There’s something deeply joyful about making someone laugh—a moment where I can feel seen, valued, and understood on my terms. It’s one of the few things in life that has always felt like mine. But until recently, I never really let that part of myself loose on the page. 

My writing has always had snips of humor, but The Lavender Blade is the first time I truly gave myself permission to be funny. Really funny. I credit Mary Kole, my editor who read a draft of my first novel, Wild With All Regrets and said, “You know you’re hilarious, right?” and encouraged me to lean into it. So I did. I went all in. 

The result? A gritty, emotionally rich fantasy novel—that also happens to be full of ridiculous puns, absurdist moments, and an exorcist who’s more of a con artist than a cleric. 

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I didn’t approach this book with a joke formula or a plan. I write the way I talk—fast, sharp, sometimes spiraling into nonsense—and the humor just emerges. I don’t test punchlines or map out comedic beats. If a scene is funny to me, it stays. That’s it. I’ve always used humor as a kind of language, and I think readers can tell.  

The world of The Lavender Blade is brutal, unjust, and strange—so the humor isn’t just for fun (though it is fun). It reflects how I’ve always dealt with hard things: by making them funny. That impulse to find the darkness, spin it into absurdity, and find a glimmer of joy in it. Humor has always been my little lantern, I think. 

And while I don’t plan much of the humor in my work, I do get a massive thrill out of hearing someone laugh or snort at something I wrote. During our final pre-printing edit, my mom kept texting me about little jokes and easter eggs she hadn’t noticed before. That kind of delayed laugh? Delicious. 

The book’s voice is shaped most clearly through Colton, our reluctant, sarcastic exorcist with a strong sense of theatrics and absolutely no patience for nonsense—especially when that nonsense comes in the form of a gleaming golden-haired aristocrat named Lucian. Colton emerged very naturally: this sardonic, long-suffering guy who just wants to do his job, get paid, and not end up cleaning blood off his cloak for the third time that day. 

Lucian is the absurd element. He’s the beautiful, pun-obsessed aristocrat who seems genuinely delighted to be co-running a fraudulent exorcism business with a man from the slums. Colton is his foil—the man trying to survive both the haunting and the partner who insists on wearing capes. Together, they create a dynamic I love: Lucian makes things bigger, weirder, and more unhinged, while Colton reacts with weary disbelief and razor-sharp sarcasm. 

My favorite running joke? Colton’s horror at Lucian’s puns. There’s something deeply satisfying about a character who can face ghosts and blood rituals with a straight face, but completely loses composure when someone says something like “a demon for your thoughts.” 

And yet, Colton’s humor isn’t just a personality quirk—it’s a shield. Most of his sarcasm is a front, a way to keep people at a distance in a world that’s hurt him over and over. But underneath it, he’s deeply nurturing. He genuinely cares about the people around him, and he wants to make them laugh too. That’s probably where he and I overlap most. Humor might start as a defense, but it becomes connection. When Colton lets his guard down—when he lets someone in—he’s still funny. He just aims it toward comfort instead of escape. 

It’s tricky, balancing real emotional weight with comedy. The Lavender Blade deals with trauma, classism, addiction, grief. And yet I think one of the things that makes the darker moments work is that the book never forgets how to laugh. I didn’t want to write a world that was all grimdark gloom—I wanted to write characters who coped with misery the way I do: by making fun of it. Or, in Lucian’s case, by offering an artisanal cheese board and a bottle of hallucinogenic wine. 

What’s surprised me most is how many readers connect with that balance. People laugh, and then cry, and then laugh again. That emotional whiplash—the way humor softens the blow of truth—has always been the kind of story I love. I just didn’t realize I was allowed to write it that way. 

Turns out, I am. 

The post A Demon for Your Thoughts: Writing Humor That Bites appeared first on Writer's Digest.

A lot of stories have been told over the millennia. There is no shortage of repeats and overlaps. But voice can be unique. Voice can distinguish a work from the pack. And voice can lead to writing that only works because it comes from that specific voice. That’s the gold standard.

(Tips for Creating Voice in Your Writing.)

My favorite comics and shows all have it. Dave Chapelle, Maria Bamford, Nate Bargatze. The original (British) version of The Office, Atlanta, Succession. Those stories, those points of view, that dialogue, and those characters only work when presented in their specific, unique voice.

#2. Character counts.

Character is a subset of voice, specific facets of a singular vision. If you cluster enough shining facets together you create a gemstone. Story doesn’t matter if we’re not invested in the characters. It’s the characters we root for, root against, and remember. Much more than story.

