Writing Serious Things in a Humorous Way

By Rob Gee

Rob Gee, photo by Nick Rawle

As a nurse, I discovered that, when used properly, humour is enormously valuable: it can diffuse tension, create common ground and help put seemingly insurmountable problems into context. It allows us to enjoy our idiosyncrasies and relate to each other as equals. As someone I nursed once told me, "laughter stops us feeling alone and strokes a broken soul."

When we use humour to address serious or difficult subjects, people can be more receptive to our messaging: one of my shows is a whodunit set on a dementia ward. In the wake of the Francis report (which examined care failings in mid-Staffordshire NHS), it was used by several NHS trusts to train staff in ethics and reporting concerns. The laughter around this serious subject enabled people to learn whilst giving them the safety to share their own experiences.

Since then, I’ve written several comedy and health-based commissions, including a singalong about chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and a comedy quiz show about early symptoms of breast, lung and bowel cancer: ambitious subjects for comedy, but able to reach beyond conventional health education strategies. The comedy quiz show toured working men’s clubs, for example.

Some writing advice

• When writing about a sad or dark situation, a small amount of levity can have a wonderful impact. At the same time, try and avoid being funny simply for funny’s sake: if we contrive unconvincing situations or have our characters behaving unlike themselves purely for the sake of humour, it won’t ring true and is therefore less likely to be funny.
• Write what amuses you, not what you hope will amuse your audience: we all laugh at different things and many successful comedians are very marmite. 
• It’s not the choice of subject that decides whether a joke’s offensive, but the intent. With this in mind, punch up, not down. Most comedic events combine surprise with misfortune and every joke has a target. Choose yours wisely. 
• Self-deprecation can be lovely: it lets people know that you’re not afraid to laugh at yourself.
• The brain loves being given images to enjoy; the more imaginative, the better. Similes can be particularly joyous when they combine elements that wouldn’t normally co-exist: "He entered the room with all the grace of a cow walking downstairs."
• With a single line, you can create a story within the story: "He looked down at the scene with the forlorn expression of a man who’d just swallowed a winning lottery ticket."
• A good way of adding levity to an otherwise serious work of fiction is to give your narrator a sense of humour: as they talk directly to us, we see the world as they do. 
• Once you’ve created a strong character, you can do anything with them: someone like Alan Partridge, Larry David or Philomena Cunk could be in a waiting room, a lecture or a yoga session and we’ll still enjoy the experience.
• The humour will often come to you in later drafts, once your infrastructure has been established. Don’t worry if it’s not hilarious straight away.
• Seek feedback from people who share your humour; watch and read lots of comedy. It will help you avoid or subvert clichés.
• No piece of writing has to be entirely funny any more than it had to be entirely serious. You can have varying amounts of light and dark, because, after all, life is like that.

Here is a poem about an ostensibly serious subject:

Dr Brice

Dr Brice put her name in the wrong part of the form
and inadvertently sectioned herself.
This amused us greatly,
because she was bad for people’s mental health.

She went on a trip to Venice,
paid for by the drug company
who were keen to invest in her impartiality.

She changed everyone’s meds when she came back.

Carnage ensued and people relapsed.
One man’s mental health fell so badly to bits
that he smashed up the ward and put two nurses off sick.

So don’t be like Dr Brice.
Just stick to the guidelines from NICE.

About the author
Rob Gee was a mental health nurse, then a comedian, and now a stand-up poet who dabbles in theatre. He’s performed at over a hundred fringe festivals worldwide and received over twenty awards for his solo shows. He leads comedy and poetry workshops in mental health settings and is sometimes sent into schools as a warning to children. You can read about his collection The Day My Head Exploded: Poems about Healthcare on Creative Writing at Leicester here. His website is here.