Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘comedy’

For anyone needing a giggle

Gary Stu, the GremlinTonight I happened across what could be a useful writing tool, if used correctly that is… 😉 Plot generator relies on key words submitted by the writer to create a working plot from which to work.  Instead I entered random suggestions.  This is what I ended up with:

A Fantasy Novel

In a cave there lived a warped, ruddy gremlin named Gary Stu. Not a giant sizzling, magical cave, filled with potions and a silver smell, nor yet a brunette, sweltering, charming cave with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a gremlin-cave, and that means comfort.

One day, after a troubling visit from the elf Mary Sue, Gary leaves his cave and sets out in search of three squat sausages. A quest undertaken in the company of robots, trolls and pointy teens.

In the search for the elf-guarded sausages, Gary Stu surprises even himself with his resourcefulness and skill as a computer programmer.

During his travels, Gary rescues a ruler, an heirloom belonging to Mary. But when Mary refuses to try laughing, their friendship is over.

However, Mary is wounded at the Battle of Hastings and the two reconcile just before Gary engages in some serious laughing.

Gary accepts one of the three squat sausages and returns home to his cave a very wealthy gremlin.


Pen. Shift. Now!

aussienothing I’m back to understanding the literal meaning of my writing handle! Recently I’ve made the mistake of attempting to write just before I go to bed. This plan resulted in absolute failure. The moment I remove my glasses and shut of the light the power of my brain seems to go with it.  I have been doing so much recently that I’m becoming very aware of my body will and won’t let me do.  Apparently I should not attempt to write before bed; amongst other things. -_-

In about a week I fly back to England.  This time I will be flying back to say goodbye to Britain. (Yes, Pommies! I called it Britain 😛 Whatcha going to do about it, huh?) I am migrating back permanently (for now, as I live in hope). This means a speedy Clean out session of my possessions, (Just picture my face contorted in horror)  I’m suddenly glad I’ve had a cleansing session before every move and had a clean out just over a month ago.  By early July I will be in Australia and thanking the sliver of luck I have had at migrating back during WINTER.

soakedkoalamagpiepatrick Stewart

Exhibit A: Soaked Koala – The very reason for the existence of the Drop Bear myth.  They may look cute and cuddly.  They may sleep up to 18 hours a day.  Don’t let that fool you; they are vicious.

Exhibit B: Magpie – The actual inspiration for the ‘Angry Birds’ franchise. Magpies may warble beautifully but take cover during hatching season.  These little buggers are out for blood.  A common Australian defense tactic is to paint eyes on an ice cream bucket and wear it like a helmet.  Fierce as they are, Magpies spook if you look directly at them.  Why not use a helmet? That would require sanity!

Exhibit C: Starfleets response to the WW2 Japanese invasion of Northern Australia. Some defense force they turned out to be.  All we got was some hogwash about the ‘Temporal Prime Directive’. We know how much effort they put into upholding that particular directive. >.>


Despite all our deadlies this is a far more likely crew to run across.  They may look like they have stepped off a page of the long-running New Zealand comic ‘Footrot Flats’ but in outback farm country similar scenes are not unlikely.

Annnd there you have it, my dose of semi-fiction for the day.  Nothing like a bit of satire to start the morning. 😀

Occupational hazards

Microsoft Word - Supernatural Survival Skills

This one is based on the prompt from Mayhem Monday.

There was a time when Camilla thought the luminous, full moon was beautiful. It felt graceful and mysterious. Then she saw what lay on the dark side of the moon, and Now it made her twitchy. Camilla paced; fortieth security check of the night now complete and heading for her forty-first. If the neighbours chanced to look in her barred windows when the moon was full they would no longer wonder if she were crazy. They would know. If they saw how Camilla rocketed into her closet, bolted it shut at the mere clang of a garbage can hitting the pavement they would have her committed. She clutched at crosses and rummaged through her arsenal for every silver bullet she owned. There was only one neighbour she could trust at times like these. Justin Bateman.

