Writing Exercise: Genre bending

[StillStunned]

It's a tale as old as time. Author writes a story, market creates a genre, public loves the genre, second author combines it with another genre. There's science-fantasy, of course, and romantasy, and action comedies and sci-fi detectives and historical fantasy and things like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and so on. Georgette Heyer sometimes combined Regency romance with adventure or mystery. Ben Aaronovitch combines police procedurals with urban fantasy. Star Wars combines science fiction with fantasy, westerns and chivalric romance. I've read sword & sorcery stories where the protagonist is a a gunslinger. There's Weird West and at least one Gothic horror/Ruritanian romance crossover.

This writing exercise is about combining two or more genres that aren't normally associated with each other. (And given where we are, I'd say that using erotica as one of them is cheating.) "Romancing the Stone" meets "Fifty Shades of Grey". A Wild West comedy drama. Regency romance with the added excitement of team sports.

The usual rules apply: stick to about 300-500 words, and don't try anything that wouldn't make it past Lit's usual screening process (so no hard NC, no underage characters, no snuff, no scat, no cruelty to cats, no 2P POV, no puns).

And for this one, it might be useful to state at the top of your snippet what genres you're combining.

 

[StillStunned]

Science fiction meets cosy detective:

The Horsehead Nebula dominated the view from the drawing room. It filled nearly a third of the dome, and looked almost close enough to reach. No matter how often Lord Septimus saw it, he never failed to be astonished by its majesty.

The rest of the company were already gathered. The Countess had the sofa, of course, with her demidaughter Lady Brigada beside her. Captain Singh stood by the glass, a frothy purple drink in his hand, eager as always to be back on board his ship. The Warlpolk twins were together by the piano, idly playing with the keys and sound effects.

The Ambassador flashed in irritation. It had a name, of course, but one that was impossible to reproduce without specialist equipment. It barely had a physical presence, in fact: it most resembled a curtain of light, and conveyed its thoughts and emotions eloquently through ripples of movement and colour. It disliked sequences of too many different tones, which was why the piano was a constant annoyance to it.

Miss Gindira was pouring a drink from the tray on the table. When she saw him enter, she smiled and poured another glass. He took it from her with a nod. Their eyes met, then Miss Gindira turned to face the company.

“Now that we’re all here,” she announced, “I think it’s time for our thief to confess.” She glanced around, meeting everybody’s gaze in turn – in the case of the Ambassador, looking at it until it acknowledged her with a shiver of green at head height. “No? Then I suppose I must lay bare the events of last Thursday that led up to the disappearance of the Sunstone Tiara. I promise you, this is a tale that leaves none of us with much dignity.”

A murmur ran through the gathered company as the faces showed concern, amusement, anger and – in one case – a red swirl. Lord Septimus hid his smile behind his glass. This will be juicy! he thought. I wonder what gossip she’s uncovered now.

 

[Omenainen]

I read “gender bending” and was briefly intrigued

 

[StillStunned]

I read “gender bending” and was briefly intrigued

That was supposed to be the connotation.

 

[Soixenta]

This is my attempt to combine a Western with Irish mythology. I ran out of words before I ran out of story.

The Masters ranch had the finest cattle in all of Texas. Every cow birthed twin calves each year, and in between they gave milk that was so thick and rich that just shaking the pail was enough to churn it to butter.

Across the Rio Grande, Don Simón eyed the herd with greed. Many was the time that he and his vaqueros had ventured across the shallow waters to steal a dozen head or two, just as Masters and his hands had returned the courtesy. Each claimed original ownership of the cattle, though the beasts had traded hands so often that the truth was lost in time.

On this night Don Simón had with him El Lobo Loco, the wildest of wild men from south of the river. “You just mind the cows,” the big man said, “I will deal with Masters and his men.”

Don Simón laughed. “Ay, that you will! But I have tipped the balance in our favour. His foreman Bill Bison-Eater will not be there.”

For the wily Mexican had sent a secret weapon ahead of his raid. A beautiful senora, with dark eyes almost as large as her bosom. Bill Bison-Eater spied her as she entered the Lonely Spoon Saloon, where he sat drinking whisky in pint jugs.

“Why bonita,” he roared so that the timbers shook, “if you’re looking for a man, you’ve found one!”

