and spending some time in your laundry room.

And where you might see a gal running down the sidewalk waving a pair of jeans. “If you see Hank, could you send him home? Thanks. He’s naked.”

by Pamela Mytroen

The Sappy Sentimentalist - Tracy Krauss

If someone was to ask you what the largest fiction genre was in terms of sheer numbers of books printed each year, what would your answer be? Mystery? Historical? How about Romance? The latter would be my guess, and judging by the category lists on Amazon, I'd say I am probably correct. What is it about LOVE that keeps readers coming back for more? I mean, how many times can the same plot line be reworked?

At the risk of sounding cynical, I have to bite my tongue when it comes to yet another cover featuring a woman in a bonnet, laces blowing in the breeze. At least that's better than a swooning damsel clinging breathlessly to a half naked swashbuckler. You see, I've almost prided myself on the fact that I am not typically 'sentimental'. To me, sentimental is synonymous with another 'S' word - 'sappy'. This has been a continuing source of frustration for my oh-so-romantic husband. Don't get me wrong. I like flowers and I like chocolates and I enjoy a romantic comedy on occasion - but I'd much prefer a good Sci-Fi/ Action/ Thriller with a crazy twist at the end.

So how is it that I've come to write 'Romantic Suspense'? (I much prefer to call my writing style 'edgy inspirational with a twist of romance' but somehow that doesn't come off so well in a category listing!)  Perhaps I'm not such a cynic when it comes to romance after all.  You see, I have come to notice that even Sci-Fi/ Action/ Thrillers usually have a romantic element woven in there somewhere, and I'm sure without it, I would feel like there was something missing. There is something inside of us that craves LOVE, perhaps because we were created that way by a loving Father. God is, after all, the author of love, and He made us in His own likeness. Now there's a thought! Created in the image of a God who is LOVE embodied - so much so that He was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to demonstrate that love, in that "while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

LOVE  is a powerful force. In its human form it has been driving mankind for millenia. How many wars have been fought for the sake of love? How many epic poems written or materpieces of music composed? And even more powerful, in its Godly form, love changed the course of all human history.

So, back to my original question: How many times can the same plot line be reworked? Let's see . . . I guess as many times as there are human beings on this earth and as many times as there is a loving God who watches over us.

Thanks for the aopportunity to share my ramblings here at 'Inscribe Writers Online'. P.S. I hope you all realize that I'm really not as cynical as I pretend to be when it comes to love. I have been known to sneak a romance novel into the bathroom and even snuggle on the couch with my husband while crying my eyes out over a stupid 'sappy' movie. :)

Posted by Tracy Krauss

Heaven's Gates - Pamela Mytroen

Our four children had a great time wading in the mountain river until the thunderstorm whipped up and we all scrambled for the van. I tossed their beach towels to them and we dried off before heading into town to look for a warm restaurant.

The first restaurant we saw was called “Heaven’s Gates” and since we were all still shivering, this sounded like a warm place to spend the next hour.

As we descended a landscaped slope, anxious to be enveloped in “Heaven’s”’ warmth, I realized that this was not the proper pathway into the restaurant. A waiter stood outside the restaurant, attired in a black tuxedo, with a white linen towel draped over his arm. He cocked one eyebrow at my children tip-toeing around perennials and petunias. By the time we reached the courtyard, we’d carved a new trail to Heaven and the kids had the mud to prove it.

We slinked past the tuxedo guard and into a lobby that gleamed with a golden brass counter. A receptionist inspected us as we stepped in. I did feel warm but it was from embarrassment as I studied my children. Their hair dripped and their muddy toes slipped in their sandals. However, they were already marching through the pearly gates and into the dining room. The receptionist turned pale. I nodded, bowed my head, and entered Heaven. Don’t we always sing, “Just as I am”? Well. Here we are, Lord. Fresh from the River.

I expected a fireplace and warm cozy booths but I was greeted instead with an air-conditioned gust that stung my damp skin. The kids were already snuggled together at the nearest table, clinking the crystal goblets.

My husband leaned over the linen table and gathered all the crystal to one end. Maybe we should leave, I thought, but then again, this might be a golden opportunity to teach our children some manners. And surely, it will warm up in here.

Bach’s Concerto in D minor interrupted our discussion. I turned, hoping to see an ensemble of violinists but all I got was another blast from the air conditioner.

“What do you have on the menu for children?” I asked. They didn’t serve fries or hamburgers. However, they did create a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that should cover the cost of their heating bill for a year, I thought, blinking at the price. Once our hair freeze-dried and our blue fingers turned numb we enjoyed our meals.

At Heaven’s portal we paid for our dinner, wishing we had invested in Heaven long ago now that we had bought large shares in it. We breezed past the saintly guard and up the proper way to our vehicle this time.

We laughed all the way back to our camper and even had an opportunity to teach our children some lessons from this encounter: There is only one Way to Heaven. Don’t try to sneak through the flower garden! And maybe ‘gathering at the river’ isn't such a great idea before entering heaven.

And finally, the next time we look for a restaurant we won’t settle for one where the waiter is standing outside.

We discovered he’s only there because he’s trying to get warmed up.

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“I am the Way – yes and the Truth and the Life. No one can get to the Father except by means of me” (John 14:6).

Pam Mytroen