I stumbled across an odd website called Plot Generator. It’s sort of like a game of Mad Libs, in which you select the type of story you want to write, then fill in a series of questions. If you just want to go for broke and are feeling lucky, you can click the Suggest button next to each box. As you fill out (or auto-fill) the boxes, the site takes all of your answers and generates, for example, a short story using everything you’ve provided. I’ve linked (and pasted) an example of a story I just “wrote” below.
It’s worth a look, if nothing more for entertainment – or maybe even an idea or two.
The Crumpled Sausage
A Short Story
Tony Jones had always loved deserted Sleepford with its gleaming, grubby gates. It was a place where he felt cross.
He was an admirable, brave, beer drinker with wide legs and ruddy hands. His friends saw him as a boiled, burnt bear. Once, he had even helped a green kitten cross the road. That’s the sort of man he was.
Tony walked over to the window and reflected on his grand surroundings. The sleet rained like chatting donkeys.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Cuthbert Jolie. Cuthbert was a selfish hero with moist legs and blonde hands.
Tony gulped. He was not prepared for Cuthbert.
As Tony stepped outside and Cuthbert came closer, he could see the nervous smile on his face.
“I am here because I want justice,” Cuthbert bellowed, in a lovable tone. He slammed his fist against Tony’s chest, with the force of 251 foxes. “I frigging hate you, Tony Jones.”
Tony looked back, even more puzzled and still fingering the crumpled sausage. “Cuthbert, I just don’t need you in my life any more,” he replied.
They looked at each other with fuzzy feelings, like two lonely, lively lizards chatting at a very stable snow storm, which had reggae music playing in the background and two forgetful uncles walking to the beat.
Tony studied Cuthbert’s moist legs and blonde hands. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you justice,” he explained, in pitying tones.
Cuthbert looked unstable, his body raw like a thirsty, thankful torch.
Tony could actually hear Cuthbert’s body shatter into 7965 pieces. Then the selfish hero hurried away into the distance.
Not even a drink of beer would calm Tony’s nerves tonight.