In this interview, Stewart discusses how a silly joke turned into his new humor book, Lessons From Cats For Surviving Fascism, his advice for other writers, and more.

Name: Stewart “Brittlestar” Reynolds
Book title: Lessons From Cats For Surviving Fascism
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing / Hachette
Release date: June 24, 2025
Genre/category: Cats and Fascism
Previous titles: Welcome To The Stupidocalypse: Survival Tips For The Dumbageddon
Elevator pitch: Lessons From Cats for Surviving Fascism is a darkly funny guide to resisting authoritarianism taught by nature’s fuzzy little resistance machines who invented passive resistance, boundary-setting, and staring unblinkingly at danger. With feline wisdom and dry wit, it offers survival strategies for the Stupid Age, one hiss and hairball at a time.

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What prompted you to write this book?

A writing exercise at first. I thought about how cats were jerks and how certain aspects of being a jerk are just the sort of thing we need to combat creeping authoritarianism.

How long did it take to go from idea to publication? And did the idea change during the process?

The whole process was a matter of weeks. It started as a silly joke but then evolved into a more serious discussion on what is happening globally (read: mainly the U.S.).

Were there any surprises or learning moments in the publishing process for this title?

Cats are selfish dicks but sometimes it’s useful to be a selfish dick.

Were there any surprises in the writing process for this book?

I refer to this book as a silly book for smart people and a smart book for silly people. Cat books are generally not that serious but this book, with only slight hyperbole, may help save democracy.

What do you hope readers will get out of your book?

I hope that readers get form the book that it’s best to think before deciding to comply … and that naps are resistance.

If you could share one piece of advice with other writers, what would it be?

Just write! Let your mind wonder. Get what bring you joy in your head to leak out on to the page.

The post Stewart “Brittlestar” Reynolds: Let Your Mind Wonder appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Why do we universally appreciate slapstick, sight gags, and cartoons? Because they are visual—the humor unfolds right before our eyes.

As writers, we have a unique challenge—to craft worlds, including humorous ones, using only words. We, a cartoonist and psychologist, present techniques from our fields to help writers make humor writing more visual, effectively showing readers the funny.

As we discuss ways to strengthen print humor, we remain mindful of E. B. White’s observation, “Humor can be dissected, as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process …” Our succinct dissection focuses on ways to spark readers’ imaginations while ensuring the survival of humor and the frog.

Know Your Audience

The comedian Steven Wright pondered, “If you tell a joke in the forest but nobody laughs, was it a joke?” We say “no.” Humor that is not accessible to your audience is akin to that unheard joke in the forest. And that’s neither fun nor funny.

There are numerous theories about what makes people laugh, many of which revolve around psychological concepts like incongruity and superiority. The only common denominator is that funny is subjective and relative, so it’s essential to tailor humor to your specific audience.

Writing humor requires you to walk in your readers’ shoes, anticipating how they will perceive and construct the humor you are creating. Understanding the potential readership is critical to ensure your humor doesn’t fly over their heads. Or under.

The audience dictates every aspect of your humor writing, from word choices and phrasing to the gags themselves. For instance, writing a piece for The New Yorker requires a different brand of humor compared to MAD Magazine. Constantly tuning into your readers’ perspective can help you sidestep the dreaded “It’s just not right for us” rejection.

A comedic awareness of the readership will point you in the right direction, whether you are crafting a one-liner, a blog post, or a more extended piece. The following principles can help make your writing more vibrant, entertaining, and appealing.

Show, Don’t Tell: The Metaphorical Paintbrush

At first glance, writers and cartoonists have vastly different toolboxes and skill sets. But if you look closely, you will notice similar devices, such as exaggeration, contrast, and simplification. Before we delve into these techniques, it’s essential to cultivate the right mindset for writing humor that readers can easily visualize.

Think of humor writing as painting by numbers. You, the writer, sketch an outline, and the reader uses their imagination to fill in the details and bring out the humor. Your challenge is to provide enough information to guide readers in conceptualizing and understanding the intended humor.

Vague references can be difficult to imagine and leave too much to readers’ guesswork. But descriptive language—complete with sensory details, actions, reactions, and consequences—makes it easier for readers to understand what you’re getting at while creating a humorous scene in their minds.

Here’s an example. Instead of writing, “Julie was nervous before her speech,” you could try something more descriptive: “As she approached the podium, Julie’s off-white blouse darkened with pit stains, as she stumbled on the steps, quickly grabbing the ruby-red stage curtains to prevent her fall from becoming an Instagram sensation.”

And don’t forget about wordplay, similes, and metaphors. They can help you craft memorable, expressive characters with amusing traits, quirks, and physicality. For example, you might describe a character’s irritating laugh as “worse than a honking goose scraping its beak across a blackboard,” a vivid, funny image for readers.

Specific references can help prompt visualization. For instance, a melting SNICKERS bar triggers a more precise image than a generic “candy bar.” But again, ensure your reader will understand any concrete examples, emphasizing the importance of knowing your audience. How many readers would know that a Charleston Chew or Chick-O-Stick are candy bars and not vulgar slang terms from Urban Dictionary?