Justin lived to her right. He was a staunch non-believer in the supernatural. At least until she set a starving succubus on him for hanging inverted crosses on her door. She had rescued him from his willing entanglement with the demon when he admitted there was a slim possibility the demon would, indeed, suck out his soul. From that point on he acted as an unwilling lackey rather then risk any other encounters with Camilla’s ire. Camilla slammed herself into a chair she had stored in the closet for occasions such as these, pulled a gun across her lap, and dialled his number. Wedging the phone between her shoulder and cheek, she methodically loaded her gun while she listed a string of names she wanted to call Justin as he took his sweet time to answer the phone.

“My God! What the hell do you want?!” Camilla was too focused on her task to care about the grating tone of his voice. “You need to check outside my house. Something knocked over the garbage cans.”

“Why would I do that? Surely you can manage something so simple on your own.” Camilla cocked her gun, imagining it was aimed at Justin’s head. “Tell me, Justin, what happened the last time I did an external perimeter check on a full moon?” Justin let out an exasperated sigh.

“You became a lunatic, filled a stray dog full of silver bullets, and set Mrs. Crabsky’s cat on fire. Why the hell did you do that, I’ve always wanted to know.”

“Never trust a black cat on a full moon. As for the dog? Full moon – shoot first, confirm later. Now, then, who would you rather face: a) a werewolf or b) an irate monster hunter with an itchy trigger-finger who lives next door?”

“…I’ll take my chances with the strays.” A few minutes of tense silence later, he was back on the line. “Camilla, are you sure you killed the old bat’s cat?” Fear had knocked the annoyance out of his voice. “Yes; ethanol and flames tend to be quite efficient.”

“Then why is it in your trash nibbling on rotting chicken?” Camilla dropped the crosses in surprise.

“…I’ll be out in a minute. Seems the old crone really is an Old Crone.”



Copyright to Erin Leary

Friday Fictioneer post. 🙂

“There’s Mushrooms in the soup. I’ve disguised a few in the salad, so No picking them out. I’m talking to you, Jerome. We have mushroom and chicken pie for mains. There’s even some left over for tomorrow to have lightly fried with bacon and eggs.”

Nate furrowed his brow. There had been no mushrooms in the shopping.

“Mum, where did you get the mushrooms?”

“They were growing wild behind the barn.” Nate dropped his fork. This would be fun to watch but he decided to move his farm further away from sight.

Not even Lister

fortune-cookies1This one’s based on the photo prompt from Picture It and Write with a loose valentine’s theme. Have a giggle, it’s good for you. 🙂  Which nerdlings get the reference? 😉

“Well? What do you think?” David put his fork down and pushed the plate away. Kate had that harried look about her. She was… twitching. Fingers drummed on the flour dusted bench. David examined the confectionery littered kitchen before making a considered response. “Kate… I love you, but… I don’t think there’s any call for curry flavoured cakes!” David rose and slunk away before the curry-drenched knives were drawn.



Post take two today.  Hopefully this one has less errors in it.  It certainly flowed more smoothly in the writing process.  The lava falls photo prompt has been borrowed from Red Lettering and the cozy looking reading spot photo prompt has been borrowed from Picture It and Write.  I think this combo worked rather well. 🙂

Claudia raced over the bridge. Her axe cleaved through foes. The place was dangerous; not just because of the horde blocking her path. The bridge was surrounded by lava torrents. Avoiding the frequent splashes added an edge to her movements. Sulphurous fumes so thick the mask could not filter it. Claudia needed the crystal. Her ruby objective winked at her from the dais. Claudia dispatched the last of the warriors, sprinted, and leapt. As her hand closed around the crystal, she was dragged towards consciousness. The lethargy of the dream slowly left. It had been so real. Sulphur haunted her nostrils. She swore she could still feel the heat of the lava on her skin.