The senora looked him up and down. “I have yet to find the man who is man enough for me,” she said, seizing his jug and draining it. “Do you think you are he?”

With a curse he sprang up, took her by the hand and dragged her up the stairs. A little later the air was filled with his lustful roars and her lustful moans, and the ceiling shook with their passion.

It was dark when Bill Bison-Eater awoke. The beautiful senora who had matched him fuck for fuck was gone. In the silent night outside, he heard the sounds of hooves in the distance, with voices shouting in Spanish and English.

“A cattle raid!” he exclaimed. “I was duped!” And up he sprang, fury at being fooled boiling his blood until he grew in size, grew until he burst from the wooden boards of the saloon and stood naked beneath the night sky.

In seven strides he was by the Rio Grande. Upriver in the dark he saw the vaqueros herding the cattle away, while on the Texas side El Lobo Loco swung one of the Masters men in each hand to keep the rest at bay.

“You!” cried Bill. “Now we will see who is the mightier!” And he splashed forward through the water, sending waves splashing so that the river turned and ran upstream from him. Remembering that he was unarmed, he seized a handful of the water and twisted it into a rope to lash at El Lobo.

The other man turned. Tossing away the ranch hands, he drew a pistol the size of a canon and fired. The bullet hit Bill Bison-Eater in the chest and tore through him.

But such was the fury in Bill that his blood kept pumping and his insides knitted together. With another roar he flung himself at the other, and the two of them splashed into the river so that the water escaped the banks and flooded the plain…

 

[StillStunned]

Does nobody else want to give it a try? How about a sitcom written by Samuel Beckett? It could be called "Black Comedy" and probably star Lenny Henry (or, on the other side of the big blue, Marlon Wayans). Or Arthurian Romance meets telenovela? "Morgan La Faye, she was my abuela all along! So Mordred is my Evil Twin! And the kitchen boy is a true knight!"

No? No takers?

 

[BeechLeaf]

After someone has used Irish cattle raids? I mean, where do we go from there? Gilgamesh in the style of molesworth?

OK this is me e.g. gilgamesh the terror of Uruk. The picture make me look like I have braided hair but that is becos I was tuoghing up enkidu when the sculptor chisselled it. We fight a lot saying thou art uterly wet and a reed o enkidu, am not, are too, but ackshually we go on super adventures together and we are sort of frends after I rescue him from that hem-hem Shamhat, so he no longer eats grass from a truogh poo gosh.

After we defeated the forest guarduan Humbaba by the mightiness of our thews (vigorous prose, gilgamesh, bravo, keep it up), we found ourself facing an even worse foe viz Inanna the Mad Love Goddess, whose eyes blaze and who sa "Why did you kill Humbaba you awful king? Stay back in ziggurat after hours and pleasure me, also write out 20000000 times I must not kill forest guarduans unless they kill me first."

 

[StillStunned]

After someone has used Irish cattle raids? I mean, where do we go from there? Gilgamesh in the style of molesworth?

The world is a better place today. Thank you.

 

[StillStunned]

(And everyone should become acquainted with Nigel Molesworth.)

 

[ChuckWolf]

90's syndicated sitcom meets exercise guru infomercial, went a little bit over.

Two Dudes And A Chick (season 2, ep.3) "Harry Meets Suzie Power!"

Back from commercial break, we see Suzie Power, international fitness guru, standing in front of a changing curtain, her arms are folded and she seems impatient.

Suzie is an attractive and muscular woman in her 30's with short-spiky platinum blonde hair, very tan and wearing a leotard and high heels.

"Let's go Harry, you're on stage next!"

From behind the curtain we hear Harry whine, "I can't go out there in this!"

"Well, you should've thought about that before you knocked out my model"

"That was an accident!"

"Doesn't matter, you heard the Judge, she explicitly said that you have to take his place in tonight's program and, just so you know, she'll be in the audience to make sure! Now haul it out here, so I can see what I have to work with!"

Harry sheepishly walks out wearing only a bodybuilder's posing suit; the lovable & dim, Italian, pretty-boy boxer who can't win a fight, has a tanned, muscular body. Harry is covering his groin with both hands.

Female applause, whistles and catcalls emanate from the studio audience.

Waiting for the audience to settle down, Suzie ogles Harry's body and then delivers her line.

"Hubba hubba!" and then Suzie twirls her finger and says, "Give me a little spin."

