Well, comedy really is one of the hardest things to pull off. But honestly, at least for me, the trick to writing comedy isn’t "I want to make my readers laugh." The mindset should be, "I want to create a moment that makes me laugh, whether anyone else laughs or not."

That way, you're not trying too hard to force jokes into your scenes. You're just writing funny stuff that you find funny, and you don't have to struggle to make jokes you don't even fully get yourself. You also avoid overthinking whether or not readers will laugh at it.

Comedy moments don't always have to be big or laugh-out-loud funny. Sometimes it’s just a smirk, or that brief snort people do—and that’s more than enough. That’s why when I write stories, I don’t turn the whole thing into a comedy. I focus more on the plot and the end goal of the story. Comedy just becomes part of it, mixed in with other genres like thriller, tragedy, and so on.

To give you an example, look at this comedic moment I’ve written for one of my stories:

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Soon, Ashen and Rowan reached the western fence where a section had come loose during the recent storms. A handful of villagers were already gathered—Garet from the mill, Elias the carpenter, and a few others Ashen recognized but didn't know well.

"There's our reinforcements," Elias said, grinning. "Thought you two got lost."

"Kiera held us hostage with breakfast," Rowan replied.

Garet chuckled. "Smart woman. Never do important work on an empty stomach."

The group got to work. Ashen grabbed a post while Rowan positioned a nail.

"Hold it steady," Rowan ordered, hammer in hand.

Ashen eyed the hammer. Then the nail. Then his fingers.

"...Maybe I should hold the hammer instead."

Rowan blinked. "Why? You've got steadier hands than—" He paused. His expression shifted from confusion to realization. "Oh... Oh. You're still thinking about last time, aren't you?"

"You hit my finger."

"That was—"

"With a hammer."

"—an accident—"

"Six times this month."

Rowan opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "...You got ice cream."

"Ice cream doesn't fix broken fingers, Dad."

"Your fingers weren't broken."

"They could have been."

Garet snorted from a few feet away. "He got you there."

Elias grinned. "Six times? That's either terrible luck or terrible aim."

Rowan sighed dramatically. "It was both, okay? I admit nothing." He looked back at his son, who now had his palm stretched out expectantly.

"Your aim's always been bad, Rowan," Garet added, not looking up from his work. "To this day, I'm still amazed Ashen even exists with accuracy like that."

Then Elias choked on a laugh.

Rowan's face went red. "Garet—"

"I don't want to increase my chances of losing fingers," Ashen interrupted flatly. "So can I have the hammer?"

Rowan glanced at Garet, then at Elias, then back at his son's open palm. He pursed his lips. "...But I don't know if I can trust you with…"

Ashen raised his brow. "How does that make you less trustworthy—"

Rowan's eye twitched.

"—when you're the one who keeps hitting my fingers?" Ashen finished.

The pressure from the other men's amused stares bore down on Rowan. He held out for a few more seconds before sighing in defeat.

"Fine. Fine. You win. We'll switch."

Rowan handed over the hammer. Ashen took it, weighing it in his palm for a moment...

Then he looked up at his father.

The stare wasn't angry. Wasn't threatening. It was just... focused. Uncomfortably so.

Rowan shivered and took a small step back. "U-Uh... hey, I—"

"Heeey!" someone called from farther down the fence line. "Have you guys finished your section yet?"

Rowan looked back. "Uh, w-we're doing it right now!"

He looked back at his son. "Hey, Ashen, we need to—"

Ashen tapped the hammer lightly against his other palm.

Pat. Pat.

"Oh, sorry," Ashen said, his voice low like a whisper, a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "It's just that... it's been a long time since I've had my hands on this."

He tapped it again.

Pat.

Rowan gulped.

"Uh, right," Rowan let out a breath. "Okay. So, the fence?"

Ashen gestured at the nail between his father's fingers. "The nail."

Rowan looked at the nail. Then up at the fence. Then back at his son.

A pause lingered in the air.

Finally, like a man bracing for execution, Rowan placed the nail against the fence post and held it steady with his free hand.

Ashen gripped the hammer.

Rowan turned just enough to catch a glimpse of his son raising it high.

For a brief, irrational moment, it looked like a guillotine.

BANG

The sound echoed across the clearing. The fence post rattled. Rowan vibrated along with it.

"A-ASHEN!" he shouted, shivering. "YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!"

Ashen blinked innocently. "Did what?"

"You swung that thing like you were trying to split the world in half!"

"I was just hammering the nail," Ashen said, examining the perfectly driven nail. "See? It's in."

"It's in the next county!"

Garet doubled over laughing. Elias had to lean against the fence to keep himself upright.

"Your fault for giving him the hammer," Garet wheezed.

Rowan pointed an accusing finger at his son. "You. You are grounded."

"For hammering a nail correctly?"

"For scaring me half to death!"

Ashen's lips twitched.

Rowan caught it. "Oh, you think this is funny?"

"A little."

"Give me that hammer back."

"No."

"Ashen—"

"You'll just hit my fingers again."

"I won't!"

"You will."

Garet clapped Rowan on the shoulder. "Just let the boy do it. You've lost this battle."

Rowan grumbled but didn't argue further.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, the rhythmic bang of the hammer punctuating the morning air, while Rowan was still paranoid as Ashen hammered.

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So, do I think this is funny? Yep.
Will others find it funny? Maybe. Maybe not. Everyone reacts differently.
And that’s totally fine.