Wait? Heat…? Claudia bolted forward, now wide awake. She had knocked over her tea light! Grandmother’s hand-knitted blanket was now a happy little blaze. “’Elp!” Claudia whipped the blanket off, lurched up, and doused it with her coffee. Great, ruined a family heirloom and an expensive rug.

Random fact: Particularly vivid sensations during dreams are often caused by bodily awareness.  Classic example is a child dreaming of going to the toilet, feeling the bladder relieve itself while dreaming and then waking up to discover they have, indeed, wet the bed.

Sharp teeth

I’ve borrowed this writing prompt from The poets and the peddlers.

An evil overlord has foresight and, when having a prophecy written about himself, makes sure it says, “No man, woman, or child will defeat him,” covering all his bases.

Then the pesky protagonist brings a dog along.

Sharp teeth.

Aalen never had much use for prophecies. He’d brought Fuzz for the company. These infiltration missions could be lonesome, and a large, fierce Alsatian did make dealing with incompetent guards that much easier. Fuzz had been well-trained. The over-sized pup could drop a grown man in second; quicker if Aalen had slipped a treat into the targets pocket.

They ambled their way to Lord Steel’s command centre, dispatching private infantry like it was a game. Aalen would never forget the look of pure panic that had crossed the man’s face. “You can’t do this!” He shouted, leaping out of his chair only to stumble into his fancy looking computer consoles as Fuzz sat himself down at Steel feet. Fuzz held out a huge paw to skinny man who had begun to quiver. Fuzz whined and begged for a hand shake a second time. Steel stepped back, stumbling over a chair in the process. Fuzz scooted forward and nuzzled the dictator’s hand. The sound of Steel’s courage breaking was palpable. Face a mask fear and despair, the evil overlord turned tail and fled. Aalen leant his rear against a computer console, stroking Fuzz’s ears, while he watched his target trip and fall into his own pool of man-eating sharks.

“No need to freak out. Fuzz was only being friendly.”

Tenacious: know when to quit.


This one one was inspired by Visdare. I must say, I am making excellent progress on my procrastination skills here. This is not my novel!

Tenacious: know when to quit.

It was another job; another day.  The model had lost track of the shoots he’d been involved in.  He lived in the now and today’s location was an alley just off high street. Today’s theme: street fight.

“We need you right here.” The model dropped onto the rain soaked ground with no protest. Water immediately soaked through his pants.

“Good, can you raise your shoulders a bit more? That’s perfect!” There was that back twinge again.

“Look up to the right…Perfect!” Now the twinge was in his neck.

“Hold it! Why is there a God-damn hot dog vendor in my shoot?” !@$%ing !%?!

It took a full 15 minutes for the staff to get the scene back in order, but the model held his pose. He could no longer feel anything.

First rule of apocalyptic fiction.

bookstorewolfI’ve tied this one into two different sets of prompts again today.  The Quote and the pretty wolfy are from Monday’s finish the story.  The bookstore is from Sunday Photo Fiction.

First rule of apocalyptic fiction.

“She was unaware that she was being watched.”

Eve hunkered down in a musty, used book store; it was one of the few buildings that was still intact after the violent riots. She shoved the smashed remains of shelving into her meagre fire; wondering how long it would be until she was forced to burn the books. The silence mocked Eve as she stared at the flickering flames; her sense of isolation now competing with her sense of desolation. A quick meal of tinned tuna later and Eve allowed sleep to claim her, curled up next to the fire; burying herself in memories of loved ones who she hoped were still alive. Unfortunately, Eve had made one fatal mistake: she forgot to bar the door. The wolf who crept in had a pampered look, but it had missed one too many meals in quick succession. There was no pleasure in this hunt. There was simply-

The writer hit delete. Her protagonist needed to survive past chapter one.

Playing hard to get


Quick edit: This is my 100 post apparently! Woo!

Today photo and prompt has been borrowed from Adrian Lilly.  By chance I had been re-reading an older short story (Bring me a souvenir) of mine with plans to rewrite it, as a result I had a vivid image of my female lead’s reaction.  I just had to write it.  It had to be done.