Simplification: Less Is Funnier

In many literary forms, embellishment enriches a piece. That’s not true for humor writing – humor can get lost with too much detail. It’s like looking for that joke in a forest—if you can’t find it, there’s no funny.

Just as a cartoonist simplifies a drawing to avoid detracting from the humor, you too must simplify your writing. Adding a bit of shading will give depth to an illustration, yet there’s usually no need to detail every feature. A good cartoon, or print piece, lets the reader connect the dots and experience that lightbulb eureka moment.

Beginning writers tend to fluff up humor with needless details, overwhelming the humor and rendering scenes and characters unrecognizable. Overloading a humor piece with information is like smothering the funny with a pillow filled with words.

There’s a thin line between lame and funny, and the difference often lies in whether a writer adheres to the universal comedic principle, “less is funnier.” By simplifying complex situations, characters, plots, and reactions, your work becomes more digestible and humorous. That’s why the final step of humor writing, aggressive editing, is key to creating hilarious material.

Exaggeration: Be the Funniest Humorist in History

Exaggeration is the Silly Putty of humor writing. You start with a realistic scenario, then bend and distort it for humorous effect. Exaggeration is one of the most straightforward and effective comedic tools, and it appears in all types of humor: Cartoonists magnify physical features, impressionists exaggerate speech mannerisms, and writers embellish language.

As a humor writer, don’t shy away from every chance to stretch the truth, whether by understatement or overstatement. In most circumstances, unmitigated exaggeration is viewed as lying. In humor, clever embellishment is rewarded with laughter.

You can inject hyperbole into your characters, reactions, and situations to amplify the humor. For instance, you might write, “Julie is so indecisive that when she goes sailing, her boat goes in circles.” The description instantly paints a clear and humorous picture in your reader’s mind.

Effective humor is truth based, so it’s critical to strike a balance between realism and exaggeration. The following Jeff Altman gag works because it evokes a relatable, albeit somewhat plausible, image.

My dad’s pants kept creeping up on him. By 65, he was just a pair of pants and a head.

If there’s anything instinctual about humor writing, it’s avoiding too much distortion—simply being ludicrous or audacious won’t work. The relationship between exaggeration and realism in humor is like stretching a rubber band. A little stretching, even repeated stretching, is no problem. However, overstretching the band will cause it to break, as well as the humor and the reader’s trust.

Obscenities and graphic language are also forms of exaggeration. As humorists, we recognize the comedic power of “stepping over the line.” Yet, there’s a time and place for shock humor, and that’s not a @#$&ing exaggeration.

Contrast: Juxtaposing for Fun

Contrasting is the juxtaposition of elements not customarily coupled, a technique that cartoonists use to create humorous mismatches by placing significantly different elements side by side. Cartooning contrasts range from simple ones, such as someone wearing a tuxedo to a picnic, to elaborate juxtaposing, like Moses leaving the mountain top with the 10 Commandments on a ski lift.

Juxtaposition begins with humor’s two most important words: What if? Let’s say you need humor for a piece about a protagonist going to traffic court. You begin by exploring possibilities without worrying about pushing the envelope. What if the character was a pet watcher and needed to bring three dogs to court? What if it was pigs? Keep asking yourself, “What if?” to create as many contrasts to characters and situations as possible.

Cartoonists have greater latitude in using absurd contrasts, like a judge yelling “Order, order!” because of three squealing pigs. Yet, as writers, we can still use juxtaposition to brainstorm new humor angles and create funny mismatches.

Contrasting also works with emotional tone. For instance, you might use a dramatic scene to set up a gag and then quickly switch to a lighthearted tone for the punchline. Richard Pryor often started a comedic piece with a tragic event, like a heart attack or self-immolation, then switched gears to an absurdist tone to make the humor potent and memorable.

Incongruity, satire, and irony are just contrasting mismatches between expectations and what happens. You create surprising, humorous twists by comparing or contrasting different ideas, things, or situations.

Aggressive Editing: The Samurai Humorist

Crafting humor requires extensive rewriting. Lots. As Carolyn Janice Cherry astutely noted, “It is perfectly OK to write garbage—as long as you edit brilliantly.”

When you’re writing humor, your first draft can be as long as you like. There is no censorship during brainstorming, just a playful, uninhibited creation of ideas.

But in the second draft, eliminate every nonessential phrase and cut out every superfluous word by the final draft. Just as no machine has needless parts, no good humor piece should have unnecessary elements. Your mantra should be: “Make every word work.”

During editing, also make sure not to reveal keywords in the setup and always save the funniest idea or word for the end. Precision, brevity, and holding the surprise will make your humor more enjoyable.

Aggressive editing is time-consuming and, at times, frustrating—you will discard most of the items you begin with. But your material will be considerably funnier if you embrace being a samurai editor and ruthlessly cut material that doesn’t resonate with the readers, advance the story, or stay true to character voices.

