Hey! . . . do I still write fiction?

Some — not many — might have noticed a serious derth of new fiction writing on my part.

Whenever I’ve not written for a while I need a kick-start to get my inner writer up off his butt. The way I normally do that is to read as much of my stuff as I can untill the desire to write overwhelms my desire to do other stuff.

That’s what I’ve been doing this past few weeks and it’s working . . . sort of. I read some of what I’ve written and wonder where that clever writer has gone.

For instance (slightly edited from the original to fix a few things):

An Ordinary Hero

Copyright 2014, E. J. D’Alise

The farmhand lifted his hand, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun and looked toward his adopted parents working another part of the field and his step-brother getting a drink from the well. 

He turned toward the sound of hoves thundering toward him. Twenty-seven horses crested the hill on a trot, their riders covered in dust.

They left the road and rode toward him, spreading out as they neared, and stopping in a circle around him. 

“Are you Codrin Kouns?”

“I am,” the farmhand replied.

As he answered, Codrin focused his Chi, as he had been taught by his now dead mentor. He had never believed the legend, but it didn’t hurt being prepared.

Another rider spoke, this one a female.

“I am Tepin Nazarian, ruler of this land.”

Codrin registered her beauty, but also a coldness about her. He had heard stories of her tyrannical rule and the cruel treatment of her subjects. It was also rumored she liked broccoli. Codrin shuddered at the thought.

“You are the one from the legend; the one destined to end my rule.” As she spoke she raised her hand, and twenty-six riders raised their bows in response, their notched arrows now aimed at Codrin.

“If you have heard of the legend,” Codrin replied as he steadied himself and gathered more Chi to his bidding, “then you know it’s futile to fight it.”

Tepin lowered her hand, and twenty-six arrows all but shredded Codrin’s head.

“Idiot!” Tepin spoke the words as she and the riders turned their horses, facing the rest of the people in the field.

“He probably believed in all that Chi crap. Still, it doesn’t pay to have these legends linger.” She pointed toward the family now huddled by the well. “Kill them.”

Tepin the Terrible’s reign lasted two hundred years. During that time, she dispatched dozens of wannabe-legendary characters and ate lots of broccoli.

The End

I mean, I found it clever, but maybe I’m too enamored with my writing to see anything but pure gold.

By clever, I mean employing humor. In another instance — in a post about Romance — I wrote the following puposefully non-traditional romance in a few minute’s time and with seemingly little effort. (Note: I changed the horse’s name from PileDriver to Destiny.)

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

The wind kept Bafio’s hair from blinding him as together they rode Destiny, Bafio’s black stallion. Unfortunately, the hair lashed at Iofna’s face as she tried to hold on for dear life while sitting behind him. Her arms barely encircling his sculpted torso, she wished he had not shaved his chest hair. At least that way she would’ve have something to grab onto. Iofna buried her face in the crevices formed by his sculpted back muscles and pleaded for him to please stop.

“Stop! I can’t take anymore!” she yelled as the Bafio’s hair snapped at her like a jealous lover. Sensitive to her predicament, Bafio slowed to a gentler pace, letting Iofna catch her breath and get a better grip.

“Ouch!” he yelled. “Not the underarm hair!”

She let go and promptly fell off Destiny, who kept on galloping. Luckily, Iofna fell atop one of the stallions massive dumps, which cushioned her fall.

With amazing agility and speed, Bafio dismounted the still galloping stallion, rolled, and ended up next to her in the tall grass, but clear of the dump.

He never gets any shit on him!” Iofna breathlessly thought.

Bafio stared into her eyes as he sought to remove her soiled clothes. He kept staring into her eyes as he fumbled with the knot securing the lacing of her bodice.

After a half a minute or so he lowered his gaze down to the knot. On the way, Bafio’s eyes feasted upon her heaving bosom. He would’ve lingered had he not remembered his own pectoral muscles dwarfed hers. He looked down at his own open shirt cleavage and got lost in the moment.

“Hey!” Iofna yelled, “Eyes down here!”

“Sorry,” Bafio replied as he resumed his attack on the knot, now with renewed vigor.

“It’s no use,” he said after a few minutes of trying to get the thing undone.

“You have to use your teeth,” Iofna reminded him.

“Oh, right!”

Bafio dug into the suede material, bit down hard, and pulled with all his might.

The bodice came off and flew above their heads where the wind caught it and flung it at Destiny’s rump. The stallion, startled as it grazed, kicked hard and by sheer bad luck caught both Bafio and Iofna on the side of their heads.

Dead, they were finally together and would now spend eternity in each other’s company . . . unless passing scavengers made off with their various body parts. Damn scavengers!

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

See, once more, I find that pretty clever and funny writing . . . but I’m not wont saying so myself lest I sound like I’m bragging.

By the way, that same post had a passage exploring the possibility of non-standard physical attraction . . .

~ ~ oo ~ ~

She saw him from across the room. The movement of his hand as he adjusted his package drew her eye. Well, it was actually his other hand lifting the lower part of his stomach so he could reach his package that caught her eye.