The examples are plenty in stand-up and narrative storytelling. Dana Carvey delivers an entire cast of characters in a single stand-up set. You can probably name a few. The famous characters depicted on Saturday Night Live stay with us even when we can’t remember what they said. Roseanne Rosannadanna, Stephan, Darnell Hayes, Linda Richmond. Make them specific, and they will be unforgettable.

#3. Story services voice and character, not the other way around.

If you have a glass of wine, voice and character are the wine. Story is the glass. It holds everything together. You need it. It has to be sound. But what you enjoy, what you feel, is the wine. Story, in and of itself, is rarely what’s most important. Or memorable. The importance of a story-first approach is shouted in how-to books and writing seminars and especially by film and TV executives. But if you create three-dimensional, consistently behaving characters, and set them on conflicting paths, story should take care of itself.

If you ever hear a character say, “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but…” it’s because they’re acting out of character to fit into a pre-ordained template. And often when that happens, the viewer or reader feels the inconsistency and loses interest.

#4. Brevity.

This is paramount in stand-up. Comics refine and hone to deliver their material with not only the fewest words, but the fewest syllables. Television comedy is the same. So is writing novels. Get to the point. Get to the joke. Get to the emotional moment. And in general, start your story as late as possible and end it as quickly as possible.

In working on sit-com scripts, the first scene we all thought was necessary often was cut during production. Or in editing. The audience is smarter than you think. Start the story in motion—they’ll know what’s going on.

#5. Be kind to yourself.

Writing is making mistakes and fixing them. We all write garbage. All first drafts need work. Sometimes a lot of work. Sometimes a toss in the garbage. Don’t beat yourself up when you write something that doesn’t work. Don’t get down when you figure out that you should have gone another way. Those realizations are something to celebrate. Yes, it means you have more work ahead but that’s okay. You’re making it better. The real value in writing is the writing.

I’ve heard of writers who don’t like writing. I don’t understand why they do it. If you don’t like writing, there are other ways to express yourself. Other jobs. Know that it’s a process. Accept that it’s a process. Once in a while something brilliant just flows seemingly out of nowhere. But that’s not the norm. The norm is making mistakes and fixing them.  

#6. Relatability is key.

A character’s wants and needs must ring universal. Seinfeld is a perfect example. Everyone likes to say it’s a show about nothing, but that’s far from true. Seinfeld is a show about selfishness. Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer are the most selfish characters on the planet. That’s why the show has such universal appeal. We understand the selfish impulses those characters feel.

Whether it’s lying to a prospective love interest to make ourselves look better or regretting a hastily made decision like quitting a job. Most of us have the good sense not to act on those selfish impulses. In Seinfeld they do act on them, which is what makes the show so funny. And don’t confuse likability with entertaining. George Costanza is not likable. Kendall Roy is far from lovable. But their behavior is lovely to watch.

Click to continue.

#7. Everyone has an opinion.

When you put voice and character first, it’s sometimes hard for readers or viewers to “get it.” We’re hardwired to be wary of something new. Out of the ordinary. Sometimes something new is loved right away. Often it takes time.

So be careful when soliciting others’ opinions. Any one opinion may or may not have value. But one of my favorite sayings from TV writing is: If you’re at a party with 12 people, and 12 people tell you you’re drunk, then you’re drunk. If everyone gives you the same note, it’s probably correct.

#8. Structure is bullshit.

The idea that a certain signpost in your story has to happen on a certain page number is absurd. As a young writer, I read all the story-structure books and, after 40 years of working as a professional writer, I can tell you this: All those books are written by people who can’t write narrative fiction. Or they can and they’re just trying to pad their bank accounts.

What’s worse, is some non-writing people with authority (film and TV execs, publishers, editors) read those story structure books and try to apply the books’ professed wisdom to the work they’re overseeing. The result is rarely good. Story should be developed from the inside out. It can be a messy process, but that’s okay. Characters need to behave consistently. If you hammer them into place to fit a story template, their integrity will shatter. And your viewers will disengage.

#9. Show don’t tell is overblown.

Another outsider’s note. Something people learn from a book or in a writing class. It’s only true some of the time. Sometimes viewers or readers want to be told, especially to move things along. Sometimes it’s better to show. Showing can evoke more emotion. But neither show nor tell is best for all situations.

It’s human nature to like having stories told to us. That gets back to voice. We love when someone can take us to a new place in an interesting, moving way.