Conclusion

Humor is at its funniest when it’s visual, and writers can craft more humorous material by employing the same techniques used by cartoonists, such as vivid descriptions, symbolic language, and imagery. By thinking and writing visually, you can show the funny to readers.

Click to continue. 

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Humor often stems from things that are not humorous. In Dial A for Aunties, none of the characters in my book finds their situation—having to hide a dead body while catering to a huge wedding—humorous, but we as readers find it hilarious. Meddy, the main character, does not find her mother and aunts’ feuds funny. But again, it’s what we readers want. The more drama, the more comedy. Here are my top tips on how to extract the humor from family dynamics.

(Jesse Q. Sutanto: On Accidental Murder and Meddlesome Families)

How to Mine Humor From Family Dynamics in Your Writing

1. Identify the feuds

Remember that drama means a treasure trove for humorous interactions. New drama is great, but old drama is even better. Think of the history between your characters. The “enemies to lovers” trope is so good precisely because it relies on a rich and complicated history between the characters. Apply that your main character’s family members—why does your MC’s mother hate her second sister? What happened in their past to make them have an ongoing feud? And how does it affect their present-day interactions? You don’t need to include everything in the book, but it’s useful to have it at the back of your mind to inform yourself on how these characters would interact with each other.

2. Identify the family hierarchy

Every family has its own hierarchy. This can be shaped by cultural norms or by wealth, age, gender, and so on. Whatever it is, identify it. Have a clear idea of how each character falls within the hierarchy, and ask yourself: is this character happy with their position in the family hierarchy? And if not, what are they doing to try and change the hierarchy, and how do the other characters react to it? For example, in Dial A for Aunties, the hierarchy is defined by age, so Big Aunt is the leader of the family, followed by Second Aunt, then Third Aunt, and so on. The main character, who is the youngest, has the least say. This hierarchical equation leads to a lot of trouble, especially because Second Aunt, who is vying for Big Aunt’s position as the matriarch, makes decisions to undermine Big Aunt, which ultimately causes more problems for the main character.

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The family hierarchy is a beautiful thing I always refer back to when I feel like a scene needs more tension or humor or if I need to figure out how a certain character would react. Also, how important is the family hierarchy to your characters? In Dial A for Aunties, the hierarchy is so important that the main character finds herself having to do things like listening to her elders despite her common sense telling her to do something different, which of course leads to more disasters and therefore even more comedy.

3. Pit them against each other!

Ma can’t stand Fourth Aunt? Great. Put them in a room with each other and blow up one of their dark secrets! Second Aunt has always longed to be the matriarch, but Big Aunt is in the way? Put them in a position where people have to vote between Big Aunt vs. Second Aunt’s idea! Whatever skeletons you’ve come up with for your character’s family, parade them out at the most inopportune time.

Just remember that in all this, you need to have a touchstone, a character who is the voice of reason that your readers can relate to. This character’s job is to point out how ridiculous the family is being so that your reader doesn’t get too frustrated by the antics that your characters pull. In Dial A for Aunties, that touchstone is the main character, who is always trying to mediate between her mother and aunts (who then ignore her and cause havoc anyway). This is also a great way of inserting humor because the over-the-top antics of side characters work really well when juxtaposed with the normalcy of the main character. Think of Jane’s over-the-top family in Jane the Virgin. All of the side characters are delightfully zany, whereas Jane is relatively average when compared to the rest of them. She’s placed in an extraordinary situation, but on her own, she is a pretty ordinary, albeit very likable, character.

I hope this shines a light on mining humor from family dynamics, and honestly, I think the best drama is family drama!

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Laughter is what scientists call an affective nonspeech vocalization, which means it is one way humans (and other species) convey emotion without speech. We are learning more every day about the neurological basis for laughter, using techniques like Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging.

(18 Ways to Write Funnier Fast.)

Contrary to the title, you can’t make people laugh (unless they are ticklish). But you can help them laugh. What I mean is, there are specific techniques you can use to create the conditions that evoke laughter. Those conditions are slightly different depending on the kind of comedy you are doing: stand-up, theater, or literary. But they all depend on the basic human mechanisms on which comedy is based.

In a novel, unlike standup or a play, there is no performer to help you create a comic experience. Instead, you have to help the reader create that experience in their own imagination. Most readers have no training in comic delivery, so it is a challenge. Here are five techniques that I use when I am editing comic dialogue in a novel:

1) Create funny characters.

Someone once asked me how to write funny dialogue and I answered “create funny characters.” He did not seem satisfied with my response. But I was serious, in this sense.

(7 Rules of Picking Names for Fictional Characters.)

Comedy doesn’t need to derive from character, even if the best and most efficient comedy does. Comedy has value in itself, and more than just entertainment value (but I won’t get into my philosophy of comedy here—that is a longer discussion). It is nice but not necessary that the comedy both entertain and advance the goals of the novel, enriching the character or relationships or advancing the story.

But though the line may not derive from the character, it should not undermine the character either. A comic line needs to be natural to the character who says it. If the line is out of character, you’ll trip up the reader and lose the laugh and the character.

