It appears one cannot simply decide to be funny. That seems harsh.
Half a dozen blog posts have come and gone in my brain since my last post about a month ago. Before I lose track of it, I want to write about the revelation I brought home from the Empower House benefit concert in Fredericksburg — which, by the way was a resounding success and a lovely evening.
For me, the only fly in the ointment was that nobody laughed during my first story. It’s the story that Jack calls “I Married a Bank Robber.” It’s real title is “Love, Honor, Cherish, and Obey.” It’s about how, in my early 20s, I did indeed marry a (paroled) bank robber. As I was working on the story, looking back 40 years, I thought it was pretty hilarious. So did the small circles of friends who listened and gave me feedback during its formative stages. It’s a pretty innocent Clueless Idealist Comes of Age story. No profanity. No “adult content.”
I intended for this piece and my Condom Wallet story to serve as buffers to soften the centerpiece of the program, “Just Another T. N. D.,” which is pretty intense. I thought I had a well-rounded playlist: humor, catharsis, hope. Except in the humor part of the program, nobody laughed. I didn’t read “offended” on anybody’s face (what was there to offend?); I didn’t see “bored.” I felt a strong connection to the audience, and when the story came to an end, the applause went well beyond “polite.” I just didn’t tickle anybody’s funny bone.
On the way home, I asked Jack what went wrong. He said, “It’s a good story, sweetie. You did fine. You’re just not a humorist. That’s all.”
Dang! I’ve always thought all you needed to do was decide to be funny, and if you put your mind to it — Ta Da! — it happened. Evidently not.
Humor is such a strange and ephemeral quality. when I told the story of the true meaning of my name in Albany – no one laughed and I had no idea how to end. They were horrified at my luck BUT I was so over it and thought it hilarious.
The equation may hold some insight – when an audience encounters an experience for the first time – perhaps they have not had enough time to laugh at the experience? And likely other complicated dynamics at work.
Sorry the equation – which dissappeared because I used around it is
– tragedy + time= comedy.
Reminds me of something Kevin Kling said in his keynote at the conference last Saturday morning: As soon as you’re able to laugh at something, it doesn’t have power over you anymore. Maybe it’s laughter, not courage, that’s the opposite of fear. … Incidentally, Norah, I missed that awards ceremony. What is the true meaning of your name?
I thought it was quite funny when I heard it, but I know that not everyone there did. So, perhaps it’s that we, as a culture, are just not sure we can laugh at religious fervor that allowed you to overlook the fact that he was an unreformed bank robber — or maybe we aren’t sure we are allowed to laugh outloud about it. So, as I see it, there may be something about the religious impulse behind your decisions that dampens things a bit — but then again, each audience is different. If you ever tell for Loren Nieme’s audience at Two Chairs Telling, I’m quite sure they will laugh! Best wishes with your wonderful stories – and no, you are not a humorist — your stories, even when they are funny, run much deeper than a goal of humor for humor’s sake!
As a matter of fact, Mary, Loren has me booked for November 14. Wednesday after the Kansas City Celebration of Stories. I was wondering if “Love, Honor, Cherish, and Obey” might be a good one for that audience. Thanks for the nudge.
I remember the first time I heard your bank robber story on my back porch I laughed, so maybe it was because at the event I knew what was coming. But I think everyone at the event was so engrossed in what you were saying and where the story was going that maybe they forgot to laugh. I disagree with Jack (sorry Sweetie). I think you are very funny. But then, I often laugh inappropriately so maybe I’m not the best judge.:-)
When we were on your back porch that time, as I recall, there was gin and tonic involved. Not to imply that your perceptions were impaired; maybe it just gave me a little more “droll” to work with. And as far as laughing inappropriately goes — more often than not, inappropriate laughter is better than no laughter at all.
when our 30-something son was in ~middle school, he told me i was humor-impaired. later i saw a smithsonian humor class, so i signed up. i fell asleep at the first two classes, so i skipped the last two and went to the national gallery instead. good choice! maybe you need to go to ‘humor school.’
the funny thing is, whenever i retell the story about humor impairment and humor school, i always get a laugh.
I’m laughing about it right now, and it’s not even a live rendition of the story.