Humour…is a difficult thing to write about. But I could start with a joke? Okay…um…let’s see…
A doctor, a lawyer, a little boy and a priest were out for a Sunday afternoon flight on a small private plane. Suddenly, the plane developed engine trouble.
In spite of the best efforts of the pilot, the plane started to go down. Finally, the pilot grabbed a parachute, yelled to the passengers that they had better jump, and bailed out.
Unfortunately, there were only three parachutes remaining.
The doctor grabbed one and said “I’m a doctor, I save lives, so I must live,” and jumped out.
The lawyer then said, “I’m a lawyer and lawyers are the smartest people in the world. I deserve to live.”
He also grabbed a parachute and jumped.
The priest looked at the little boy and said, “My son, I’ve lived a long and full life. You are young and have your whole life ahead of you. Take the last parachute and live in peace.”
The little boy handed the parachute back to the priest and said, “Not to worry, Father. The ‘smartest man in the world’ just took off with my back pack.”
Now I bet you got a giggle out of that, right? Or at least, I hope you did. And this can be one of the big differences with humour. Had I told that joke to you in person, I would have killed it, because I have no timing at all. None. I could have the biggest clock in the world and a band conductor, and I would still send that joke into its grave. BUT. I can write it. I know this only because I get told this, I’m not blowing my own trumpet.
I also like how humour can encompass many different types of humour. Mine revolves mainly around sarcasm, dark humour, and a lot of silly madness. Okay, okay, and some dirtiness in there too. It’s too tempting! I like to try and describe things around me in a silly way. For example, if I do a character interview, a lot of things normally happen that seem a bit mad. Like if it’s one my drool-worthy male characters, a lot of women tend to get stuck on the window and I have to peel them away. With a squeegee.
Or I can be funny in person, but it depends on the conversation. I normally have to wait for what I call an ‘opening’. Which means someone else in the conversation has to say something that can have a funny response. But when I manage it, it does make people laugh. Which I like doing. There is nothing better than hearing people laugh, as it means everyone is happy-and what could be better than that? Well, maybe chocolate. Maybe.
Which is why it’s so great being able to write humour into my novels. But they’re paranormal fantasy books where lots of people show their fangs a lot and kill each other!, I hear you cry. Yes, but I said I liked dark humour. And because I’m in charge, I can set characters up so that they do say that perfect opening to allow the next character to get the laugh. They often fight over who gets to be the comedian for the chapter, but I get the whip out and they normally go quiet. Also a fact.
So I love humour, because I like to think I have a good sense of humour. I’m also half-Irish and from the North of England, and we love dark humour. Check out a series called ‘Boys From The Black Stuff’ to see what I mean. Plus a lot of it is set in the town where my family is from. I like incorporating humour into my novels because it gives them another layer, another section of storytelling. Just hope that you never meet me in person, otherwise you’ll lose all faith in my joke-telling capabilities. 🙂
|I was born in Guisborough, North Yorkshire in 1987 and have lived in various places around Britain, including Newcastle and Glasgow.
My writing is inspired by various writers, including the vivid characters of Charles Dickens, the imagination of Stephen King, and the gothic imagery of Anne Rice.
My love of horror began at an early age, when I was only three or four. I could read proficiently at the age of three, and devoured fairy-stories, but I always had a bent towards the darker stories, such as the Brother’s Grimm’s tales…Red Riding Hood was always a firm favourite, although I always felt sorry for the wolf, despite him having tried to eat everyone!
Knocking his drink back, feeling the rich liquid burning his throat, Aodhan wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, and slowly stood up from the vinyl bar stool. He waved his hand to get the attention of the barmaid, but she was far too engrossed in the attentions of her personal Adonis to notice Aodhan. Shrugging, he laid a ten-pound note down on the bar, next to his empty glass.
He turned and walked out of the bar door with long strides, feeling the cool night air on his face. The bouncer outside the doors turned and stared at Aodhan’s six foot frame, no emotion showing on his features. Aodhan returned the cool stare, and then began walking off into the night.
