***COMEDIC OBLIGATIONS***
When you’re a writer and you feel obligated to include
certain elements in your story, you can often find yourself not knowing what
the hell you’re doing. For example, there’re a lot of TV shows, movies, and
books out there that have shoehorned romances, so you feel like in order to
stand a chance of being above average, you too have to have a romance despite
not having the necessary experience or interest. The same thing is true with
comedy. Although George Carlin remains one of my strongest comedic influences,
not even his material is capable of making me into a carbon copy of him, which
he wouldn’t want anyways because of his strong individuality. I can be funny
sometimes, but when I feel obligated to make a joke in my stories, the writing
suffers badly and I have to go through yet another round of editing. Tonight
I’m counting down the three cringiest examples of jokes or cleverness gone
badly in my stories. Why three? Because that’s three cringes too many.
I should go ahead and say that all three major examples come
from Poison Tongue Tales, the first drafts at least. You won’t find the jokes
there now, thank god. Let’s begin with the major money line from Stone Cold, a
short story within that tome about a barbarian (surprise, surprise, surprise)
who wants revenge on a warthog sorcerer and a female dark paladin for killing
his wife. The barbarian wins the battle, but not without feeling like his heart
is going to explode and a vein in his brain is going to pop like a balloon. While
the female dark paladin is laying on the ground on her way to the afterlife,
the barbarian leans down and says to her in a sexy voice…”Maybe I’ll get some
practice on you before I meet my wife in heaven.” Practice doing what, you say?
Well, if you can’t figure that out, I’m not going to tell you. Either way, you
should be appalled at that, which is why that line no longer occupies my story.
And then the other two examples come from the same story
within PTT. That story is called Streetwalker and that title alone should
already have you feeling anxiety bubble up in the pit of your stomach. The main
villain, another barbarian (what a goddamn shock), wants to buy the services of
a wizard prostitute to celebrate a major victory in battle. The prostitute turns
him down, so instead of paying the full price, he tries to get it for free by
attempting to rape her. Being that she’s a wizard and that she’s using her
prostitution money to fund her magical education, the hooker throws every kind
of elemental spell at the barbarian’s way. Fireballs, lightning bolts, poison
bubbles, shadow spears, glacial spikes, you name it, she’s throwing it. She
thinks she’s won the fight, but the spells have absolutely no effect on the
barbarian. So what does the would-be rapist say? He says…”In order to cast the
spells properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!” In the words of my
beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps, “Why doesn’t he just shoot her already? I’d
rather get raped than listen to another one of his bad jokes.” You and me both,
Babe-a-Licious Mondo. You and me both.
That Emmy Award-winning zinger should have been the end of
it for Streetwalker, but it wasn’t. Instead the audience was treated to yet
another “clever” piece of writing. It wasn’t really a joke nor was it intended
to be misogynistic. It was just my obligations creeping through yet again. So
what happens in Streetwalker (SPOILER ALERT) is that the barbarian has his way
with the prostitute and leaves her bloody and bruised in a dark alleyway. Yes,
she managed to knock is money bag loose (his actual money bag, not his
testicles, you fools!), but even with all of that gold at her disposal, she
still feels guilty for “allowing herself” to be raped in the first place. As
part of this self-imposed guilt trip, I, the narrator, describe her ordeal
as…(gulp)…I’m not sure if I should say this, but I’m going to if it means
proving my point…the prostitute’s rape was…”a permanent part of her resume”. I
can hear the dry heaves coming from miles away. Absolutely barferrific. No call
for that. It got so bad that when Marie was writing her critique notes, she
said, “Let’s keep this between you and me.” I couldn’t agree more, but here it
is out in the open.
I didn’t count down those three examples because I wanted a
laugh track to magically appear in my room. I counted them down because I
wanted to be free from my obligations of putting comedy and/or clever lines in
my writing. Yes, comedy is nice every once and a while, but only when done by a
true master. Whenever I get into a heated argument with someone, my brain shuts
down, so I can’t quickly access a savage one-liner to defeat my opponent. Why
should I expect the same thing from my characters? Because Hollywood
Now that I think about it, the funnier a movie or book tries
to be, the more it comes off as bathos to an otherwise emotional moment. Bathos
is defined as a descent from emotional highs and it’s usually achieved through
comedy. Marvel movies have been accused of doing this a lot, especially with
anything featuring Iron Man and his actor Robert Downey, Jr. When you rob your
audience of an emotional high, you’re stealing a major part of the
movie-watching experience. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I get
hit in the feels, I don’t want my attacker to use kid gloves. That’s why I like
books like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and The Savior’s Champion. Sure,
they have witty dialogue peppered here and there, but it doesn’t diminish the
dramatic action of their respective stories.
I have not yet mastered the balance between (good) comedy
and punches to the feels. I’ve been an amateur/professional author since 2001
and I still can’t do it. Is this something I should work on or should I abandon
it altogether? Is comedy really that important or should I emancipate myself
from the chains of obligation? See? Even that last line sounded too
over-the-top to be considered comedic gold. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you
feel like laughing at bad jokes, keep climbing the mountain!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Chapter seven of this ongoing rewrite is edging towards the
horizon. Windham
***JOKE OF THE DAY***
If Fred Durst started his own airline company, would he call
it Air Bizkit? It makes me worry about the cabbage and broccoli platters he’d serve
to the coach passengers. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about the plane
running out of fuel, although the weather would always be cloudy up there.
***POST-SCRIPT***
Okay, so I’m not completely emancipated.