No; truthfully, it was the whole; the extended beer belly, the remnants of a cheese pizza on his pants leg, the unidentified stain on on his shirt (she hoped it was seepage from the open sore on his chin and not ketchup), the slack jaw, shifty eyes, and the way his greasy hair stuck to his scalp. She heard him belch and hoped his farts would be as loud.

Immediately drawn to him and hoping her vast inheritance and ample breasts would be enough to make that man hers, she went to him like a moth to a flame. Unlike a moth, she was already consumed; consumed by his intoxicating presence. No, really; he had not showered for at least a week.

~ ~ oo ~ ~

Those were lathered with heavy doses of humor but I can also write subtler humor pieces. This next one is one of my most read pieces:

Movement Propels Destiny

By E. J. D’Alise (Disperser)
Copyright February 2013

Julie opens the door at the same time the door on the opposite side of the small recess, the door labeled “Men”, opens and a young man exits.  They both stop on their track, standing on the threshold, and holding their respective restroom doors open.  They stare at each other, each a mirror image of the other, in pose and expression.

Wow, she’s gorgeous!” Larry’s thought interferes with his ability to speak, and he just stands there.

Julie’s heartbeat kicks up a tick or two as she stares at the handsome young man staring back at her.  “Say something, you fool!”  Her thought motivates her to speak.

“Uh, hi . . .”  She mentally smacks her forehead.  “Smooth,” she thinks, “real smooth!

Trying to recover, she continues . . . “No. 1 or No. 2?”  Even as the words leave her mouth, she starts to blush.  ”OH MY GOD!!  WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!?”  Where had that come from?  

Larry, still intent on imagining their future children, answers automatically.  “No. 2, and then some!”  ”OH MY GOD!!”  His occupied mind hears the echo of the words a split second after he says them, and snaps him back to the present.  ”WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!?”

Julie is surprised . . . maybe she should be shocked, but she’s unsure if that’s his sense of humor coming through.  Better play it safe . . . “Yeah, I know what you mean!  I feel like I just lost five pounds!”

They stand there, still looking at each other, not knowing how to proceed.  

The man who had been patiently standing there, waiting to get into the restroom, finally speaks.

“When you tell your children how you met, make it a less crappy place; maybe a pizza joint.”

Julie and Larry both turn to him, and he looks at each of them in turn.  Finally, it hits them.  All three break out in loud and uncontrollable laughter.  

After thirty seconds or so, finally composed, Larry steps aside, letting the man pass.  Then he and Julie decide to grab a coffee at the shop nearby.  

Thirty-five years later, holding their granddaughter’s hands, they would point to the coffee shop explaining to her that’s where they met.  But both also would glance at the restroom alcove, then at each other, and crack a smile.

The End

It’s of some interest to me that particular piece being my most read piece of fiction . . . I think it says something about humanity in general . . . or, maybe, just readers of this blog.

Humor can also be nothing more than describing a visual that the reader fills in, like in this 77-words story.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 0 0 0 0 0 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


by E. J. D’Alise (Disperser)
Copyright  2014

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“No, just got turned around a bit.”

“Want to look at the interactive map again?”

“No, that’s what got us here in the first place. I’ll ask the locals for the way.”

“You?  Ask for directions? I’m impressed. Do you think it’s safe?”

“Yeah; they look peaceful enough.”

The cows ignored the spaceship landing but grew attentive when what looked like a straw bale exited the ship and started walking toward them. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 0 0 0 0 0 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Notice something about all those stories? Yup . . . most are five years old or more.

I can go back further and find early efforts at humor writing (HERE and HERE — too long to paste in teir entirety on this post) . . . and still find them decent. And, yes; I fear I would be hard-pressed to equal them these days.

Four years ago, I wrote a quick parody based on some visuals of the first movie of the LotR trilogy. I still think this is funny and I gladly read it when I want to get a bit depressed about how well I think I used to write.

While at I attended Viable Paradise XIX, I wrote the assignment in just under a few hours and I purposefully went into it with humor in mind. Also, the achronym T. U. H. was an inside joke for which I got no credit or mention (go figure).

(I think) I’ve always had a knack of sorts for taking bits of information and leveraging them (either in conversation or writing) toward humorous offerings.

The question is whether that knack still has some life in it.

My last book was more serious and while there were a few funny lines in it, because of the nature of the story I had to carefully and only sporadically insert humor into the writing.

But, it’s not just humor . . . 2018 saw very little fiction writing on my part . . . so little that all I could find was . . . butkus.

I had to check twice and I might have missed some little writing buried inside a long post, but I don’t think so.

The last piece of writing I did, a complete flas/short fiction piece, was THIS piece for the 2017 Halloween post; a piece telling the story of Bones (a sequel to the 2016 Halloween fiction offering).

That, my dear readers, is roughly 51,667,200 seconds since I wrote a fiction piece of any significance. I’m not sure how I can even call myself a wannabe writer with that dismal record.

I do, however, sometimes take purty pictures.

That’s it. This post has ended . . . except for the stuff below.


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