2) Don’t telegraph the joke.

Comedy results from an expectation in the reader that is suddenly upset. The set-up line, the line (or two or seven) before the laugh needs to create that expectation. But it can’t be written in such a way that the joke itself will be obvious. Don’t help your reader to the conclusion; just build the bridge for them to get there.

3) Put the funny part at the end.

Don’t step on the joke. It is amazing to me how often this happens. The trigger—the part of the sentence that initiates the laugh—needs to be the last thing in the line, or as close as possible as you can get it. And don’t put tags like “he said” after the line or you’ll smother the laugh. Unless “he said” is the funny part, he said.

4) Craft the rhythm of the line to lead to the trigger.

This is where I expend the most time in writing dialogue: making the rhythm of the line point to the trigger. Get out all the extraneous words before the trigger. Velocity is as important in comedy as timing. A slow line lets the reader catch up to the joke, which undercuts the laugh.

Delete as many commas as you can without losing the sense of the line. Commas are the enemy of comedy.

(3 Tips for Writing Horror Comedy.)

5) Leave space after the line for the laugh.

In a play, actors are taught to wait for the laugh. This is a tricky skill—you have to wait just long enough to know that it is coming, but not too long to lose the momentum of the scene. And one of the great misdeeds among actors is stepping on someone else’s laugh, guaranteed to make you unpopular with your fellow actors.

In a novel, you don’t have actors to create your timing (or not). So you have to do it by yourself. One way is the in-line rhythm discussed already. Another technique is just as important: Create space after the trigger to wait for the laugh. Give the reader something unimportant to create the time to process the comedy.

For example, don’t reveal that a character is the long-lost child right after a laugh. If you do, you lose either the laugh or the plot point.

So what do you put instead to create the space? I often use simple business for that purpose, which is why my dialogue reads something like a play. It is spacing for the laugh. And because I hate writing description.

And most importantly don’t put funny lines one after another. Give us a break.

A Final Thought

Someone reading your novel and smiling is wonderful. But one of the most important aspects of laughter is that it is designed by evolution to be shared. Laughing out loud is a marvelous way to bring joy not to just one person but a whole group. It is worth a little extra attention to make that happen.

*****

Dialogue can be one of the most interesting parts of a book to read, but only if it is done right. Sharpen your writing skills and challenge yourself to craft engaging, yet believable dialogue that will keep your readers interested. When you take this online writing workshop you’ll discover how to write dialogue that advances your story’s plot. Plus, examine examples, formats, and tips for writing dialogue.

Click to continue.

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Cartoonist @BobEckstein is illustrating his experience at the #BookExpo on behalf of WD. Who among us hasn't surreptitiously skirted out favorite authors at similar signings? Please share yours with us using #WritersAtTheExpo! @BookExpoAmerica #BookExpo18 pic.twitter.com/crY0ufqr9V

— Writer's Digest (@WritersDigest) May 31, 2018

Oops! If you walk in the wrong end of the joint—er, @javitscenter building—for @BookExpoAmerica, you run into the @CWCBExpo (a cannabis expo!). @BobEckstein #BookExpo18 #BookExpo #WritersAtTheExpo pic.twitter.com/iRx0e7nUCE

— Writer's Digest (@WritersDigest) May 31, 2018

That moment when WD Books editor @AmyMJones_5 and @BobEckstein meet up at @BookExpoAmerica—and Bob illustrates the encounter! #BookExpo18 #BookExpo #WritersAtTheExpo pic.twitter.com/8oPQQavcqa

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"Day Two at @BookExpoAmerica Today I’m better prepared and know what to bring now! @sleepingbearbks" @bobeckstein #BookExpo #BookExpo18 #WritersAtTheExpo pic.twitter.com/9nL9tdTJV0

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"I guess I didn’t notice the scale of the banners on Day One when I was all wrapped up into myself and my signing!" @BobEckstein @BookExpoAmerica #WritersAtTheExpo #BookExpo #BookExpo18 pic.twitter.com/3dhy0BhhQ6

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"Many of you are wondering, how’s the swag? Great if you’re into YA and then you’ll appreciate the bowls of candy. One booth gave champagne. Books I REALLY want to read not free." @BobEckstein @BookExpoAmerica #WritersAtTheExpo #BookExpo pic.twitter.com/Co7WCscnd1

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Leaving @BookExpoAmerica: "We’re all about 45 lbs. heavier." @BobEckstein #WritersAtTheExpo #BookExpo18 #BookExpo pic.twitter.com/077QUjz99D

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Welcome, welcome, writers! From fiction to nonfiction, whatever your genre persuasion—whether you love reading and writing humor or you only enjoy literature that is extraordinarily, deeply serious—the Writer’s Digest podcast is for you.

Today I have the pleasure of interviewing author and comedian Laurie Kilmartin on the show!

Laurie is a comedian, author, and Emmy-nominated staff writer for Conan. So I guess you could say she knows a thing or two about writing humor, and laughter has been her coping method through even life’s most difficult times.

