Humour in Writing for Children

Elements and Exercises

Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash

I was going to include humour for all ages, but it’s too much for one post. And humour for adults can be much more subtle, dragging some nuance-twin in tow. However… if you write for Big Folks, do read on as some of the ideas here will be of use, if only to get your mind moving your “funny”-muscle.

I’ve heard a number of people say “I have no sense of humour!” a statement I always find hard to believe. Unless one never laughs. I suspect that when people say such things, they are thinking about their characters and writing, and that their personal funny-bone does not translate well to the page.

Thinking about what makes a child laugh or giggle might prime the humour pump. As children we allowed ourselves more room and time for this business of not taking things so seriously.

“I have a terrible dread that we shall take our children’s books too seriously and solemnly.”

Robert Lawson, Caldecott Medal acceptance speech, 1941

I love the phrase “terrible dread!” The phrase, and the quote, finds some bit of head-shaking fun… when we don’t take it too seriously.

“Seriousness is the refuge of the shallow.”

Rita Mae Brown, Starting From Scratch: A Writer’s Manual

When writing for adult readers, this quote of Brown’s has often made me pause mid-rant or storyline, and question myself. To take off the serious veneer and dig can mean getting real; getting real can mean seeing someone’s underpants—metaphorical or literal. Embarrassing sometimes, if unintended. Possibly creating vulnerability or intimacy, or both. Other times, just funny! (See note below on The Captain himself—Captain Underpants.)

There’s too much Serious Stuff in our world. And I don’t want to make light of it. But all the more reason for some levity. How to get there, though, when you feel you never signed up for the comedy class… (Were you thinking that when you started to write?)

Entertaining vs teaching

John Newbery was one of the first people to act on his belief that books for children ought to entertain as opposed to preach or teach. He dedicated his first publishing venture to two young friends “by way of diversion” (mid 1700s).

If you’ve had a chance to read early children’s books filled with didacticism, you may have felt the itch for funny. (Ponder this definition of ‘didacticism’: an approach that is driven by the urgent need to explain. Does that sound like something you’d want to read?) If you are going to insist on “messaging” your young readers, a pinch of humour will get the words down.

As a child, my family had a handful of the gruesome Uncle Arthur’s Bedtime Tales on family shelves. (I’m not going to share a link; you can look them up yourself if you want.) They contained tales of poor misguided Tommy or Janey, who ate too much blueberry pie and had an ungodly stomach-ache. All moralizing, tiresome, and sorely in need of a tickle.

Even if you cannot imagine your WIP with even a snag of outright humour, it’s good to consider how you might create some leak of levity or—at the very least—work with what I’ll call a buoyancy of language.

Trying to dissect humour is tough. Dissection generally happens with dead things. Humour is alive; studying how it functions is challenging.

Let’s start with some elements and look at possible approaches.

Elements

— repetition — often a refrain of word play )in a picturebook, for example) or some patterning of story events (in a junior novel), which can be given a good mix-up or take a sharp corner. “Play” is the operative word.

— anticipation/surprise — said sharp corner! The corner might be arrived at by creating expectations, and turning on their head. “Surprise” not “shock.” Humour can be in the first; save “shock” for something else.

— incongruity/juxtaposition — story or setting elements, character characteristics… seemingly at utter odds; character goals at odds… this can be a long list and birth fun. This can connect with the above of “anticipation/surprise.” If you have a writing group or partner, it can be useful to brainstorm such together.

You might challenge yourselves to throw into a bag a half dozen physical items from your story, and then open and share these pieces, creating snags of comedy as you go. Set out the items, review these elements—let out the ideas!

— slapstick/lack of dignity — this is an interesting one. It hearkens back to vaudeville. And certainly some of the storybooks I read, back in the ancient times. We don’t see it much anymore, and possibly for good reason.

How to turn this on its head though might be worth some thought. For all of us, there are moments in life when we do lose dignity, or have it taken from us—especially true for both the youngest people and the oldest. How can we evoke, with humour, and return the dignity, and allow ourselves to laugh…?

