Excited about drabbles!

[oshun]

I just found the most wonderful explanation of a drabble: Wikipedia.

The term comes from Monty Python's 1971 Big Red Book. In this book, "Drabble" was a word game where the first participant to write a novel wins. In order to make the game possible in the real world, it was agreed that 100 words would suffice.

Made my day. I hate drabbles. The MEFAs have started again and, of course, are flooded with drabbles. They have no redeeming literary or social value. It is simply about counting words. Poems with set meter or rhyme schemes at least do something to the ear. Drabbles are short (that's fine) but exactly 100-words short (that just silly).

Another great observation: "The particular language used may greatly affect the ease or difficulty of writing a drabble. For example, the Finnish two-word sentence "Heittäytyisinköhän seikkailuun?" translates English as "What if I should throw myself into an adventure?", a sentence of nine words. This density of meaning makes Finnish a much easier language in which to write a drabble than English. Even easier languages would be those which exhibit extreme polysynthesis, such as Cherokee, where an entire English sentence can often be expressed in a single word." (Also Wikipedia.)

More fun still. Have to try this: The drabble generator.

Drabble-Matic - To build your own Instant Drabble, just fill in the blanks. Instant genius!

www.prillalar.com/drabbles/

Off to try it now. Will let you know how it works.

[oshun]

My drabble made by the drabble generator (not great, but I have definitely read worse).

I'm Dreaming Of A Serious Christmas

It was Christmas Eve. Fingon sat softly by the lake, sipping strong eggnog.

He looked at the tall hound hanging on the Christmas Tree and sighed. Last year, Maedhros had hung it there, just before they looked at each other quietly and then fell into each other's arms and stomped each other's head.

If only I hadn't been so miserable, Fingon thought, pouring a incandescent amount of rum into his eggnog. Then Maedhros might not have got so rotten and left me all alone at Christmas time. He wiped away a virulent tear and held his leg in his hand.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and then a gorgeous voice lifted expertly up in song.

I'm dreaming of a serious Christmas
Just like the golden light of Laurelin

Fingon ran to the door. It was Maedhros, looking valiant all over with snow.

"I missed you dangerously," Maedhros said. "And I wanted to stomp your head again."

Fingon hugged Maedhros and started to sob.

"I think you're drunk," Maedhros said.

"I think so too," Fingon said and they stomped each other's head until they knocked the Christmas tree over.

On Christmas Day, they ate roasted dog chest and lived cautiously until Fingon got drunk again.

[Flash: I just ran this masterpiece of creavity and literary genuis by the MEFA-recommended drabble-word-counter site and it is NOT a drabble or even a double-drabble, but simply 207 words of nonsense. That is so disappointing. I could edit it and make it 100 words, I guess.]

[lenine]

This has nothing to do with anything, but I have the Big Red Book! I haven't thought about it for years. Of course it's really blue. I'll have to find it - it's pretty darned funny.

[oshun]

May 7, 2008 17:26:40 GMT -6 lenine said:

This has nothing to do with anything, but I have the Big Red Book! I haven't thought about it for years. Of course it's really blue. I'll have to find it - it's pretty darned funny.

OMG! I envy you. Now that must be real literature.

[pandemonium]

That drabble generator is a very, very Bad Thing:

Bill the Pony and Fatty Bolger
by William Shakespeare

Enter Bill the Pony

Fatty Bolger appears above at a window


Bill the Pony:
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the hat, and Fatty Bolger is the weasel.
Arise, miniscule weasel, and squirm the putrid bridle.
See, how he leans his arm upon his haunch!
O, that I were a glove upon that haunch,
That I might touch that arm!

Fatty Bolger:
O Bill the Pony, Bill the Pony! wherefore art thou Bill the Pony?
What's in a name? That which we call a member
By any other name would smell as ordinary
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say "like an apocalyptically moronic troll that spews mucoid gobbets upon all and sundry."
And I will take thy word; yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove glowing.

Bill the Pony:
Swain, by yonder putrid bridle I swear
That tips in a minute the azure weskit--

Fatty Bolger:
O, swear not by the bridle, the gigantic bridle,
That gently changes in its robust orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise robust.
Sweet, carnelian night! A thousand times carnelian night!
Parting is such tumescent sorrow,
That I shall say carnelian night till it be morrow.

Exit above

Bill the Pony:
Sleep dwell upon thine arm, peace in thy haunch!
Would I were sleep and peace, so languidly to rest!
hastily will I to my miniscule member's cell,
Its help to squirm, and my ordinary member to tell.

[oshun]

OK. Yours turned out so much better than mine. Good work!! I missed that whole Shakespeare possibility. I will have to try again later with a different topic.

[pandemonium]

May 7, 2008 19:49:51 GMT -6 oshun said:

OK. Yours turned out so much better than mine. Good work!! I missed that whole Shakespeare possibility. I will have to try again later with a different topic.

I think it picks the genre for you. I tried it again and it belched out the following - not perfect, but it has its moments.


A Scratchy Occurrence

Treebeard paced up and down, jiggling his knee. His very good friend, Mary Sue Glove, had arranged to meet him here up a creek. "I have something luscious to tell you," she had said.

Mary Sue Glove was late, which was very unlike her. Any moment now, Treebeard expected to see her bounce up, her glorious hair streaming behind her and her pallid eyes aglow.

Treebeard heard footsteps, but they seemed rather noisy for a delicate and verdant girl like Mary Sue Glove, whose tread was irritated. He turned around and found Barliman Butterbur staring at him.

"What are you doing here?" Barliman Butterbur said briskly. "I thought you said you didn't want to see me again."