In 2014, Laurie gained significant attention for live-tweeting…the death of her father. Then in 2016, her hour-long stand-up special “45 Jokes About My Dead Dad” was named one of the best comedy specials of the year and was featured in the New York Times’ year-end piece “A Year When Death Loomed in the Laughter.”

All this eventually led to Laurie’s new book Dead People Suck (also about her dead dad), that’ll have you laughing and crying at the same time.

So listen in as Laurie and I chat about the art of writing comedy, and how to use humor to tackle tough issues.

This episode of the Writer’s Digest Podcast is brought to you by Writer’s Digest Annual Conference. For more info about the Writer’s Digest Conference this summer check out writersdigestconference.com. And don’t forget to use the coupon code mentioned in the episode to get $25 off your registration!

In this episode Laurie shares:

• The rules of humor, how to get a laugh every time.
• What makes something “funny,” by breaking down one of her own jokes.
• Writing performance comedy for yourself vs. for someone else.
• Balancing the specific tug-of-war between writing for your job and writing for you.
• How to combine humor and darkness the right way.

Listen in to hear Laurie talk about all these things… and more!

Return to the WD Podcast homepage.

About Laurie Kilmartin

Comedian and Emmy-nominated Conan staff writer Laurie Kilmartin gained significant attention in 2014 for live-tweeting the death of her father. In 2016, her hour-long stand-up special “45 Jokes About My Dead Dad” was named one of the best comedy specials of the year by Vulture, Paste and Decider and was featured in the New York Times‘ year-end piece “A Year When Death Loomed in the Laughter.”

She previously authored the New York Times bestselling book Sh*tty Mom, and her new book Dead People Suck is available now.

Links and resources

• Connect with Laurie and learn more about her work at www.kilmartin.com.
• Check out one of Laurie’s routines here.
• Need another example of how to use humor to tackle a difficult topic? Learn about the role of humor in memoir from bestselling author and journalist Steven Gaines in his interview on DIY MFA Radio.
• Want to gain an even deeper understanding of finding the right voice for your writing? There are some DIY MFA interviews that will help. Listen to this episode featuring author Steven Rowley to learn how to sort through multiple voices from characters’ to your own inner critic. And for tips on how to juggle your personal writing with a demanding day job, check out this interview with Matthew Palmer.

In the July/August issue of Writer’s Digest, Laurie and three other comedians discuss their best comedy-writing tips. Get the issue here, or subscribe.

The post The Writer’s Digest Podcast, Episode 4: Deconstructing Humor — Interview with Laurie Kilmartin appeared first on Writer's Digest.

Laurie Kilmartin: Write from Experience

Laurie Kilmartin writes for late-night host Conan O’Brien in addition to performing stand-up. Her act is filled with jokes about life as a single mom—specifically, the struggles of raising her son. “Jokes have to come to me, then I keep trying to work at them,” Kilmartin observes. “Sometimes they take years to get right, and sometimes they come out perfect the first time. There is no rule.”

Andy Kindler: Take Notes

A comic since 1986, Andy Kindler encourages writers to be prepared to jot down ideas whenever they may strike—or risk losing them forever. Kindler also advises avoiding editing while writing, but to fi rst focus just on getting the words down—then trying to make the material better. “Those processes use different parts of the brain,” he explains. “I try to get into the mode where I’m riffing and anything goes, then later on, I’ll edit.”

Gary Gulman: Revise, Revise, Revise

Veteran comic Gary Gulman is meticulous in his approach, tweaking words and phrases until he’s satisfied a joke is at its strongest. “Mark Twain once said that the difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug,” he says. “I would go over jokes and ask myself, Is there a better way—a more precise way—to say that with a funnier word? I’m always looking for ways to improve and tighten.”

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Nikki Glaser: Study the Masters

Nikki Glaser’s inspiration is more internally focused, stemming from a constant hunger to improve. “That stimulates my creativity and forces me to work better and harder,” she says. “When I see a masterful joke writer like [stand-up] Dave Attell, who makes it look so easy, I think, OK, I gotta do that. And that will make me buckle down a little bit more.”

Read more of these humorists comedy writing insights in the July/August 2018 issue of Writer’s Digest.

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In fact, the world is probably less absurd now than it’s ever been. But in a sane world, who needs satire? What’s so funny about sanity?

A lot of people probably think humor in satire comes from mirth or joviality. But it doesn’t. It comes from a burning desire in the satirist to right a wrong. The satirist looks at the world and sees how much better it could be if it would just correct the flaws in people, their instincts, their nature, their culture, or their institutions.

In fact, there’s more fodder for satire when everything’s going to pot. And rest assured, that’s most—OK, all—of the time. There’s always been something rotten going on. There’s always been something horrible, gruesome, unspeakable, something that compelled the satirists of the age to take pen to paper to exclaim, through humor, that things must change.

So, is satire harder now or at any time? No. We’re surrounded by a bottomless well of human cruelty, incompetence, and hypocrisy. The satirist is never wanting for source material.

