How to Be Funnier on the Page (Even If You’re Dead Inside)
I’ve been thinking a lot about how to be more helpful to the writer community. After much thought (and scratching a bald spot into existence at the top of my head), I finally figured it out:
What if… I taught you how to write funny? Using my own work as examples?!
Yes, I know how masturbatory that sounds. But I think I’m hilarious. My husband thinks so too. He’s currently shaking in his boots as I demand he say the words out loud.
Let’s be real: being funny on the internet is basically currency now. But writing funny? That’s a whole other beast. It’s not about perfectly timed punchlines or forcing LOLs—it’s about letting your weird, spiky, wonderful brain be fully seen on the page.
And the best part? You don’t have to be the class clown or the life of the party to write something that makes people snort-laugh through their nose. You just have to be honest, specific, and a little unhinged (which, aren’t we all?).
Today, I’m dissecting my own writing to show you exactly how you can be funnier—by accident, on purpose. Call it a post-mortem on the jokes that lived. You can steal these techniques immediately.
🪦 1. Commit to the Bit (a.k.a. Metaphor But Make It Feral)
Excerpt from I Spent 160 Hours Playing Ghosts of Tsushima:
In the end, Jin became the Ghost of Tsushima, and I became the Ghost of My Living Room at 1 AM…
This is what happens when you take a metaphor, whisper “what if I let it spiral,” and then run with it. You’re not just tired. You’re haunting your house like a pajama-clad video game specter.
Use this technique: Take a mild feeling (tired, awkward, obsessed) and escalate it into a full-blown dramatic character arc. You’re not just playing a game—you’re becoming folklore.
Try it:
“I wasn’t just procrastinating—I was performing a delicate ritual of avoidance known only to ancient librarians.”
🌀 2. Absurd Honesty with a Side of Whiplash
Excerpt from EXO, Kris Wu, and the Fanfiction Plot Twist I Never Saw Coming:
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of talking about the things that have shaped who I am as a person. For one, I’m not above admitting that I am in desperate need of help… For two… What if I just like shapes? (Circle is my favorite)”
This is comedic whiplash. You lull the reader into vulnerability, then you pivot. Hard. From relatable overshare to “circle is my favorite.” It’s chaotic. It’s sincere. It’s gold.
Use this technique: Balance raw truth with ridiculous non sequiturs. The emotional vulnerability makes the absurdity land even harder.
Try it:
“Sometimes I just need a hug. Or a knife. Depends on the vibe.”
💧 3. Disrespect the CTA (But Keep It Cute)
Excerpt from every blurb I wrote in every other post I have like this one:
“You can support my work (and hydrate my soul) by getting me some clean drinking water. Swamp water has a weird aftertaste.”
Even your calls-to-action have lore. You don’t just ask for support—you build a universe where you are swamp-dwelling and dehydrated. Why does it work? Because you’re still being clear… and giving us a reason to chuckle as we click. Is this manipulation? Yes. Is it working? Also yes.
(Man, this is making me feel a little thirsty 🥵If you snag me a bottle of Aquafina, I’ll write more things like this!)
Use this technique: Treat even the “boring” parts of your writing as opportunities for voice. Never let the tone flatten. Keep the sparkle consistent.
Try it:
“Subscribe so I can afford socks that match and soup that doesn’t come in a can.”
👻 4. Future Shame as Present Comedy
Excerpt from How Do You Write When You Don’t Feel Like Writing:
“One of my greatest fears is my great-great-great-grandkids finding this photo and saying, ‘Wow… Grandma’s really… something, huh?’”
You weaponize self-awareness by imagining cringe through a generational lens. This is existential dread served with whipped cream.
Use this technique: Pull the lens way back. What will future you think of this moment? What will your descendants roast you for? That gap = comedy.
Try it:
“Will my descendants study my Spotify playlists like ancient runes? Probably. And they’ll have questions.”
🧬 Final Thought: Your Weird Is the Workshop
You’re already funny—you just need to catch your brain doing it. Commit harder to the metaphors. Let your thoughts derail a little. Romanticize your swamp-water lifestyle. And always, always ask yourself:
“What would the weirdest, realest version of me say right now?”
Let yourself write the draft.
You’ll be shocked how hilarious you are.
📚 Want more chaotic wisdom on writing, storytelling, and slaying your WIP?
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Have questions? Suggestions? Profess your undying love and affection for a member of the team? 👀 We listen and we don’t judge. Send us an email at hello@alontala.com
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