I had the chance to ask Bev a couple of questions about how you go about writing fiction, and as everyone knows, I'm a really, really quick study so I think I have the whole fiction-writing thing down to a science now.
I think you'll all agree.
Here's my first piece of fiction. File this under Sub-genre "Really Short Story".
First, a little business: This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
And while we're at it - No part of this really short story may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
That's a road that can lead to what I like to call a "plagiarism lawsuit" my friends.
OK. Here goes.
A Tail of Two P's
Once upon a time there was a dog. (See, the whole point of fiction is to catch you off guard - you would never expect me to write about a dog). Anyway, there was a dog. His name was Partial Pants. He had acquired this name recently as a result of an unfortunate hair shaving incident necessitated by a "corrective surgical procedure". One leg, hip and most of one side of his buttocks was now exposed. Shorn of the lovely reddish brown and white fur for which he was often admired. And also which constantly covered the upholstery in the home in which he lived. At first he was embarrassed by the haircut. Double P had been known to struggle with an inflated ego problem. But he had come to enjoy his attention-getting "do". It made people notice him. It even generated what you might call a sympathy response from some passers-by, frequently resulting in an extended tummy rub. And 2P kind of liked how as a result of the shaving, you could better see the muscles in his leg.
Now 2P was much improved/recuperated/rehabilitated from the surgery. He was feeling good. But unfortunately his Mom (let's call her Lo-D, because she so strongly resembled the popular J-Lo in looks and in talent (look people, this is fiction - anything goes...)) still insisted that he not 1) run 2) jump on the furniture or 3) use the stairs. And Lo-D insisted on these things because 1) the doctor said, and more importantly 2) Cochise (Lo-D's husband and 2P's favorite person in the world) had emphatically stated that he would not be paying for another "corrective surgery" if in fact 2P did not behave himself and screwed up the first one...
Anyway 2P was getting very hard to live with. He could not be let out into the backyard alone to lay on his chaise lounge chair because he was not disciplined enough not to chase every bird and squirrel in the neighborhood. He tired quickly of being confined in the courtyard area in front of the house as really there just wasn't a lot of action up there. He wanted to be with Lo-D all the time. He liked to walk so close to her legs that she tripped over him three or four times a day. He liked to bark at the top of his lungs at his Squeaky Toy that he so slyly pushed under the furniture. He liked to bark at the birds that he spotted out the window. He liked to bark at Lo-D while she broke his antibiotic capsule in half and mixed it with some chicken and a little broth. He barked at Lo-D when she had no chicken. He barked at Lo-D while she made dinner for Cochise and dared to use cheese.
And of course, Lo-D always got down on her hands and knees and rescued the Squeaky Toy, assured him that the birds were not out to get him, boiled some more chicken and gave him some cheese.
She even, without fail, rubbed his tummy on every quarter hour.
Because Lo-D? She had a heart for the pitiful.
And quite honestly, she just wasn't very smart.
P.S. Bev, I know you're proud.
Anyway 2P was getting very hard to live with. He could not be let out into the backyard alone to lay on his chaise lounge chair because he was not disciplined enough not to chase every bird and squirrel in the neighborhood. He tired quickly of being confined in the courtyard area in front of the house as really there just wasn't a lot of action up there. He wanted to be with Lo-D all the time. He liked to walk so close to her legs that she tripped over him three or four times a day. He liked to bark at the top of his lungs at his Squeaky Toy that he so slyly pushed under the furniture. He liked to bark at the birds that he spotted out the window. He liked to bark at Lo-D while she broke his antibiotic capsule in half and mixed it with some chicken and a little broth. He barked at Lo-D when she had no chicken. He barked at Lo-D while she made dinner for Cochise and dared to use cheese.
And of course, Lo-D always got down on her hands and knees and rescued the Squeaky Toy, assured him that the birds were not out to get him, boiled some more chicken and gave him some cheese.
She even, without fail, rubbed his tummy on every quarter hour.
Because Lo-D? She had a heart for the pitiful.
And quite honestly, she just wasn't very smart.
The End
P.S. Bev, I know you're proud.
1 comment:
So proud! Now expand that by 58,000 words, the world awaits! You can do it Lo-D. Ahem, LuAnne!
Post a Comment