So, my new book, Demon with a Comb-Over, just came out. Okay, let’s get this out of the way first: I am not a comedy writer. Sure, humor leaks into all of my books. That’s something that can’t be helped. I see the absurdity of life, the strange characters I run into at the drug-store, the strangely puppet-like man at the driver’s bureau…all of it fodder for my books. Stuff happens. And then unfolds in my tales.
Demon with a Comb-Over began life as a horror tale, one about a stand-up comedian who makes a huge mistake by heckling a demon in the audience. After that, chaos ensues. So do wacky antics. It didn’t start that way. Originally, I’d envisioned a supernaturally intense thriller. But given the subject matter, I kinda had to take an amusing, irreverent turn with the writing. I mean, two obnoxious angels working at a fast food joint? Come on! (I’ll be on Meradeth’s blog all week, ladies and gentlemen! Ka-pow!)
Strangely enough, the book also found a theme by the time I finished writing it. Not what I set out to do. Again. Rising to the challenge of being a decent parent despite overwhelming obstacles. (The dang runaway monster even turned moving…dabs at tears.)
The problem is everyone’s idea of humor is different. Take Adam Sandler movies…please! I find them painfully unfunny. Sorta like how my wife sees me. Just ask her. Go on. I’ll wait…
You’re back? I know, right? Tough crowd, tough crowd.
At times I feel alone. In finding things amusing, that is. When relatives gather, we surround the TV (a better alternative than racist chats), and watch old sit-coms. See, the sit-com producers had it right. Toss on a robotic laugh-track, tell people what’s funny. More often than not, my family agrees, giggling along with the recording. About John Stamos’s hair or something even more inane. Like a fool, I put on a rictus-like death grin, forcing a laugh. Hard work. Especially after hours. Holidays go on forever at times.
Demon with a Comb-Over has been called everything from “f***ing hilarious” to “terrible humor.” Comedy’s all in the eye of the beholder. Or something like that. I guess.
Okay. Here’s my Demon with a Comb-Over challenge to you, potential readers: You buy my book, read it. See if it’s funny in your opinion. If you don’t think it’s funny, send me a joke. If it makes me laugh, I’ll reimburse your money.*
Boom! How are ya, how are ya, how are ya? Don’t forget to tip your waitresses! I’ve been Stuart R. West and you’ve been a great audience!
*Offer valid only when I’m asleep or under the use of heavy narcotics.
Talk about a tough crowd.
Take Charlie Broadmoor’s life. Please. Charlie sucks at stand-up comedy. He gets by, though. Things are okay. His life is decent. Until the night he makes fun of a demon’s comb-over. Big mistake. What kind of demon wears a comb-over? The sensitive kind. The kind who’s not going to let an insult slide. A demon who’s going to take Charlie down. As in down to Hell. And he intends on dragging everyone Charlie cares about along for the ride. (Goodreads)
Snag a copy on Amazon, and be sure to check out Stuart's blog!