Laughter is writer’s writer daughter’s best medicine

One good way for a writer to lose delusions of grandeur about his or her own literary prowess is to self-publish a failed book.

I’m a slow learner, a glutton for punishment, for I’ve self-published several volumes of columns (supposedly humorous) to little, if any, fanfare, thus keeping me in what could best be described as the Donner Party years of my writing career, each failed book the equivalent of biting off yet another chunk of butt.

Nothing is more humbling than assembling previously published humor columns into collections that apparently have inspired consumers to give up the act of reading altogether. Still, I keep self-publishing, despite my soft-spined tomes delivering less entertainment value than, say, picking elbow scabs.

That Animal House scene involving “Chip Diller” saying, “Thank you, sir! May I have another?” easily comes to mind anytime I ponder another book; the only difference being, I apply the fraternity paddle to my own ass.

Don’t worry, this isn’t another self-serving column announcing the release of yet another new collection. I’m not that self-loathing – that, or I just haven’t come up with another cool title yet. I still think the bookshelves of the world would be better off containing a Scott Saalman collection titled, Based on a True Story I Made Up, which was the working title of my very first collection that ultimately was renamed Nose Hairs Gone Wild (still available 10 years later in car trunks near you).

This column, however, is guilty of harkening back to my latest book, Quietly Making Noise, released about one year ago. I’m not doing this to shamelessly plug it. My intent is to spotlight my daughter’s writing, which appears in Quietly Making Noise as a heartfelt foreword.

The danger of writing a foreword for one of my books is it’s likely I will be the only one who reads it. I am very proud of Delaney, not only for her introspective introduction, but also for her own writing ability, which, by far, surpasses my own. She’s currently honing her skills in a creative writing graduate program. I believe she’s in it for the long haul – I hope.

It’s worth noting that nowhere above have I reminded you that Quietly Making Noise is purchasable via Amazon (the online bookselling behemoth that allows anyone to self-publish a book, even people who have never pecked out anything chunkier than, say, a Tweet, but who apparently awakened one morning and thought, “I ought to write a book,” which is as disastrous, as say, me waking up thinking, “I ought to pilot a commercial aircraft today.”

Below is Delaney’s foreword for my last book – which quite possibly could be my last book … but doubtful since I still have an itch for self-flagellation despite it being void of religious or sexual gratification as a payoff. Thank you, Sir. May I have another?

Delaney’s Foreword

I feel a privilege akin to being born an heiress when I consider the fact that the starring memories of my formative years are of laughter. I know that many aren’t quite so lucky to have their childhood remembered through smiles, but when it comes to the laughing department, I have always felt that I was born into one of the most sacred currencies of them all: humor. Humor is what my father gifted me and my brother as a birthright, but it’s also what he’s used to build his own legacy.

One of my earliest memories is of refusing to brush my teeth before bedtime in an act of defiance as any troublemaking five-year-old may be prone to from time to time. Most parents would have felt frustration or agitation at this blatant revolt against their all-knowing parental wishes for their child’s dental hygiene, but if my father felt this on the night that I refused the Colgate, he didn’t show it. Instead, he took a toothbrush, loaded it with toothpaste, and proceeded to brush my toes with it in a horrendously ticklish fashion until we both laughed so hard at the absurdity that I never defied the bedtime ritual of toothbrushing ever again.

Stubborn children are a famous testament to any parent’s strength and best virtues. On that night, and on countless others throughout my life, my father showed me his best self through his humor – though he was sometimes too quirky for his own good (when I was eleven, he drove me to a friend’s birthday party only to humiliate me by bringing his nose hair trimmer along … ). But enough years have passed that I can laugh at the traumatic nose hair trimming event of 2011. I now know that like all of his other comedy bits, trimming his nose hairs in front of my social circle was a good joke even if it cost me my sixth-grade reputation for the evening.

Quietly Making Noise is a wide-ranging collection of essays tied together with laughter, wit, and perceptiveness from everyone’s favorite auteur baldie.

When I was in grade school, my father would bring me a bouquet of flowers on especially rainy days. He wanted to brighten up my cloudy days as best as he could. I firmly believe that his humor essays provide the same effect: they’re a salve to life’s rainy days. Even if just for a few minutes, reading a Scott Saalman column is like getting to sit out in the sunshine – you’ll only feel better for it. After all, isn’t laughter the best medicine?

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Contact: scottsaalman@gmail.com or delaneyaby1957@gmail.com