He walked along speedily, his hands shoved deep in his jean pockets. The sounds of the night surrounded him-distant cat song, the steady hum of far-off cars, the soft sound of wind whistling underneath people’s windows. He loved being out at night, not because it was a time when his ‘kind’ were more active, but simply because it was so much quieter than the day. The sounds of people rushing around disappeared, and left a peaceful calm with the soothing darkness.
Of course, there were the voices in his head, but that was another story.
He shrugged his shoulders up, cutting off the wind whistling around his neck. He wasn’t particularly cold, but the noise was annoying when your ears were so sensitive that a pin dropping sounded like a two-ton weight.
Aodhan’s mind went back to the girl from the bar. He hadn’t meant to be so brisk with her, but it was really best that no-one got that close. It really wasn’t his style to be the mysterious, dark, lone ranger, but it was for the best in this case. He had begun to…kill people. People who wouldn’t die if they hadn’t found out about them… Aodhan was a demon.
A rare demon, as well, a shadow demon. He had been born to a Scottish clan just over eight-hundred years ago, to humans. Contrary to what he saw people believed in the media and books, demons were actually born to humans. There was no line of them, like vampyres or werewolves. They were simply…random.
When he had been born, there were no noticeable signs of what he was. He just looked like any of the other babies born to them, strong and healthy, but definitely human.
As he grew older, he had shown great proficiency with all weapons, learning faster than any of the other boys in the clan, becoming more powerful and stronger than most of them. Even some of the boys older than himself had a hard time keeping up with him. He was never big-headed about it though, simply fitting in with everyone else. However, the clan talked about how the strange-eyed boy was so much quicker and stronger than others twice his age, and whispered about ancient gods coming back to the earth. His looks weren’t too odd for his clan, everyone having black, brown, or auburn hair, but his eyes were odd. All others in his clan had mostly blue eyes, some of them had brown eyes. But he had startling clear green eyes, more like a cat, in the clan’s eyes, than a human.
When he was thirteen, he suddenly began developing strange growths near his temples. After going to see the clan’s wise woman about it, she simply cackled, and whispered, “Those who are given the gift of darkness, should not fear the unknown.” He had shaken off the wise women’s words, telling himself that she had finally gone crazy.
The growths had developed further, until they started to look like small dark horns, about the length of his thumb. They curled close to the curve of his head, smooth with small ridges forming at each stage of their growth. Luckily, Aodhan’s hair grew wild and long, allowing him to cover them up as much as he could.
When he became twenty, he was a well-loved member of his clan. He was kind and helpful to all, and helped to fight off their enemies more times than he could count on both hands. But he was holding a dreadful secret from his family. Since his horns had grown, he had also noticed many other things.
He had begun to…see things. Shadows.
When he was out hunting in the forest near to their home, he would think that he had seen someone moving in the trees behind him, but when he swung around to face them, nothing. Then he would hear a soft chuckle, his name being called on the wind. At night, in his bed as he tried to sleep, he would see black figures running around the walls.
He had tried to tell the wise woman of the village again, thinking them to be spirits sent to drive him mad, or something worse. She simply shook her head at him, and chuckled, rocking herself to and fro. He had got used to them by now, drawing the blanket up over his head so that he couldn’t hear their taunting murmurs….
Aodhan suddenly stopped walking, snapping out of his daydreaming. He was sure he had seen one of…them. Looking all around himself, he scanned the buildings around him with his vivid eyes. The problem with them, was that they could hide anywhere they chose-walls, buildings, floors, anywhere-especially at night.
The red brick buildings around him looked empty, the few alleyways just leading alongside the backs of houses, a few bins scattered about. No-one else was walking near him on the pavement, no sound anywhere.
Just as he was about to turn around and carry on walking, pulling his jacket up again, when he heard something behind him. Something whispery and cold.
About the Blogger
I review Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance books with a focus all things werewolf. Based out of Ottawa, Canada