Comedy changes. The core principles don’t.
Now in its third edition, Comedy Writing Secrets has taught more than 175,000 readers how to make humor work — in writing, talks, classrooms, and social media.
Humor isn’t magic. It just feels like it when it works.
These posts are short rants about humor in real life — the book is where I break down how it works.
My path to funny is a tad unusual — humorist, psychology professor, death educator, and dad. I write about single parenting and life at Grown & Flown, Fatherly, Your Teen, BLUNTmoms — and here.
Click around. Borrow a technique. Make your TikTok feed funnier. Most important, have fun.
As Seen in Writer’s Digest
I co-author the Before You Go back page feature with the great Bob Eckstein. Here’s an example.
My professional interests are weirdly different. I’m a psychologist who studies and teaches about the power of humor. I’m also a thanatologist, and I help others cope with life’s absolutes – grief, death, and dying.
There’s nothing funny about loss, so what do death and humor have in common?
Perspective.
Both death and humor are ways of seeing life in a different light. Death is the big dope slap for reminding us that we, nor anyone we love, have control over our journey’s destination. Humor is life’s daily coping tool for helping you reframe situations, lighten your mood, and connect with others.
Together, death and humor enrich our lives and keep us humble to the journey by reminding us to zoom out and look at the bigger picture.
Perspective.
There’s an infamous story about a character actor who, on his deathbed, allegedly said, “Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.”
Whether the tale is a fact or an urban legend, the idea is on-target. Comedy is hard; it takes years of practice, commitment, and rejection to be a successful humor writer.
I dedicate this site to the crazies – writers, educators, or humorists – trying to be funny. Comedy is brutal, and I’m here to help with my advice and experience as a humor educator.
When writing funny becomes a chore, I reflect on one of my childhood traumas. Bullies relentlessly teased me using vowel substitution with “Shatz” to invent new curse words. While I begrudgingly admired their creativity, it hurt my feelings. I would run to my mom for comfort, and she always had the same advice: “Get over it – it’s just a f’n joke.”
Perspective.