Stop the Press
23rd April, Story #114/366
The farmer tilted his hat to better protect the back of his neck from the sun. He shifted the hoe handle in his calloused, weathered hands and turned his attention to the next row.
At last he was done here with dark fantasy, and he went to visit his greenhouses where nonfiction grew in strictly controlled conditions.
On his way back to the farmhouse, he looked in on the sweet, tame little shrubs that offered childrens' stories. Then took a detour through the shade of the orchard, to see how the pages of classics were getting on.
He made a mental note to bring another barrow of manure for the romance beds. They always thrived if he shovelled enough shit on them.
Shading his eyes, he could see the sprawling vines of epic fantasy were threatening to grow out of control again and get all tangled with science fiction.
The path to the house was lined with neat, reliable YA pots. He stopped at the door to lever each boot off with the other foot, pausing for a quick peek at the fanfic in the window boxes.
What's this? A page nailed to his door, and he knew on sight that this wasn't one of his. It wasn't anyone's. Not that he knew anyway. The look and feel of it, even its smell, was unnatural.
A flush crept up his neck. This time the burning came, not from the sun, but from anger. He knew what this was, what it meant. He'd heard tell of it from people out of the big cities. This was a news sheet, and its rustling whispered of a new kind of machine. An abomination is what this was.
These were not grown in the normal, natural, honest way. Hundreds, even thousands of sheets were created to be sold cheaply to just about any old body, and then discarded carelessly. As if Words didn't matter.
A printing press! Here! In his backyard, practically!
He stumped off to his shed, stowing his hoe and swapping it for an enormous hammer. Hefted the handle of it in his broad, brown hands.
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Word count: (excluding note): 366
Submitted on: 23rd April at 23:13
*Quick Author's Note*
First, and most importantly: thank you for reading!
A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes an 114 day streak since the 1st January. I can't believe I've come this far! I'm collating them all here.
Prompts: If you'd like to have a go at my unofficial April Challenge (Fucked Up Fairytales) I've linked it at the bottom. there's just seven days left of it!
If you'd like some more prompts to get your creative juices flowing, I've linked to a list of prompts for April.
Thank you
Thank you again! Especially if you are one of the people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you 😁
I do my best to reciprocate as many reads as possible. If you leave me a comment, that makes it much easier. I'm behind at the moment, but I will catch up!
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Comments (13)
This is so creative. The "romance" section was hilarious.
I really really really thought this was going to be AI haha, nice job with this piece!
Oh man, this was a piece of creative genius. What a fun story!
One of my favourite micros of yours so far 👏 The picture was a great hook, and I like how each genre/category had its little tip of the hat. I especially like the tangling of sci-fi and fantasy haha.
This was very creative. Great story!
Brilliant. Think there's something dangerous lurking in amongst those tame shrubs though.
This was so out of the ordinary "creative"....Bravo!
Oh I thought it was an AI-Generated story hehehhee
This is so creative. I loved it. If he angers over the printing press, just wait until AI writing reaches his beautiful farm.
LC this was absolutely fabulous!! I also (like Caroline) love the line about shovelling shit on the romance beds!!! Laughed waaaaay too hard at it!! 💚 This was so masterfully done, I totally thought you were going for an entry into RM's April Challenge!! But this was much better! Great work my friend!
This made me laugh so hard! …. He made a mental note to bring another barrow of manure for the romance beds. They always thrived if he shovelled enough shit on them.
A printing press? Is that like the metaphor for AI generated stories and script or is it also a reflection about how printing thousands of pages once advanced over the years, displaying the original difficulty in writing on parchment in ink by quill and then to typing by keyboard? The smut surviving on tons of crap shoveled into them was great, and I enjoyed the fantasy and sci-fi intermixing/pollinating.
Made me laugh: "sprawling vines of epic fantasy were threatening to grow out of control again and get all tangled with science fiction." I'm sure most social media grows in some sort of moldy underground bunker. Wonder where AI-generated writing would be spawned?