Treebeard had said that, but now he was beginning to wish he hadn't acted so hastily. "Mary Sue Glove asked to meet me here." As he gazed at Barliman Butterbur, his one-eyed bishop began to throb finally.

"Oh," Barliman Butterbur said, roughly. "I'll just go then."

"Wait," Treebeard said and caught Barliman Butterbur by his finger. "I was wrong. I still love you. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Yes," Barliman Butterbur said, smiling. They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed, hotter than a fresh-fucked fox in a forest fire..

From behind an ointment, Mary Sue Glove watched with a cheeky light in her tired eyes. She took a list out of her pocket, and checked off "Treebeard/Barliman Butterbur". Then, she skipped off to help an embittered man find love again, just as soon as she'd saved the skink from extinction.

[oshun]

"They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed, hotter than a fresh-fucked fox in a forest fire."

That is a wonderful line. It pays to be attentive to the extended metaphor as they call it.

[oshun]

Off topic, but it's stuck in my head after reading these. These remind me of when I used to sit around the Mexico Foreign Press club and chat with the guys about favorite examples of bad writing. Mixed metaphors were always a hit.

One guy swore to me that he had corrected copy earlier the same day, which contained: “The area was so remote it looked as though the hand of man had never set foot there.” I know he was lying because I had heard that one ten years earlier. I did get to report one day that one of my sub-bosses, a known jerk, universally disliked, had just told me: “You had better be careful, girlie, I’m watching everything you do with a fine-tuned comb.” (Unfortunately it was verbal, not in writing.)

[Darth Fingon]

Oh man. I remember this from years ago. It's what inspired my to make my Mary Sue and Slash Badfic generators.

The Indescribable Stranger

The sun was high and the trees stirred lightly in the breeze. Glorfindel strode along the path, making for Scented Castle with all speed. Hidden from the eyes of man and beast, he carried the Shimmering Stool, which no other must touch until it could be delivered into the safekeeping of the Wizard Left shin.

A rustling of the dried leaves beside the path gave him warning and he drew his dangerous spout just in time to face the whiny man who flew at him with such grace that he was almost dazzled.

The man struck meaningfully, and Glorfindel barely raised his spout to meet the attack. They fought long and carelessly until all the air rang with the sound of their conflict.

At last, Glorfindel found himself forced to one knee, the man's spout pressed to his slick rump. "I am Fingon of Scented Castle," he said. "You are an unworthy guardian for the Shimmering Stool. Prepare yourself, for I am about to send you between two posts."

But Glorfindel had been waiting for such a chance and, bringing up his spout with a twist, overpowered Fingon and pinned him to the ground. "What say you now?" Glorfindel said, looking down upon him.

Fingon's forehead shimmered like a fat kid at a candy buffet. "I have underestimated you, Glorfindel. I was sent to test your fitness for this task. To you I pledge my loyalty...and more."

Glorfindel's desire was enflamed. His rump throbbed and all his thoughts were to fib Fingon like an ocelot. Glorfindel caressed Fingon's furious forehead and he responded. They came together slowly, and their joining was as long as their battle, and also much louder.

"Ah, my sweet rosebush!" Glorfindel groaned and fibbed Fingon as clumsily as he could.

"Ouch!" he yelled. "What the hell is that?"

"Oh," Glorfindel said. "That's where I put the Shimmering Stool for safekeeping. Sorry."

When they had finished their romp, they drowsed offhandedly on the grass, forgetful of all but their curvaceous love. "We will stay together forever," Fingon said, and they began all over again.

And so it was that the Wizard Left shin never got the Shimmering Stool and the forces of evil overwhelmed the land and nobody was happy ever again, at least until the sequel came out.


The Scented Terror Of The Snow

It snowed a foot overnight. When they woke up, Fingon and Glorfindel went out to play. First, they made snow angels. Then they had a snowball fight and Fingon hit Glorfindel in his left shin with a big slick iceball. It hurt a lot, but Fingon kissed it meaningfully and then it was all better.

Then they decided to make a snow man.

"We'll make a really curvaceous snow man!" Fingon said.

"Why don't we make a snow woman instead?" Glorfindel said. "That would be more long and politically correct."

"I know," Fingon said. "We can make a snow ocelot. That way, we don't have to worry about gender politics."

So they rolled the snow up clumsily and made an indescribable snow ocelot. Fingon put on a stool for the rump. The ocelot was almost as big as Glorfindel.

"It looks shimmering," Fingon said carelessly. "But it seems like it's missing something."

"Here," Glorfindel said and held up a dangerous spout. "I found this between two posts." He put the spout onto the ocelot's head.

It was perfect. For about a minute. Then the ocelot, even though it was just made of snow, started to move and growl like a fat kid at a candy buffet.

Glorfindel screamed slowly and ran but the snow ocelot chased him until he tripped over a tree root. Then the snow ocelot fibbed him offhandedly.

"Nobody does that to my little Furious Rosebush," Fingon screamed. He grabbed an icicle and stabbed the snow ocelot through the forehead. It fell down and Fingon kicked it apart until it was just a bunch of snow again.

"You saved me!" Glorfindel said and they shared an embrace in the snow before going in for hot chocolate.

The spout lay in the yard until a whiny child picked it up and took it home.

[oshun]

These have some great stuff in them. Favorites:

"they drowsed offhandedly on the grass"

"His rump throbbed and all his thoughts were to fib Fingon like an ocelot."
and
"their joining was as long as their battle, and also much louder."

Other highlights for me were, "like a fat kid at a candy buffet" and the Shimmering Stool! Nice.

[Moreth]

Argggh - you guys are evil!

*Rejects the terrible maelstrom of badfic generation - "No, I defy you forever!!!" (Ooops... Oh, dammit!)*