SEMI-SERIOUS ANSWERS TO SEMI-SERIOUS QUESTIONS

Musings on Doctor Funny’s Writing Retreat for Funny People

Funny ha-ha or funny weird, you decide

Those who say they’re funny have big shoes to fill. Photo by moi

Once upon a time last week, Burg asked a bunch of questions about a potential humour writers writing retreat. Although, seeing some of the Doctor Funny founders and editors are Yanks, maybe it’s a humor writers writing retreat.

Anyway, as Michael Burg, MD (Satire Sommelier) 😬tagged me and always claps on my stories, I assumed he was seeking my opinion about said writing retreat.

Opinions, I have many. So here are my answers to the semi-serious questions straight outta Doctor Funny.

And because I’m a contrary git, I’ve provided one serious answer and one funny answer to each question. You decide which is which.

1. Where would such an event be? … country? city? your palatial estate near Pope Leo’s place?

Doesn’t Philip Ogley have a giant French chateau stocked with beaucoup de vin et venison?

Apparently, this event must be in Europe because the DF editorial staff are too lazy to travel outside the continent in which they’re based. So, I’d suggest southern Europe as it’s warmer and cheaper. By the seaside or in el campo, with bus or train access as I don’t drive on the wrong side of the road.

2. How long should this monster be? (That’s what she said.)

Four or five days sounds good, then people can tap on a couple extra days for their own private pursuits and call it a week.

But why should the event/monster ever end? In relation to question #1, I’d like to see the funny writers stuck on a small Mediterranean island, forever writing and workshopping and eventually forming a small cult.

3. When would be the best time of year for such a debacle?

May, June, or September. The other months are too hot and full of brats on school holidays.

Seeing so many of you are such big fans, how about around Donny T’s birthday?

4. What do we talk about?

The last writers retreat I went to, we just bitched about the writers who didn’t show up.

Or we (I say “we” as I’ve, possibly obnoxiously, assumed you’ll invite me) could share our many and varied writing experiences, tips and tricks, especially when it comes to humour writing. What works and what doesn’t work to make a story fucking funny.

Or an actual expert could just teach us.

We could fill our days with writing workshops, quiet writing time, then gather to read out loud the crap we wrote.

We could also hold a j’accuse session where we tell writers they’re not as funny as they think they are. Please don’t tell me that, though. I’m very sensitive.

5. Can people join via voice or video link?

Sure, why not? You could hold morning and evening sessions to cater for different time zones. Or just cater for the US, like always.

But beware, the online joiners could be spies from that other humour publication.

6. What’s a reasonable per night lodging fee? (The event would be no cost to attend.)

Someone (ok, it was the ever-reliable Chatty McChatbot) told me you can get a mid-range villa in southern Europe for €1,000 per night. Then just split the costs between the writers staying there.

All writers should stay together in the same villa in order to fully enjoy the aromas of each other’s farts. No sneaking off to swanky Airbnbs in the village.

7. What would you hope to gain from such an event?

Forming a lifelong bond with some of the Internet’s funniest writers.

Also, don’t forget I’m single and ready to mingle, so please invite a handsome, single, middle-aged, straight man.

I’d also like to gain extra humour-writing skills. Help me be funny, Doctor Funny!

8. What would you give to such an event?

My soul. It worked out fine for Faustus, so why not me?

I could offer my services in general organisation, dishwashing and cooking (dietary requirements not catered for). I could also delight you with the dulcet tone that is the Australian accent. But if you’re hinting for money, I can give that too.

9. Will there be tee shirts, hats, prizes, pony rides, etc.?

Doctor Funny merch sounds fun! Just do some mathing and check the ROI is worth it. If you get some things, attendees should be forced to buy them.

How about tee shirts with the Doctor Funny pimple-popping pub cover? We could all don them, then terrorise the nearest village.

Seriously, I’d buy a tee shirt.

10. How do we keep Adam Robinson and John Corten from attending?

Tell them they will be spending the entire event editing everything every attending writer has written, ever.

Actually, I think they should attend. They sound like good fellows.

11. Do you live in Europe and would you be willing to host such a thing (provided Adam Robinson and John Corten promise not to show up)?

My heart lives in Europe. My body lives in Australia but it’s willing to travel.

If you’re willing to swap Europe for Australia, I’m willing to host y’all in my one-bedroom apartment. Punch and pie would be served.

12. How many people should attend?

I’d say a max of 12. It’s a good number for socialising. If you don’t like a couple of the writers, you’re bound to like a couple of the others. Writers could split into smaller groups for more focused work or exercises.

Actually, I have no idea. Whatever you reckon.

13. Doctor Funny writers only or open to all funny writers?

First-round offers could be to DF writers until the spots fill up. If there are open spots after that, second-round offers to other funny writers, third round to non-funny writers.

Or, I think the event should only be open to writers who deliberately contravene John Corten’s editorial reminder.

14. How are potential attendees selected? Or can anyone attend?

By writing college application letters to the University of Doctor Funny.

Or a gladiator-style duel. Potentially to the death, for shits and giggles and for writing material for other writers.

15. Etc. (Like I said, run wild with ideas.)

I speak fluent American and European, so I can offer my translation services gratis.

As well as accommodation, writers could all chip in for a cook who prepares magnificent meals for hungry scribes. Or we can just go to the nearest village and eat them out of town.

Education on the dark history of the different humour types: slapstick, satire, surrealism, gallows humour, taking the piss.

Random prompts with the chance to win a Doctor Funny tote bag.

Awards ceremony.

Open mic for stand-up comedy or reading funny stories, accompanied with or without constructive criticism.

Sitting around chewing the fat about writing.

Alcohol.

Quiet writing time in the mornings to recover from above-mentioned alcohol.

International funny-off to determine the world’s funniest fuckers — the Aussies, the Brits and their Celtic cousins, the Merkins, the Aussies, miscellaneous nations, or the Aussies.

If you have better ideas, write a witty response to Michael Burg’s request for answers to semi-serious questions straight outta Doctor Funny.