I recently started a short story that is not funny- serious/wistful/emotional yes. Funny no. My CPs say it doesn't sound like me, and the fact it doesn't make anyone smile has me nervous. Sure, they like it even without humor, but I wonder where oh where has my funny bone gone and when can I expect it back? Did it take a packed lunch or its entire wardrobe? How easily can I lose that essential part of my voice?
Come back! I promise I'll take out the trash!
Perhaps if we knew the nature of funniness (wow, there's a lot of n's in that word) we could find an answer. Is humor like a muscle that gets stronger every time we use it, or is it like a box of bon bons? Every bon bon ... er, bon mot used is one less we have left. Knowing my luck it's like Harry Potter's bags of many flavor beans and mine will be the vomit flavored ones. Come to think of it, I've often been told my humor is sick. Hmmmm?
Is humor something we have or something we are? I definitely live a little left of center. (Well hey, Tasmania is about as far as you can get from center before you start getting closer again.) I think most folk I know live left of center too, metaphorically speaking. I think it's a general sociological trend. People only aspire to appear normal because they're afraid to be their nutty selves, afraid what others may think of them. What if we find things funny because we're all living left of center and left is really the true center but no one is game to admit it.
Babe King's new clothes.
While I'm waiting for my humor to return, perhaps I'll cling to the Little Bo Peep theory. Leave your wits alone and they will come home, dragging their multi-book tales behind them. That way I can live in hope, as long as they return in time for me to die laughing.