"I've always liked getting away with just a little bit of what you're not supposed to. Like my first book, Billy's Booger, got me in trouble with the principal's office"
About this Quote
Mischief is doing double duty here: it is both the subject and the method. Joyce frames creativity as a practiced flirtation with the rules, not a grand rebellion. The key phrase is "just a little bit" - a calibration of risk. He is describing a writerly instinct to test the perimeter, to find the soft spots in authority where laughter can slip through. That matters because it recasts transgression as craft: you learn what a culture will tolerate by nudging it, then watching who winces.
The title Billy's Booger is doing deliberate work. "Booger" is childish body-humor, the kind of word that detonates decorum in classrooms and parlors. Joyce isn't claiming high-minded provocation; he's claiming the power of the low. By choosing the most unserious possible offense, he exposes how institutions manufacture seriousness through surveillance. The principal's office becomes a miniature censorship board, training kids early to internalize which subjects are "proper" and which are shameful.
There's also an origin-story subtext: trouble as credential. Writers often mythologize the first time language got them punished, because it proves words have consequence. Joyce isn't merely reminiscing; he's arguing that art's social function includes small, safe violations that keep a society from hardening into pure rule-following. In that sense, the anecdote is less about a booger joke than about the lifelong habit of locating power - and poking it where it least wants to be touched.
The title Billy's Booger is doing deliberate work. "Booger" is childish body-humor, the kind of word that detonates decorum in classrooms and parlors. Joyce isn't claiming high-minded provocation; he's claiming the power of the low. By choosing the most unserious possible offense, he exposes how institutions manufacture seriousness through surveillance. The principal's office becomes a miniature censorship board, training kids early to internalize which subjects are "proper" and which are shameful.
There's also an origin-story subtext: trouble as credential. Writers often mythologize the first time language got them punished, because it proves words have consequence. Joyce isn't merely reminiscing; he's arguing that art's social function includes small, safe violations that keep a society from hardening into pure rule-following. In that sense, the anecdote is less about a booger joke than about the lifelong habit of locating power - and poking it where it least wants to be touched.
Quote Details
| Topic | Funny |
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