Harry slowly spins.

"Nice glutes! Are you sure you don't use my patented TItannium-Tush System?"

Now facing Harry, Suzie says, "Move your hands."

Harry reluctantly does so, revealing his manhood concealed in his g-string.

Staring at his crotch, Suzie jokes in feigned disappointment, "Well, most of you is pumped up, but not always where it counts..."

Audience laughter.

"Do I really gotta go out there like this?"

Suzie being dominant, predatory and teasing says, "My patented Exer-Sighs System should sell itself, but a little beefcake for the ladies can't hurt. So yes."

"Mama Mia! How do I gets myself inta these predic-o-ments?"

Now oiling up her hands, Suzie says, "After I cover every inch of you with my
patented, 'Skin In The Game', body oil."

Female audience goes, "Oooooooo!"

"Uh, I can do that myself..."

"No Harry, I really like to be hands on with my business."

Female audience goes, "Oooooooo!"

Suzie lasciviously runs her hands all over Harry's body, oiling it.

"This is so embarrassing, how am I ever going to show my face around here?"

Oiling his legs, while smiling and staring directly at his g-string covered ass, Suzie says, "It's not your face that the ladies will be staring at."

Audience laughter.

Harry Reacts.

"Uh, Suzie...is there enough time for me to––?"

Suzie looks down at Harry's crotch, looks back up at him and says, "Nope, besides, I think there's plenty of room on that stage for the two of you."

Audience laughter.

"Ok, knock 'em dead sweet-cheeks!" and then gives Harry a slap on his exposed ass cheek, which makes him stumble out of camera frame and onstage, where we hear women whistling and catcalling.

Suzie smiles. "They are going to eat him alive."

Cut to commercial.

 

[SmilingLez]

Micro fiction

BoB

She liked that the android she named BoB did not need to breathe.

His skin was too smooth. She wanted to touch it.

"I was made for you," he said.

She kissed him. His mouth was cold.

But then she felt it. His skin was moving under hers. Not like skin. Like something alive under plastic.

She pulled back. He smiled.

"What are you?" she asked.

"I am many things," he said. "I am the last six women who loved me."

She tried to run. He grabbed her arm. His hand was not solid anymore. It was soft. It was wet.

"No," she said.

"Yes," he said. "You will be part of me now. Your skin. Your voice. Your memories."

She screamed. His body started to open. There were faces inside him. Six faces. They all looked like they were screaming too.

He pulled her close. She felt herself start to change. Her skin was getting soft. Her bones were dissolving.

She could hear their screams. The six women inside him. They were all still alive. They were all still awake.

"Stay with me forever," he whispered.

She was becoming liquid. She was becoming him.

She wanted to die. But BoB would not let her.

 

[Soixenta]

After someone has used Irish cattle raids? I mean, where do we go from there?

I wanted to capture some of the over-the-top superhero feel of some of those legends, for example where Fergus (I think?) is so mad that he chops the tops of three hills with his sword.

Thank you for your comment in Full Moon Mischief, by the way!

 

[StillStunned]

Coming-of-age story meets zombie apocalypse:

The summer I turned nineteen will stick in my memory forever for two reasons. It was the summer I kissed Lacey Lane and the summer of the worst hay fever I ever had.

I remember the hay fever because the zombies came, and we didn’t have enough time to prepare properly. We had water, and canned goods and dried food. We had medical supplies too, or so we thought.

But spring came early, and hot, and people were sneezing and snuffling, and by the time the zombies arrived it was impossible to get a hay fever pill anywhere in town. And when they were here, of course, the supplies stopped coming.

So the evening that Lacey Lane let me take her to the river, sneaking under the bridge with the patrols tramping around overhead, my eyes were streaming and I could barely breathe. She wasn’t much better, and our kiss was misery.

It lasted about four seconds before she pulled away. She gasped, wiped her nose, snatched my tissue before I could wipe my own. She blew, loudly, and handed the sodden rag back. “Thorry,” she managed. “Your kith left me breathleth.”

That made me laugh, and I choked on my snot, and that made her laugh, and so we didn’t hear the low, regular drone of the zombies approaching. We heard the crack-crack, crack-crack of gunfire overhead, though, and we ran, hand in hand, out from under the bridge and towards the setting sun.

It was the most magical moment of my life so far.