Cainad writes moar fictional crap

[Cainad (dec.)]

By far one of my favorite pastimes is to write little scenes that people tell me could be turned into interesting novels, and then just leave them as-is and never develop the story any further.


Stuck in a Thick Plot

"No. This is too stupid."

Richard tossed the door key onto the ground and stormed away, stopping at the sidewalk corner to stare up into the street light and sigh.

"Richard, come on. I know this shit is dumb, but if we don't do it something else will just come up. Every time we give up, we get sucked into something else. Let's try and see this one through." Erin picked up the key and put it in her pocket.

"No, Erin. I'm sick of this crap. I don't think it's ever supposed to stop. I think that this stupid... whatever the hell it is... will just keep going on forever, and then when we finally give up on it something new will start. At least these moronic little plots are interesting at first glance; why bother running them into the ground? It's like a cheesy fiction series that goes on for twenty novels that started out okay but got run into the ground by greed and a childish enthusiasm for hearing the same story repeated over and over again, only with minor variations so the reader can pretend they're getting something new."

There was a sick, unhappy little pause. Richard's description was all too apt. For almost a year now, their lives had followed a bizarre and only barely coherent path that no one could take seriously, not even they who were living it. A year of meaningless adventures and pointless escapades had worn them down into rather bitter and cynical characters who went into every new venture fully expecting it to be nowhere near as exciting, important, or serious as it first appeared. Worse still, they no longer knew who to trust in the world, besides each other. People came into their lives all of a sudden and disappeared just as fast, seeming only to exist for as long as they had anything to do with them. Recently, a certain Gerald Mannington had remained fairly consistent, and appeared to be experiencing the same weirdness they were. Still, they kept him at arm's length, half-expecting him to disappear and never pick up his phone again if they should choose to drop out of the chain of events they were currently engaged in.




This next one is the result of my school's creative writing club; we were prompted to write about what we would find behind a door with the sign "Lost & Found of Your Life" on it.

Behind the oaken door lay a hallway lined with small, intricate wooden cabinets. I checked the piece of paper in my hand: underneath my name was written the number of my cabinet, J-2312. I walked down the hall to the little door with a brass plaque that bore the same number. As I raised my hand to the handle of this little door that supposedly held everything I had ever lost in my life, I wondered foolishly to myself if I would find in there the ball cap I had lost when I was 13 that I had liked so much. I opened the cabinet door.

Not quite what I had expected. The single largest item in there was a thick, plain, leatherbound book. I took hold of it, noting the lack of a title or any markings whatsoever. I was bemused; when had I lost such a thing? I could not remember, and I cracked open the fresh cover.

Inside were dated entries, scores and scores of them starting from the time I was about three years old. Each entry was a lost thought, a moment of inspiration, or epiphany that I had forgotten. Pages upon pages of ideas I had meant to act on, both good and bad.

[Eater of Clowns]

The second one I saw coming; not in the way that I thought it was predictable but the way that I hoped you'd take it in that direction.  Good idea.  I can picture the entry that says "Where'd I put my hat?"

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Both are good, but I particularly liked the second one. Micro-shorts are a valid genre, don't sell yourself short (haha).

[Valerie - Gone]

The first section makes me think of the Anita Blake novels by Laurel K Hamilton. They started out with plot and interesting characters and stuff and now the books are mostly just sex. Anita turned into a whore. It was sad. And yet I still read them, because it's hard for me to give up on a series I have invested 15 books into. They started going downhill at the 8th book. At least the sex is good, I suppose.

Anyway, it is true that you write a lot of little scenes that I would love to see developed. The first time I read the first part of the Laughingmen story at your house, I think I asked you where the rest was. And you said that was it. And I was sad. You're a great writer, Cainad, and I love your style. I wonder what would come out if you were ever to participate in NaNoWriMo. I think you'd probably go mad, but it would be interesting to see what you wrote in your depravity.

As I told you on the phone, I love the prompt for the second one. Seriously. I may even have to write about it. You told me what you had written, but I liked reading it. It was a good idea, an interesting direction to take the prompt. Do you guys have to read or share what you write in the creative writing club? I'm just wondering how it was received, if you did share it.