But how do you know if your satire is inappropriate? How do you know if you’ve “crossed the line,” and are merely making light of tragedy?

Humor is nice. Laughter from what I call formulaic humor (quality, professional humor that has no satirical subtext) is enjoyable for a few fleeting moments. And maybe that’s enough for some people. But for most of us, laughter that packs a satirical punch is more fulfilling, more enriching, more lasting. This kind of laughter is potentially healing.

Sometimes people say you can’t tell a joke after a tragic event. They say it’s insensitive, or “too soon.” But this reasoning fails to consider the restorative power of satirical humor. When a tragedy is joked about in a satirical way, we begin to recover from the tragedy. We begin to emerge from the terror and back into normalcy. Tragedies often put us in the “fight or flight” response. They make us feel fearful and terrorized. We’re stuck in the oldest part of our brains, the part we inherited from the reptiles, the realm of fear and survival. Satire has the power to pull us out of our reptilian brain, and up into our mammalian brain, where connection and social bonds are possible again. Finally, it can lift us into our homo sapien brain, the only place where critical thinking and humor can flourish.

It’s important to remember that the target of your satire must be a legitimate wrong or injustice in the world, otherwise it won’t connect with audiences. Good satire afflicts the comfortable and comforts the afflicted.

I received letters from readers when I was editor-in-chief of The Onion thanking me for healing their depression, for making their lives worth living again, people who said they didn’t think they’d ever laugh again after a personal tragedy or disaster like 9/11. The Onion’s 9/11 issue—released only two weeks after the attacks—featured the story, “Terrorists Surprised To Find Selves In Hell.” This gave all of us a chance to laugh at the idea of the 9/11 terrorists being tortured and impaled in the pits of hell after thinking they’d be getting 72 virgins.

For tips on how to write satire from Dikkers, including his 11 “Funny Filters,” check out the July/August 2018 Writer’s Digest.

Click to continue.

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I came upon the New York Society Library innocently. I was looking for a place to write. Clean bathrooms? A plus. Probably wouldn’t get my laptop stolen? Also a huge selling point. When I learned that the library was the oldest cultural institution in New York City, that it was housed in a mansion on the Upper East Side and was frequented by Henry David Thoreau, Edgar Allen Poe, Tom Wolfe and Wendy Wasserstein, I was ready to join the ranks of New York’s literary elite. I looked around at the encased leather-bound books, vaulted ceilings and mahogany chairs and thought this is where serious writers go to write. That is, if you can get away from the social politics, which I could not.

It wasn’t long before I fell prey to my baser instincts: I wanted to make friends. Everyone was at least 30 years older than I was, but I didn’t care. It was high school all over again and I was the new kid in school. I spent my first month quietly observing. My mission was simple: to make this a place where I could leave my apartment in the morning and say, “Well, I’m off to visit my friends at the library!” And then, upon arrival, I would receive a series of high-fives.

I had my work cut out for me.

Observation 1: The fifth floor was where the cool kids hung out, and by cool kids I mean, the ones who were under 70 and not asleep. If you ever dared set foot in the second floor “reading room,” where no electronics or any objects of this century were allowed, you would see such frightening relics as people who were alive during the Second World War and newspapers, the former asleep under the latter.

But the fifth floor was where the serious writers went. I prided myself each time I went up there. I looked at the others, mostly women, and smiled, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie. “Naps,” I rolled my eyes. “Am I right?”

Certain cool kids, of course, were on the fringes. And those were the ones who occasionally visited the second floor for a midafternoon siesta. They did it on the sly, very discreetly, and usually hustled in and out, so that nobody would know that they were doing it. But we all knew. There are no secrets at the library.

For Whom the Critique Group Tolls

Observation 2: The key to success in the library was silence. I was careful that none of my devices made any noise. A single beep or vibration and you were OUT. A “bless you” to an errant sneeze nearby caused immediate looks of hostility. I may have said it a few times on my first day, but eventually, I learned. “Bless you” was for amateurs. The early days! I was so naïve.

Observation 3: In order to make friends, you needed a “library pick-up line.” I had one locked and loaded which I thought was basically comic gold. I’d run into one of the ladies outside the library, and I’d say, with a wry smile, “so do you think they’ll give us gold stars? For being here so often?” She’d smile or shake her head no. I’d say: “Yeah, I think mine got lost in the mail.” And then we’d bond over a shared hatred of the U.S. Postal Service. I was sure that with the over seventy crowd, this would kill.

Observation 4: The coolest ladies were the ones who were friends with the librarians. It made me so envious. Imagine, I thought, that elusive level of cool where you could just casually converse with a librarian! Unfortunately, this one would be difficult. In my early days, one of the librarians caught me sneaking a cashew, and snacking of any kind is vehemently against the rules at the library. I’ve imagined my death many times, but now I’m absolutely certain of how it will go down: I will die choking on a cashew at the library and nobody will save me. Because it’s against the rules.

