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[writing|memes] Tell me about a story I haven’t written
I offer a meme, taken from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1){kind=small}
suricattuskate_elliot
Tell me about a story I haven’t written, and I’ll give you one sentence from that story.
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Posted: 6:24 am Tue November 27 2012 |
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You are reading the blog of Jay Lake, speculative fiction writer and author of hundreds of short stories, many novels, and winner of the John W. Campbell Award.
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Jay Lake: [writing|memes] Tell me about a story I haven’t written http://t.co/ZD7jAmXo
[writing|memes] Tell me about a story I haven’t written http://t.co/FW3UKbWJ (via @jay_lake)
Jay Lake: [writing|memes] Tell me about a story I haven’t written: I offer a meme, taken from suricattus, who go… http://t.co/NQlVx2HX
He’s an ex-alcoholic beat cop. She’s the Pope. They solve crime.
“What are you going to do with that damned thurible? Beat the perp into submission?”
Heh. More bells and smells until he confesses, methinks.
Oh his deathbed a man realizes that everything he’s ever been told was a lie and he doesn’t have to die, so he lives forever.
“Telomeres? Everything? I can just shed this like a skin, get up, and walk away, like a fucking psychic snake?”
Especially telomeres.
This is actually something I thought of as a child – the vast majority of the information we have is not first-hand, so how could I really know that I would grow up to be an adult? Maybe adults were actually an alien species enslaving the child race. Maybe if you don’t believe in things they won’t happen. Lots of magical thinking as a child. Reality is a harsh mistress.
I wondered much the same as a child. I’ve listened to my daughter work through those questions as well as she matures. “Did you take the red pill or the blue pill?” sums it up pretty well.
[writing|memes] Tell me about a story I haven’t written: I offer a meme, taken from suricattus, who got it from … http://t.co/YkTe3Rsf
The fifth clown.
Fucko the Clown drew in a deep breath of radioactive ash reeking of baked pork and melted plastic, only to realize that it was a good day to start his own alternative apocalypse.
A werewolf, a football player and a turnip walk into a bar.
My shotgun was loaded with silver buckshot laced with myrrh, Lacey on bar back was a former cheerleader with the assets up front to prove it, but I sure as hell didn’t have a Cuisinart big enough for that strapping young turnip.
In the end, it turned out the cat was right after all.
Fluffy tucked her shiv into her duct tape belt and crept along the outer wall of the ruined Walmart.