Humor writing is a conundrum that baffles even the most prolific writer. A situation in real life that causes people to howl with laughter can and often does fall flat on the page. Why?

Apart from the highly subjective nature of humor, I’ve found writing that is universally perceived as humorous has three qualities: a distinct voice, honesty, and fearlessness.

Distinct Voice 

It makes sense that a person whose writing is humorous is also funny in person. For example, Michael Perry, Anne Lamott, and David Sedaris are hilarious on the page as well as when they speak. The key is they write like they speak, capturing the cadence, timing, language, and sensibility that is uniquely their own. A writer with a distinct voice shows up fully as him- or herself on the page. This is a must in all good writing, but it is vital in humor writing.

Honesty

Writing that causes readers to guffaw is honest. It tells the truth as the writer sees it, and is oftentimes factually true, yet is conveyed without judgment or bias. The fact just is, and this honesty adds vitality and integrity to the story. For example, Michael Perry writes about a cross-eyed butcher, a true fact about a real person. You laughed out loud just thinking about it, right? I do every time!

Fearlessness

Humor writers bravely go where most people fear to tread, saying and admitting to things that most of us reveal only to our therapists who are paid and bound by law to keep our secrets. Yet humor writers bare all for all the world to see. Their vulnerability and integrity make them highly relatable, and their bold fearlessness makes us laugh from shock, recognition, and awe.

If you are one who leaves people in stitches, you can on the page as well. Learn how from the master, Michael Perry, who will be the keynote speaker at the Wisconsin Writers Association Fall Conference and will also participate in a panel discussion called “You Write Funny” on October 3.

You might want to consider having a copy editor on retainer.

Late last month, a judge of the 12th Ohio District Court of Appeals ruled that a parking ticket be overturned due to—wait for it—a missing comma. The village ordinance refers to the unlawful parking of “any motor vehicle camper, trailer, farm implement and/or non-motorized vehicle for a continued period of twenty-four hours …” However, the vehicle that was ticketed was a pickup truck, not a “motor vehicle camper,” which the owner cleverly pointed out in her appeal. And the judge agreed. It would have been a different story if the ordinance had read, “motor vehicle, camper, trailer …” It wouldn’t even be a story if that were the case. This is the power of punctuation in living color.

I’ve long known the power of punctuation. Thirty years ago, as a secretary in the loan department of a bank, I typed real estate descriptions for mortgage loans on every pertinent document, as this was years before word processors and decades before computers with the time-saving cut-and-paste feature. My boss and I then read these descriptions out loud to each other, ensuring that each word, comma, and period matched the original. One mistake could have caused a ripple effect of grief and aggravation down the line. (Hmmm … perhaps this was my training for my current profession.)

I can’t help but wonder if the eagle-eyed Ohio woman was a copy editor. At any rate, let her experience be a lesson to you. The next time you get a parking or speeding ticket, be sure to have your trusty copy editor look it over. She just might find a loophole.

I struggled with writing this article all month. Ideas came to mind only to fizzle once I began researching them. Then when one finally took root, some unidentifiable force ran interference between the page and me while simultaneously tapping its wrist with its finger and the floor with its toe, saying, “C’mon! You have a deadline!”

Blocked when faced with the blank page yet pressured by the tick-tick-tick that sounded more like a time bomb than a clock filled me with panic and my head with “what ifs” that multiplied like rabbits: What if I don’t make my deadline? What if my article isn’t helpful? What if I sound stupid, or pompous? What if people don’t like it—or me? What if … what if … what if … ?

Sound familiar?

I’ve long ago learned that the creative spirit cannot be forced to perform according to my, or anyone else’s, dictates. Nor does it give a rip about deadlines. Rather, it’s like a stream of water breaking away from the river and carving its own path through dry land—it moves when and where it will and at its own pace. Trying to “push the river,” as I call it, only results in drowning in my own frustration. So, stymied, I did the only thing I could: surrender. And then I did the next best thing: I parked on the couch and lost myself in my current guilty pleasure: episodes of the series Brothers and Sisters, along with a hefty bowl of salted caramel ice cream. Since I couldn’t write, I may as well relax and enjoy myself, I reasoned.

After an hour of blissful escapism, there was a scene where Nora and Kitty were commiserating over a bottle of wine, when Nora said, “You won’t do anyone any good by pretending to be less than what you are.” I bolted upright as if struck by lightning. Grabbing my pen and paper, I began writing, “what ifs” finally in the backseat, where they belong.

I can’t explain how Nora’s well-timed words broke through my block, but I know it had something to do with my surrendering. A power struggle with writer’s block never ends well for the writer, as, like struggling in quicksand, the block will always win. Rather, I’ve learned the only way out is to lay down my will, give up the fight, and let the creative spirit lead me through the chaos of creativity—this time where it wants to go, not where I do.

I no longer view writer’s block as an enemy. Rather, it’s a reminder that once again I’m trying to play it safe and control the uncontrollable. I don’t know about you, but I like guarantees, such as readers’ and editing clients’ positive reactions, and am sometimes leery of veering off the beaten path. But playing it safe requires that I be less than who I am, and as Nora said, then I won’t do anyone any good. And doing others some good, even in a small measure, is why I write and edit in the first place.