— eccentricities — juxtaposition has such a role in many of these on the list. Spend some time listing objects around you, thoughts that pop to mind, or you might even circle and list nouns within your current WIP. Then let you mind go, and for each item on your list, find two words seemingly at odds. Play with them, long enough to create a connection; often humour arises from such play, such connecting. (And it is PLAY.)

— exaggeration — hyperbole/tall tales — think of as extravagant and fact-stretching.

— adversity — even failure can be funny; might be better to realize this as a young person, for later growth. Laughter as medicine; laughter as strengthening.

— confusion — mix-up, blunder, misadventure, farce

— situations of dis-order — resolving to order: calm/chaos/calm

— word-play/verbal — Maryann Kovalski’s picturebook, originally titled Frank & Zelda was changed to a line from within the story: Pizza For Breakfast. As well as just having fun with words, this humour works with elements above—eccentricity, even “confusion” (okay… some of us do eat pizza for breakfast, some with regularity. But it’s that idea of what you’re—not really—supposed to do!) There are certain words that create that “language buoyancy”—and I suspect ‘pizza’ is one such.

Think Dr. Seuss and Edward Lear.

Think malapropisms (the wrong usage of a word or phrase. Recently on a flight, I heard the announcer ask that there be “no conjugating in the aisles.”)

Think malaphor — an informal term for an unintentional blending of a malapropism and an aphorism (a brief saying that teaches a lesson or truth—e.g. “early bird gets the worm”/“actions speak louder than words”); the results can be humorous (“Let dead dogs sleep”/ “it’s not rocket surgery”)

— recognition of human behaviour — one reason why animal stories can be fun. (Which should have its own post!) In works for young people, characters as animals allow us to take a half-step away and to see things that might otherwise be missed.

There is much about human behaviour that is humourous; with human characters, we can have more to say about this in writing funny for adults.

— visual humour — in David Weisner’s The Three Pigs, here’s the no-words page that set my sons roaring:

When you are working with a picturebook or illustrated book text, keep this in mind. Visualize as you work. In addition to “think funny,” start to “see funny”… and hear, smell…

Like any other “paying attention” piece to writing, you can develop the capacity for rooting out humour in your work.

— logic

“Logic is at the root of all humour.” Jeffrey Scott (from How to Write Funny Stuff)

Our understanding of logic and the breakdown of it is what causes the humour to emerge from many elements on the above list.

In working with stories for children, be aware of your age group, and where they are in their cobbling together of logic. FLYING pigs on a PAPER airplane. A major breakdown in logic.

Then too, no small thing is the sense of having outwitted the powerful... pigs outwitting the wolf! Always a resonant source of humour for children who, to a great extent, have only limited control over their lives. Superiority!

A quote from the amazing Beverly Cleary:

“Humour is a way of relieving anxiety; children enjoy feeling superior to their younger selves and are relieved to know they’ve grown.”

Balance

You could not write an entire story about “superiority.” It would get stale quickly. But it could be one thread throughout or one element of a piece. The above list is intended to provoke thought, and evoke ideas. Any piece of writing might have multiple snippets of these throughout.

Note the bits and pieces of levity throughout your own day. Consider the sources and the natures of these.

Kid humour, “toilet” jokes, and a note on “Captain Underpants”:

If you are not familiar with these wildly popular books, go look them up. Written and drawn by Dav Pilkey, who was told to stop scribbling by more than one teacher through his school years.

These graphic junior novels have narrative as well as a comic-strip style element created ‘by the characters.’ These graphic frames are exactly as children would create, with imaginative spelling. The books altogether are rife with body humour, and a delightful irreverence for authority. (Note, the “Captain Underpants” is the school principal who becomes a super-hero wearing his underpants and a cape-of-sorts). The vocabulary outside of the comic strip sections is on the challenging side, but always contextual. An incredible amount of human thought and consideration goes into the whole.

Maybe I’m a bit biased: my middle son only began to read as a result of these books. And Pilkey is a real artist in how he’s put them together, with respect for children (too many teachers and school admin were not helpful in Pilkey’s life), and there’s a real sense of energy, joy, and just Fun in the pages.

Humour can make the difference between a child enjoying learning to read, and reading, or feeling it’s all just a trudge.

