How To Write Romantic Suspense With Humor

I’ve been writing romantic suspense with humor for a while now and I’ve been doing it that way for a reason: I don’t know how to write romantic suspense without humor. (Yes, I tried. It did not go well).

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When it comes to humor, I think we are doomed by our writer’s voice. It is what it is, and it’s unique to each of us. And, no, that voice does not necessarily include an extension of our own personal sense of humor. I’ve got writer friends who are delightfully amusing in real life, especially over a glass of wine, but you’d never know it from their dark, intensely emotional novels.

If you lack a natural, intuitive, irresistible impulse to insert humor into your stories, consider yourself fortunate because here’s the bad news for the rest of us: A strong, distinctive sense of humor will certainly attract an audience, but it will also limit that audience. Sadly, this is a fact of the writing life.

The problem is that while the vast majority of people react in a predictable way to the dark stuff—tragedy, pain, suffering, depression, horror—people are not predictable when it comes to humor. We are aware of this when we talk about comedy shows, clowns, comedians, cartoons, jokes, mimes, etc. But for some reason it doesn’t seem as obvious when we talk about novels. I promise you, it is just as true.

With that caveat in mind, I offer the following advice on writing romantic suspense with humor.

If humor is part of it, resistance is futile, so roll with it. If it’s not part of your voice, don’t try to force it. The risk of writing against your natural grain is that you will lose your power. Figure out what you do best and then play to your strengths.

Different types of humor appeal to different readers. Some love slapstick, some like snark, some prefer the wry, cynical style. There is the gratingly cheerful kind that a subset of readers detests while others adore. There is the subtle, clever, sort that will sail over the heads of some people without ruffling a single hair. There is also cruel and sarcastic humor which, of course, is best reserved for the bad guys’ voices. And so it goes. The list is long. Just remember that no two readers will necessarily laugh at the same thing. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about that.

The reason it pays to know your own brand of humor is because it will help you create plots, landscapes, and characters that work well with it. For example, if you’re fast with the dry, jaded wisecrack you might want to go with a noir vibe. If you love to write sparkling, witty banter consider the Regency England or 1930s Hollywood glam settings. (If you find humor in clowns and mimes, I can’t help you).

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When I say core story, I’m not talking about your chosen genre or your plots. Your core story has nothing to do with those things. It arises from the kind of themes and emotional conflicts you are called to explore in your writing. Yes, you can write intuitively without consciously analyzing what you are driven to create. That will work great until you hit a brick wall. And I can guarantee you that, sooner or later, you will hit that wall.

The reason it pays to ID your core story is because you will understand that you are not trapped in a particular genre. You can take your story anywhere because the themes and emotional conflicts that fascinate you are universal. They can be adjusted to fit into any fictional landscape and every genre.

You should be able to identify your core story in two or three words. For example, a few years ago I hit a wall—one of many in my career—when I discovered that the genre I was writing at the time, futuristic romantic-suspense, did not yet have much of an audience. (Note to self: Being ahead of the wave is just as bad as missing it. Timing is everything in the writing business, just as it is in other areas of life.)

When I murdered my writing career in the futuristic romantic suspense genre, I had no choice but to pick up the pieces and find another place for my stories. To do that I examined the emotional conflict that always seemed to be at the heart of my novels. I realized that regardless of the plot or the fictional landscape, my conflicts always revolve around issues of trust.

Trust is the biggest risk we take, and we do it every day. It is a universal conflict that works well in any genre. In my stories my hero and heroine must find a way to trust each other in order to survive. If that trust is misplaced, they are doomed.

The other theme I find myself coming back to again and again in my stories is reinvention. At the start of my books my characters are always in the process of trying to rebuild a world that has just come crashing down.

So, there you have it, my core story defined in two words: trust and reinvention. What’s yours?

I encourage you to identify your core story because discovering it will reveal your own personal writing universe. My wonderfully insightful editor, Cindy Hwang at Berkley, named mine the JayneVerse. You have a universe of your own. You might as well give it a name because you will be exploring it for the rest of your career. It is the source of your writing fuel, the wellspring of your power. When in doubt, when you are confronting writers’ block, go into your universe for inspiration.

All of which leads us to the really hard part:

Humor can save a story or destroy one. Think of it as you would any other ingredient in the novel you are crafting. It must be used judiciously. Too much humor, like too much dialogue, can make a story float right off the page and lose its emotional punch. Readers may smile or chuckle as they read, but as soon as they close the cover, they will forget the characters and the plot and everything else, including the name of the author.

Humor on its own is not particularly powerful. It’s the darker emotions and passions that stick with readers after they close the book. We are, after all, hardwired to remember those things. But here’s the good news—skillfully used, humor is unmatched in its ability to underscore those emotions and passions and make them feel real. It can provide a unique insight into the inner lives of our characters. (No, I don’t know how this process works. It just works, OK? Trust me on this.)

But humor is a very delicate, very dangerous device. Just as it can be overdone, it can be misused. Dropped into an inappropriate place it can bring down an entire scene, chapter, or the whole novel. It can destroy your character.

I regret to say that there are no rules or handy tips for finding the right balance for humor in your story. This is ultimately a matter for your writer’s intuition. I would suggest you trust your instincts here. The humorous dialogue or amusing situation should evolve naturally from the plot and the characters. If you find yourself trying to force the humor in a scene, that’s a bad omen. Step away from the keyboard and ask yourself why your witty turn of phrase doesn’t feel right in that context. Maybe there’s a good reason.

The reverse can also be a problem. If you let the humor run away with a scene in a manner that does not make sense for the plot or for your characters, pay attention. The only tip I can give you here is to remember that when it comes to humor, less is usually more.

I wish you all the best with your writing and if you are among that crowd of unfortunate wretches who got stuck with a writer’s voice that includes humor, I welcome you to the club and offer my condolences.

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