Observation 5: There is always a Queen Bee, and this one was named Barbara. She met the trifecta of library coolness. 1) She’d had several books published 2) She was friends with the librarians and 3) She was under 70. Oh,Barbara. A friendship with her was like a dream. She seemed to know everyone. She had the coolest clothes. If I could only get in with her, I would be golden. I knew how it worked. I went to high school! Oh my God, was this the point of high school? I was so excited and delusional about the prospect. I stayed up nights thinking about how I would befriend her.

I waited for the perfect moment, and eventually, it came. The sun was shining. I was sitting outside the library, casually eating a sandwich, and Barbara walked by. She said, “I love your sweater!” And I thought: Is she actually talking to me? I couldn’t believe it. I can’t remember what happened next. I think I said thank you and started babbling about a sale at J. Crew and maybe we could check it out together sometime? So embarrassing. Then, we started talking about writing and a book that we’d both read. Yes, I was quite certain that Barbara and I had had the best conversation.

“See you up on the fifth floor?” She said, with a wink and a smile, the sun shining behind her, creating a halo around her golden curls.

“Yes, definitely!” I replied. I was a library convert! I would never leave! They would bury me up there on the fifth floor and my gravestone would read: She lived to be quiet.

Barbara introduced me to her friends, like I knew she would. As a result of my connection to her, I established a rapport with two other ladies. I bonded with one about how the librarians really should inspect the fifth floor more carefully: Did you hear that guy with his computer that made a noise EACH time he got an email? How outrageous! It must have happened every 40 minutes! I bonded with another about the frigid temperature in the room and wasn’t there something they could do? Curtains or something? She totally ate up my gold star line, by the way.

I was making progress. I was in.

But then, one day, I made a dangerous error. I took a bag that contained a small piece of a bagel that I had finished earlier and threw it out in the garbage on the fifth floor. The next morning, the entire library was papered with signs that had a picture of an ant and said “ANTS HAVE BEEN SEEN ON THIS FLOOR. NO FOOD.”

Because of me? Did anyone know? As I walked around the library, I felt icy stares from the ladies. Had they seen me with the brown paper bag? I felt like I had a scarlet letter on my chest. B, for bagel. I didn’t know what to do. Should I admit to my sins? Apologize? If I looked hard enough, surely this place had some sort of confessional? All day, I was tormented by my guilty conscience, and pictures of ants.

Later that afternoon, I ran into Barbara. “You know, you really shouldn’t be eating in here,” she said. I walked away from her in a daze. Was it Barbara? Had she turned me in? I felt betrayed and lost, in a world I no longer recognized.

From then on, I went into the library with a new attitude. I couldn’t be confined to their brand of library puritanism. I’d been rejected and I accepted my fate. I would work in solitude. I drifted back inside my own mind. I popped a cashew into my mouth, and, like Hester Prynne and so many renegades before me, I was free.

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1. Build frequent laugh lines into the story by …
2. Organizing the story not chronologically but by subject, followed by laugh lines that …
3. Seem genuine coming from you.

When regular storytellers tell a story, there may or may not be laughs along the way. Their story can succeed on the merits of its drama and suspense, with or without laughter. But any form of stand-up that a club comedian employs—including anecdotal stand-up—comes with the challenge and necessity of serving up frequent laughs. Hey, that’s why people go to comedy clubs—to laugh.

(Jerry Seinfeld’s 5-Step Comedy Writing Process.)

How do you build so many laughs into one story? Damn good question. Happily, there’s an answer: Organize the story by subjects, into a series of setup and punchline jokes.

I’ll show you how this is done by deconstructing an anecdotal stand-up piece performed by Lenny Bruce. This piece is called “Lima, Ohio.” You need to know that Lenny Bruce was a very hip, cool, jazzy New York Jewish guy. This excerpt is from a story he performed about what his life was like as a road comic in the early ’60s. Another thing you need to know is that it was common in Bruce’s day for parks to have Civil War and World War I cannons as monuments. Finally, when Bruce refers to the “Five and Ten,” he means the 5- and 10-cent stores, which sold inexpensive items. I’ve underlined where the audience laughed. In this excerpt, more than 50 percent of the lines in this story are laugh lines. That’s a good ratio for stand-up comedy material.

I worked at a place called Lima, Ohio. … And I don’t know if there are any people in sales here, but when you travel in these towns, there’s nothing to do during the day. They’re very boring. Like, all right, the first day you go through the Five and Ten, that’s one day shot, right? The next day you go to the park, you see the cannon and you’ve had it. That’s it! Forget it. … And I’m staying at the Show Business Hotel. The other show people: one guy runs the movie projector in town and the other guy sells Capezio shoes. … And you always hear that small towns are wild … it’s a dirty lie. Even the waitresses—they’re all elderly women with corrective stockings, you know, and Mother Goose shoes and those handkerchiefs, different ones every day, pinned on. I’m looking to swing and they’re bringing me jelly and chicken soup. Now, I’m there like the third week and I’m completely whacked. …

In order to see the writing structure that makes this 50 percent ratio of laugh lines to straight lines possible, we have to bore down deeper into Bruce’s writing. Most stories are structured chronologically. This happened first, this happened next, and so on. That’s not the way comedians organize a story. They do it by subject. This is my first subject, and here are the laugh lines tied to that subject, and here is my second subject and the laugh lines tied to that subject, and so on. Transforming a funny story into standup comedy material essentially involves formatting the story in this way. Let’s look at “Lima, Ohio” again. All of the laughs in the first part of the story key off a single subject: Small towns like Lima, Ohio, are boring.