Fish out of water

Brad Shreiber in his book What Are You Laughing At? speaks of the principle of “fish out of water”—the concept of comedic character in a normal universe OR the reverse: normal character in a comedic universe—and the humourous possibilities of such situations. (This works with adult work, too.)

Personal funny bone

If you either think of yourself as someone with no sense of humour, or with a sense of humour that doesn’t translate to the page, try to see your own as a fingerprint—unique. When something in a story you are reading causes you to laugh, or even give a wry smile, pause. What is it that makes you laugh? Jot down such moments. For a week or so, note. Do the dissecting.

Consider when was the last time you had a giggle? a belly-laugh? A time that made your gut ache for some time afterward? What was that about?

Who are the comedians who “work” for you? (And note what is it about those who don’t? Though it’s usually more useful to think positive here, and work with what does make you laugh.)

Are you familiar with the word “risible”—such a good word. Definition:

capable of laughing; disposed to laugh; arousing or provoking laughter especially; associated with, relating to, or used in laughter

And if you feel too On-the-Hook, remember: it’s not YOUR humour—it’s your characters’

This is key. You’re not alone if you feel a bit baffled by the idea of being funny. Words that spontaneously grow over the dinner table, can fail when you sit to write. Funny scenarios can become brittle. It is the dissection thing. If it’s too much to pull it apart, at least let yourself dance around it, mulling it over, getting words on paper; the more you do this, the more you will see and hear.

And just as you do with any other writing-of-character, this is not about you.

Do you know what makes your character laugh? what about their types of laughter—ironic guffaw, belly-splitting and tear-inducing, a titter, a giggle…? And how does this character interact with other characters—how do they move each other to laughter? Can you envision your story in your mind? see it as you would a film?

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And if not overt humour:

Buoyancy of Language

English is rich in synonyms. You can choose monosyllabic or polysyllabic words that have close meanings. You can have sentence structure that catches a reader in corners with clauses and asides. You can weigh with punctuation. Or break effectively with, too.

My constant suggestion of “read aloud”—only this time, read for lightness, for air.

This is not really about “humour,” no. But it is about language and dancing on the page as opposed to treading across in your steel-toed boots.

Let’s try

Take this list of words and find TWO synonyms or something else you might use for the idea (feel free to substitute phrases as well as words, and to interpret the word in any way that comes to mind). The two substituted pieces should—to your mind—have a “lighter” tone and a “heavier” tone.

Write out the words below and list your choices next to them as “lighter”/”heavier.”

—green

—service

—break

—cloud

—time

—weight

—soup

—yard

—pirate

—age

Post, please! Would love to see what you come up with.

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Other exercises to explore humour

#1.

— choose an overtly funny book. Select a passage and articulate what it is that causes you to smile or laugh

— select a scene from a children’s book that is NOT overtly funny, but causes you to laugh or smile as you read it. Articulate how this passage functions for you within the story.

#2. As you are working on your own writing, if you find yourself in the midst of a so-dry-it-crumbles passage, or a part that seems to drive on dully (you know what I’m talking about…) RE-WRITE it, conscious of any opportunity to inject an element of fun, and/or “buoyant” words.

#3.

— make a list of three things you do NOT find amusing

— make a list three you do

— return to the first three and find something funny about each

(this one is from Brad Schreiber’s book, p. 72)

#4. Add a character to your story who is one of those (annoying?) people who sees EVERYTHING as funny—even the serious stuff you wish he wouldn’t.

Consider what another character might say in conversation with him/her, and consider all possible responses. This really means shutting down your censor. Analyze, and be prepared to write down anything. Review the list of elements.

#5. Working with juxtaposition:

Write a list of eight random words in left hand column, then a list of twelve in a right hand column.

Pair each of the eight words with one from the RH column, and create something funny—some bit of observation, a joke or gag. Again, review the elements.

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If you want, feel free to post in the comments any scribblings you create in response to these exercises. Or add any “elements” that you come up with in addition to my list.

Also consider sharing funny bits from stories you’re reading, or titles you feel have some humourous edge.

Or favourite comedians (and why you appreciate their work) would be good to note.