Making fun

We tend to think of making fun as being in the form of making fun of something (or someone), but I think we’ve just become accustomed to the skewiff version.

Writing is the art of making fun – and my kind of fun at that.

In the spirit of this, I’ve entered into a game with my sister.  She started posting things on her FB account, random photos with a word and a day number attached.  She decided to play this game of photography, where this other person has put up a challenge of a list, one word for each day of the month, and my sister is using this as a prompt to ‘see the world differently, more creatively’.   I told her that sounded like a fun idea for writing, and it’s a little less restrictive (or annoying) than the word a day site that I’ve tried in the past.

Yesterday’s word was electricity, and I’d already had an idea about a story from a live wire that was in my house.  But, like the title of this post suggests – writing is making fun – and my Muse had other ideas for the idea.  My original spark was a dark, scary little thing of someone fighting for her life, but somewhere along the way it’s morphed into a tongue-in-cheek, spaghetti western erotic yet slightly macabre modern-day Chaucer; in the best black humour kind of way.  Talk about genre splicing.

I wonder if it has a market, I wonder what people would think if it was published – but dang it (the character speaks!) – I’m having fun.

Here’s a snippet:

She wasn’t one to normally use saucers – finery only framed her inelegance – but seeing as how it was their first visitor inside the cabin, and she was entertaining a fantasy as much as she was a guest, the saucers had clattered out onto the bench, the teacups had clinked on top, and the steaming tea had landed in the handsome neighbour’s lap. 

My muse wants to do all sorts of unimaginable things with it – things that make me grimace and scream “NO!”, but I think on this occasion, with this game, I’m going to let her have her head.

It’s only making fun, after all.

(NB: I reserve the right to make up words.   It drives the computer crazy but I don’t care.  I am sure their intention and meaning is not too hard to glean at any rate.  Lewis Carroll did it, as did Roald Dahl, so why not me?)
 

 

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About talesbytink

I've lived various lives in various places but have been a writer at heart the whole time. The experiences of being other things in other lands and times can only make my writing richer. I have no regrets about the road travelled. There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.
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