Subject 1 and 4 Punchlines

Subject 1: “I worked at a place called Lima, Ohio. . . . And I don’t know if there are any people in sales here, but when you travel in these towns there’s nothing to do during the day. They’re very boring.”

Punchline 1: “Like, all right, the first day you go through the Five and Ten, that’s one day shot, right?”

Punchline 2: “The next day you go to the park, you see the cannon and you’ve had it.”

Punchline 3: “That’s it! Forget it. . . .”

Punchline 4: “And I’m staying at the Show Business Hotel. The other show people: one guy runs the movie projector in town and the other guy sells Capezio shoes. . . .” Debunking the idea that small towns are dens of iniquity is the subject that sets up all of the next laughs.

Subject 2 and 5 Punchlines

Subject 2: “And you always hear that small towns are wild . . . it’s a dirty lie.”

Punchline 1: “Even the waitresses—they’re all elderly women with corrective stockings,”

Punchline 2: “you know, and Mother Goose shoes”

Punchline 3: “and those handkerchiefs, different ones every day pinned on.”

Punchline 4: “I’m looking to swing and they’re bringing me jelly and chicken soup.”

Punchline 5: “Now, I’m there like the third week and I’m completely whacked. . . .”

Lenny’s audience laughed throughout the story because he organized it by subjects (setups) with multiple laugh lines (punchlines.) This story leaves us feeling that it actually happened. There may be some exaggeration, some comedic license taken with the facts, but clearly Lenny Bruce intended for us to believe that his story actually occurred.

*****

If you want to learn how to write a story, but aren’t quite ready yet to hunker down and write 10,000 words or so a week, this is the course for you. Build Your Novel Scene by Scene will offer you the impetus, the guidance, the support, and the deadline you need to finally stop talking, start writing, and, ultimately, complete that novel you always said you wanted to write.

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*****

Made-up Anecdote

It’s also possible to successfully create anecdotal stand-up about events that are made up. What makes these pieces work is our third key to creating funny anecdotal stand-up: The story feels genuine because it fits the comedian’s persona. An example of this comes from a fanciful and hilarious piece of anecdotal stand-up by Dino Wi and, a new comedian and a student of mine. The following excerpt is the beginning of his story about flying from one New York City airport to another New York City airport. What you need to know is that Dino lives near JFK Airport and has gotten a job near LaGuardia Airport, which is about a half-hour car ride away. The crazy, fanciful part of this story is that Dino is convinced it would be more convenient to fly to LaGuardia from JFK, even though both airports are in the same city, a short car ride away from each other.

In the excerpt, you can see that Dino has successfully applied the first key: The material gets frequent laughs. Dino also employed the second key: He organized the material by subjects (setups) and punchlines (laugh lines). His first subject is deciding to fly from JFK to LaGuardia; his second subject is that the in-flight movie is boring.

You can fly anywhere in the world from New York’s JFK Airport. But you cannot fly to New York’s LaGuardia Airport. Which is a shame, because I live by JFK and I just got a job at LaGuardia. I discovered that you can only fly from JFK to LaGuardia if you change planes. And according to Expedia.com it costs $735, one way, on United Airlines. It’s a four-hour flight from JFK to Denver, Colorado … then a five-hour layover in Denver, then it’s a four-hour-and-fifteen-minute flight from Denver to LaGuardia. I took the red-eye because I wanted to be at work nice and early.

So when I got on the flight from JFK to Denver, I couldn’t believe how horrible the entertainment was. On the in-flight system they were showing a movie called, I think, Map Details. It’s about a plane that flies actually from JFK to Denver. It’s terrible animation. I don’t know what Hollywood was doing with this thing. It’s like a waste of money. But anyway, I was watching it, bored out of my mind, for four hours. And then they turned it off just as we came into Denver and I missed the ending.

In good anecdotal stand-up, the characters in the story are recognizable and their behavior is believable, even if the premise of the story is fanciful. Audiences laugh when the story matches up with the personality of the comedian telling the story. Dino’s persona is clear: He is mind-bogglingly clueless. Before he tells this story, he opens with jokes that vividly establish his persona. For example:

I tried to divorce my wife last year, but she told me that we got divorced fifteen years ago. I said, “When were you going to tell me?!!!” She said, “I did, fifteen years ago when we got divorced.” And then she went on and on about, I don’t know, something about me not listening to her.

As loopy as the airport story is, it engages the audience, and they laugh because they recognize that, as unlikely as this story is, it could happen to Dino. A story with frequent laughs, organized as a series of setup and punchline jokes, that feels genuine because it fits the comedian’s persona—that, my friend, is anecdotal stand-up.

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