Your main character is asked to go skiing by a new love interest. S/he doesn’t want to admit s/he’s never been skiing. What does s/he do?

Playing hard to get.

I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth. Of all people to tell why on earth did I tell Cameron. It was my first week off since my return from England and, like a fool, I let him know. The biggest miscalculation? Giving him two weeks notice. If I were going to let my tongue slip, it should have been one my first day off. Then I wouldn’t be in this pickle now.

Most men would ask their girlfriends if they wanted to go on a ski trip first. Not Cameron, no. He just rolls up, drags me into the car and springs a surprise ski holiday on me. Not only did I not have time to pack, I had to beg Mum, as Cameron careened down the highway, to care for my animals for a week on short notice, and cancel reservations I made at a spa. Now I’m up to my ears in nagging about irresponsible travel – like I didn’t get an earful of That when I returned from my short pilgrimage. And to think she actually likes Cameron. As for Uncle Tom, he was totally going to get his ears boxed later. He was supposed to be keeping Cameron nicely contained way, way down in Sydney. What the hell is he up too, letting one of his managers fly the coop for week at the drop of a hat? Cameron, of course, was too absorbed in enjoying flying down highways to notice my grumbling and three hours in I gave up resisting and took a turn at the wheel.

I hadn’t been to the Blue Mountains before, so I can’t say I hated the idea. I also never actually got to see snow while I was in England so that was worth putting up with Cameron’s self-absorbed demands for a bit. When I finally saw the ski lodge, I was reminded that Cameron actually had reasonable taste. The facilities were modern, warm and comfortable. The scenery had been worth the 14 hours of driving and, well, Cameron’s hilarious reaction to the caravan park more then made up for my abduction. He was still not good at living the poor life. I vowed to take him camping one day; but first I had to perfect my filming technique so I could immortalize the chaos. However, I had to get through this ski trip first.

Cameron has always been surprisingly detailed orientated. I was mildly annoyed that he had brought clothes for me; they were to his taste not mine. However, I still don’t whether to be impressed or irritated that he had managed to outfit me with a complete compliment of cold weather clothing and ski gear with out checking my sizes. Afterwards I suspected Mum of helping him out; yet another reason to be irritated over her lecture on the drive over. But if that were the case, then Uncle Tom was in on it too. I did not want to touch that thought with a 10 foot pole. By the time Cameron had finished unpacking we had everything we need for the week, and them some. It was almost a shame, really, that he had missed one important detail: I’d never skied before in my life. He never asked, and I didn’t tell him.

This bring me to my current predicament, freezing my rear off at the top of a ski run. The idiot that I am, I still hadn’t told him. Cameron had actually been trying really hard to make this a romantic trip; if I so much as saw wine again I would puke. Cameron’s conceptions of a ‘normal’ holiday activity was also hopelessly skewed. I had tried to broach the subject the night before, but all that earnt me was 101 tales of his various schoolmates’ escapes and sinking feeling that I could never fit into his circle. A second attempt brought the realisation that to Cameron the notion of someone not learning to ski was alien, so I gave up. Now, here I am, stood on top of a steep looking ski run that Cameron joked was meant for beginners. There was a ski instructor behind us giving pointers so it may not have been the sarcasm I took his words for. I stared down the slope, the very idea of sweeping down that slide made icicles form in my underwear. And there Cameron was asking me what was wrong? Seriously? Isn’t obvious from the look of pure terror on my face?? This is where I snapped. Cameron received the full brunt of my shoulder as I pushed him down the slope, shouting after him “I can’t ski, you bastard.” He, however, was clearly an expert as he managed to right himself from the dangerous spin downwards into a graceful curve around the run. I gritted my teeth in annoyance, spun around and stomped with great difficulty to the instructor; who had been watching the whole incident with a raised eyebrow. I didn’t even have to explain, he simply started with the basics and by the time a forlorn-looking Cameron made his way back up via the ski lifts, I was shooting down on my own.

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