#10. Work ethic.

I began my professional writing career writing stand-up material for myself. I then wrote television. I’ve written stage plays and screenplays. Now I write novels. One thing is true for all mediums—it’s a job. Or as I like to say, “It’s a butt-in-a-chair job.” Treat it like one. Write when you’re inspired and, more importantly, write when you’re not inspired.

We all have bad days. We all get off track. We all have doubts. But you won’t have anything if you don’t write. Some people set goals by time. I do it by word count. Power through, day after day, whether it takes one hour or 14. No shortcuts. No formulas. No antenna-like receiving from the universe. Just write.

Check out Matt Goldman’s The Murder Show here:

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The post 10 Things I’ve Learned About Writing From Being a Stand-Up Comic and in the Writer’s Room of Emmy Award-Winning TV Shows appeared first on Writer's Digest.

(Starting Your Romance Off With a Bang.)

Here are five easy things to consider when wanting to lighten the mood in your novels, in whatever genre you are.

#1: Whenever things start to feel intense in a scene, step back and purposefully add a comedic side character or comment. 

There are probably going to be intense scenes in your novels in whatever genre you write. People get cancer. People die. Go to funerals. Face infertility, heartbreak, etc. After all, this is a novel, and you must have some conflict to overcome. 

But a very, very easy thing to remember when trying to keep your books from getting too intense is to split a surprisingly humorous person or comment in those deepest, hardest scenes. It feels personal anti-intuitive, but that’s what’s so important. It breaks the spell for readers when their hearts are aching. It helps them take a breath and chuckle and remember we are okay before diving into the book again. 

It happens all the time in movies and sitcoms. It’s like an opening scene in New Girl when Nick walks in to say his father just died (huge and shocking sadness for a sitcom) and the reaction was that Jess and the roommates had just been inhaling helium so their voices were like humorous munchkins as they came in for a hug. Think: comedic relief.

#2: This is not only a very simple hack but a rather practical one for you the writer as well: Give nicknames to random characters in a scene. 

Capitalize them. It not only helps you keep it clear who you are referring to, but it does so in a casual, slightly humorous way. I just finished a scene in Without a Clue (a murder mystery rom-com I’m finishing up for 2026) and one of the initial villains in a scene became labeled Pineapple Trunk Man (due to his swim trunks). 

I’d be careful not to overdo this in books and face the consequence of the law of diminishing returns, but every once in a while it’s nice. It keeps the scene bouncy and fun.

#3: Use the side character. 

I always have comedic side characters in my books. Always. At least one. You need them. In my opinion, they are the true stars of the show. 

In my February release, The Perfect Rom-Com (titled so for SEO value and the protagonist’s aspiring task), the lovable and comedic side characters are her adult immigrant and refugee ESL students. As you can imagine (and I, given I used to be an adult ESL teacher to many), Bryony Page teaching adult men and women from around the globe with all their clashing cultures and worldviews has a lot of potential when done right (as in, don’t get political). 

Creating a lovable and highly quirky cast of characters to infuse into romantic scenes helped keep the scenes themselves both funny, romantic, and fun.

#4: Surprise people. 

Aristotle is known for saying, “The secret to humor is surprise.” 

Obviously it’s a bit more too, but there is some real truth there. Spring in surprise in your dialogue. Want to be the king/queen of humor? Have a surprising second layer to your jokes. A sudden, unexpected and innocent twist that makes people laugh.

#5: And last and quite simple, use terrible grammar. 

(See the tiny little tongue-in-cheek moment there, when you didn’t expect me to write that?) 

But truly. I once had an editor continuously pull out my sentences, rewrite it all according to her often-cited Chicago Manual of Style, and put it back in. I had to talk to my main editor about it (which we agreed wasn’t supposed to happen) and manually go over and fix it line by line. Why? Because I’m not writing a dissertation. I’ve been through a Master’s degree at seminary, and there’s a reason nobody checks out people’s dissertations for kicks and giggles. 

You can add a lot of humor with italics. You can add a lot of punch by chopping your sentences up. Just. Like. This. You can even yell DON’T MESS WITH MY MANUSCRIPT, CRADY LADY in all caps (*cue shock in a grad school) and it all works together to keep your scenes light, airy, funny, and real. It’s very fun to write too.

So that’s it.

Go forth and write hilarity into your novels.

I look forward to it.

Check out Melissa Ferguson’s The Perfect Rom-Com here:

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