Guest Post: What’s So Funny About Murder?

Guest Post: What’s So Funny About Murder?

Warning: Before you declare me morbid and warped, let me explain. No, I do not believe murder is funny, but, I do have a firm belief that laughter is a great reliever of stress and when used correctly in a murder mystery, can make for an entertaining read.

They say that often we do not choose who we become, but rather, who we become chooses us. I don’t know who they are and, that being the case, I’m not sure if they speak with any authority. But, in my case, there appears to be some truth in that.

I did not set out to write humorous murder mysteries. I simply set out to write murder mysteries.

When I first started penning murder mysteries, I envisioned myself as Elizabeth George or Agatha Christie—creating complex cases with witty detectives chasing the clues and bringing the dastardly killers to justice. 

After my first two books met with some moderate success, I went in search of a new publisher for a variety of reasons. Then, for a full year, I suffered from writer’s block.

Then, I made a decision. A writer, I could not stop writing. I had to write. But, I was going to write what I wanted to write and I was going to have fun doing it—whether my books sold or not. After rejecting two offers from traditional publishers, I choose to self-publish.

Within six months, It’s Murder, My Son, the first Mac Faraday Mystery was released and became my most successful book. It went to number one on Amazon in mysteries.

To my surprise, not only do my readers enjoy the complex nature of my mysteries, but they really enjoy the humor. Some have commented on how my books will make them laugh out loud.

Luckily, they aren’t laughing out loud at how ridiculous my writing is … at least, I don’t think so.

Upon reflection, I have determined that when I made the decision to write for myself, not literary agents or publishers or even reviewers, but for myself, and vowed to have fun while doing it—I released my natural sense of humor to have fun.

The humor in the each one of my books (The Wrong Side of Murder is number 30!) stem from the common, and silly, way in which we humans have come to live.

Take for example this scene from The Wrong Side of Murder: 

“Rawl!”

Elmo’s bark was followed by the clatter of paws across the hardwood floor above, where Nikki was folding her and Ryan’s laundry. She looked up at the laundry room ceiling to follow the pitter-patter down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Get out of here!” Trudy ordered the feuding animals out of the kitchen where she was preparing for a luncheon the next day. 

As long as she was there, she had whipped up her famous chicken and dumplings. The smell of tender dumplings and juicy chicken filled the house. It was enough to make Nikki search for more clothes to launder so that she could hang out at the main house until dinner. Trudy would surely insist that she stay. The delicious aroma would certainly lure Ryan over from his apartment.

 The animals did an about-face. The prey turned into predators when Lucy and Ethel launched an attack on Elmo. Nikki followed the scampering paws to the stairs leading down to the family room. She turned around to see Elmo race across the room toward her and scoot under the table to hide. 

With a sigh, Nikki turned to fold a pile of Ryan’s boxers. “I know they start it, but sometimes it is best to just turn the other cheek.”

“Nikki!”
She froze. Her mother’s tone was one she had not heard in years. It was her you-are-in-some-deep-doo-doo tone.
“Nicole Lynn Bryant!” Kathleen bit out while marching from the stairs toward the laundry room.

Oh, man! She’s using my entire name. That’s never good!

She prayed Trudy would take pity on her and sneak chicken and dumplings to her after she was sent to her room without dinner.

Kathleen’s hands were on her hips by the time she hit the doorway. She wore a long spring dress. She had swept her blond hair up into a messy bun with pink dangling earrings. She drew her mouth into a straight line. She narrowed her blue eyes into slits.

Backing up into the corner under the table, Elmo whimpered.

“Bad day?” Nikki asked.

Kathleen held up a hand to reveal her cell phone. “I just got off the phone with Amber Bigelow.”

Nikki’s face screwed up with puzzlement. “Who?”

Her daughter’s failure to recognize the name annoyed Kathleen more. She marched further into the room. “Amber Bigelow of LifeStyles Spa and Salon. The business owner who we’re hosting a big luncheon for two dozen people on Monday. I just had to talk her out of canceling because of you and your suspicious mind.”

“What did I do?”

“You accused her husband of murder.”

Nikki blinked. It took a moment to connect the dots. “That’s right. She’s married to Gerald Bigelow.”

“And you accused him of murder.”

“I never accused him of murder. I questioned him about insurance fraud.”

“Because his Porsche got stolen. Innocent people are victims of crime every day. He had never had a car stolen before or since. What made you jump to the conclusion that Gerald Bigelow of all people, would put in a false claim for the theft of a Porsche over twenty years ago?”

“Because they stole his Porsche out of a well-lit parking lot with security cameras, while all the other thefts during that period happened in places that lacked security.”

Kathleen’s hands landed on her hips again. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the auto theft ring didn’t steal his Porsche? There’s more than one car thief out there. Maybe a less discriminating thief took it.”

“From a well-lit parking lot with security cameras all over the place without getting caught?”

“He got lucky! Did you ever think of that?”

“As a matter of fact, I did consider that.” Nikki turned back to folding Ryan’s shorts.

“Good!” Kathleen held out her phone to her daughter. “Now you can call the Bigelows and apologize.”

Nikki ignored the phone. “I can’t.”

Kathleen’s voice went up an octave. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve located a member of the auto theft ring and she told me they did steal Gerald Bigelow’s Porsche.” Nikki dropped a pair of blue shorts into the clothes basket.

“Which proves Gerald did not commit fraud. So, you can drop this whole thing.” Kathleen thrust out the phone to her. “Call Amber and apologize.”

“No can do.”

“Yes can do.”

“No, I can’t.”

“As your mother, I am ordering you to drop this entire investigation and apologize to the Bigelows.”

Elmo’s eyes were wide as he stuck his head out from under the table to gaze up at the two of them.

Nikki laughed. “Mom, I’m thirty-six years old. What are you going to do to me if I don’t?”

Ryan was on his way out the door to go to the main house for Trudy’s chicken and dumplings when he met Nikki, her arms filled with laundry, on the steps leading up to his apartment. “Mom sent me to my room without dinner.”

He held the door open for her. Elmo raced inside. As Nikki passed through the doorway, Ryan looked longingly across the courtyard to the back door of the Victorian home. Looking smug, Lucy and Ethel sat on the porch railing.

He was torn. It would be rude for him to go over to the main house for dinner while Nikki was being grounded. But Trudy’s chicken and dumplings were the best. “Couldn’t you have picked a fight on a night that Dad was cooking his authentic Hungarian goulash?”

Get my point? I’m not funny. Humans are.

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