Scarcity Lends Value

I don't usually crack myself up when writing something funny. Maybe I'll chuckle in a first-draft fever, but that's about it. I've been doing this long enough now that my inner craftsman stays focused. The craftsman knows that making myself laugh isn't necessarily a good thing. I might've nailed a one-liner, sure, but I might also be indulging in one-liners rather than investing in the best possible story.

No, humor is serious business. A comedy needs all the elements of a drama--and then to be funny on top of all that. I stay focused on the arc and gauge the humor more by vibe. Does a section feel right in the flow? Does it read well on the eye and sound great to the ear? Does the humorous line develop the character or solidify a story moment? Is the humor consistent or random? And the big test: If I took that bit out, is the story better or worse?

I did qualify that with a usually, though. There I was shaping up what would become "This One Oughta Go Different"--and I kept laughing. I did it at one character in particular, a Marguerite Fanchon, and at one trait of hers in particular. My laughs sprang from liberation. The set-up allowed me to give Marguerite dialogue and blocking in a way I wouldn’t have otherwise dared, with sudden poses and off-point soliloquies flaunting the writing rules. 

Marguerite was, in today's slang, a lot. And those laughs were telling me something. To be careful with her.

Spoiler-free context: “Oughta” is my third Vernon Stagg installment for AHMM. Vernon is a small-time Nashville lawyer with self-aggrandizement issues and dodgy morals. His cocktail of personal flaws makes him performative, and the story revolves around him stumbling upon a perfect client every bit as performative: Marguerite. Vernon wants her pristine record and polished working-class persona to turn a simple pinched nerve claim into a major settlement. Hijinks ensue.

Marguerite, though, promptly disappears in Act One just as Vernon ramps up his big case. He spends until Act Four searching for her--and pursuing a case without a client. 

The absence of a character can be as powerful as their presence. Someone dies, or goes lost, or gets called off to war, whatever. That absent character still resonates as broken hearts, guilty souls, people fumbling at an empty shape in their lives. Absences drive plot, create mystery, and deepen worry. Think Catch-22, Gone Girl, The Lord of the Rings, The Maltese Falcon. 

In my shallow end of the pool, "Oughta" was never going to work with Marguerite hanging around too long. This is Vernon's story, not hers. Now, Vernon is wrong that her claim ever could land a major payday. He's even wrong about Marguerite's true identity, but this is comedy, and Vernon is wrong about many things. The point is, Marguerite is perfect for his angle he keeps trying to play. Maybe this time, he has a winner. For conflict's sake, it's only fitting to yank her away from him. For the character's sake, it's very Vernon that he proceeds with the case anyway.

That's tactics. There is also strategy, going back to the reason Marguerite had me laughing. She doesn't engage in conversation. Each thing said to her becomes a cue for some parallel melodrama in her head. Her lines are soap opera cheese that would get me tossed out of a writer's workshop. Funny, but only in small doses and only if her quirks are a clue. The lines even get some power if she lands somehow in that spotlight she craves. Otherwise, I'm just writing soap opera cheese.

Like I said, this Marguerite was a lot. Which was why I could only use her a little.

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If you like hearing about hidden doors and speakeasy culture, there's more behind-the-scenes on "Oughta" over at AHMM's Trace Evidence blog.