Laugh a Minute
You may have noticed my tagline: Vicki Batman, sassy writer of sexy and funny fiction.
I never thought of myself as being funny until a friend said something. I was like me? Really? I'd always appreciated books with humor. And when another friend pressed in my arms #4 Janet Evanovich, I sighed with contentment after I read it, thinking someone who wrote what I liked to read. Naturally, I gobbled all of them up.
When I began writing, I noticed funny words crept in my work. And so did
creepy witty dialogue. And
I played havoc with internal dialogue. And found smiley faces in the edits.
After several of my short fictions were published in the True magazines, I let my girlfriends read them and watched and listened for their reactions. I saw smiles, snorts, giggles, ha's, etc. I knew then I'd done my job and done it right.
Finding a good funny word doesn't usually come through on my first draft. I have to work it-work it-work it. And when I go back later on and read what is there and it makes me smile--even after
multiple thousands a gazillion passes—then I
know all was done correctly.
So here's a treat from my funny romantic suspense/mystery, Temporarily Employed (coming soon!). My heroine Hattie, another sassy gal, is eyeing a guy with suspicion after he asks her out to dinner:
No frisking and no arrests were—so far, in my book—a good thing. Knowing he was Sarah Anne’s older brother, I found eliminating him from the stalker, murderer, and rapist categories easy. The something in the truck line sounded similar to approaches used in past dating experiences. For instance:
“Want to come up and look at my etchings?”
Translated: A roll in the hay.
Or the ever popular “Would you like to meet Mr. Lizard?”
Translated: Mr. Wiggly Worm.
“How about coming to my place for a drink?”
Translated: To ply me with multiple drinks and the requisite roll in the hay.
I hadn’t fallen for those then and wouldn’t be a sucker now.
He stuck his hands on his hips. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m not a stalker, murderer, or rapist."
Apparently, he could read minds. "Just a minute." I closed the door enough to release the chain, then opened it. “Why can’t you just tell me whatever it is?”
“No. I want to show you—-”
“Not a Picasso?” I asked.
“Not an iguana?”
A perplexed expression crossed his face. “A what?”
“Not your pet worm?”
“What pet worm?”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re thinking. The only worms I know about are for fishing."
*I have to add that I was once asked to "come up and see my hamster"—lolol.
How did I do? Do you like to read funny books?