# Literary Maneuvers November 2022: Random prompt generator



## Harper J. Cole (Oct 29, 2022)

*Literary Maneuvers November 2022
Random prompt generator*​Introduction

Something different for the LM challenge, as we'll be using a random prompt generator.






Procedure

If you'd like to enter, please message *Vranger* and ask for your randomised prompts. Include the prompts when you post your entry (they won't count towards your word count).

If you're not sure how to message someone, the simplest way is to click on the letter icon near the top of the screen and select "Start a new conversation". Then put Vranger's name in the "Recipients" box and go from there. If you've questions about this process, please ask in the *Coffee Shop*. Here's an illustrative diagram...





650 words max. (not including title or prompts), deadline 23:59 GMT / 18:59 EST, Sunday, 13 November.
If you win, you'll get a badge pinned to your profile, plus the chance to enter our Feb 2023 *Grand Fiction Challenge*, which carries cash prizes.

Judging

Our judges include* Vranger, BadHouses, NajaNoir, Louanne**Learning* and *S J Ward*. If you'd like to volunteer, please let me know via PM or in the Coffee Shop. If you wish to know more about scoring, take a look at the NEW JUDGING GUIDE which also includes a template to use for your scoring. Please use this template for consistency.

Additional

All entries that wish to retain their first rights should post in the LM WORKSHOP THREAD.

*All anonymous entries will be PMed to myself and please note in the PM whether you want your entry posted in the workshop.*

Please check out our Rules and Policies for extra details on the LM contests.

Everyone is welcome to participate, including judges. A judge's entry will receive a review by their fellow judges, but it will not receive a score, though some judges are happy to let you know their score for you privately. Please refrain from 'like'-ing or 'lol'-ing an entry until the scores are posted.

Judges: If you could send the scores no later than* November 30th,* it will ensure a timely release of results. Much later than that and I will have to post with what I have. Again, please see the Judging Guidelines if you have questions. Following the suggested formatting will be much appreciated, too.


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## VRanger (Oct 29, 2022)

To repeat the discussion in the coffee shop, contact me in a conversation to get your individual plot where. Include your plot wheel at the top of your story ... it of course doesn't count against your 650 words. Here's the first one I just had a request for, along with the notes I sent with it:

Plot Type: Culture Clash
Inciting Incident: Must find expert to fix serious problem
Plot Device: Red Herring
Plot Device: Pygmalion
Plot Device: Montage
Character 1: Hag
Character 2: Gentleman thief
Character 3: Hopeless Romantic
Trial: Character becomes frightened, by: Expediter
Solution: Common Sense, by: Inventor

The characters can be used in any combination, so the Hopeless Romantic and the Inventor could be the same character. If the Hag was the Hopeless Romantic, that could be pretty interesting. LOL

Or they can be five different characters, and they don't have to be the only characters.


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## VRanger (Oct 29, 2022)

A couple of clarifications after PM questions:

The "trial" is a problem arising in the story. "By" simply means a character associated with either the Trial or the Solution.


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## Harper J. Cole (Oct 29, 2022)

Plot Type: "Opposites (Class, Interests etc.)"
Inciting Incident: Change location/base of operations
Plot Device: Clue
Plot Device: Characters dislike each other
Plot Device: Surprising Reunion
Character 1: Con-artist
Character 2: Mad scientist
Character 3: Crone
Trial: Character becomes frightened, by: Taskmaster
Solution: Villain betrays fellow villain, by: Legendary Monster




The Mountebank (647 words)
_by Anon_



“Fair ladies and gentlemen of Nipchettanwah, here I hold in my hand a small bottle. Within, it contains the elixir of everlasting youth!”

Unseen. “Cobblers!” cried out a haggard creature standing away from the stage.

“Charlatan!” shouted an eminent looking man in a white coat standing beside her.

“Shall we throw cats at him?” the creature whispered menacingly, her good eye glinting.

“Have you got cats?” asked the professor.

“Bloody loads of them!”

“Then cats we throw.”

Where so many cats came from? Few in the jeering crowd could rightly say. Nigel Smith hastily gathered his samples and rammed them back into a small suitcase—then ran.

»

“Your Mayorship, Lords, ladies and gentlemen of… ermmm… of Tall Noddy Vale. Here, I hold in my—”

“More cats, mother?”

“Not this time, son. We’ll make him suffer today.”

“—and is there a willing volunteer to partake of this magical elixir? Maybe you, sir? Or you, madam?”

“I’ll volunteer.” screeched the creature from the audience, in a voice that could cut through steel; and certainly it cut through the onset of jeering. Everyone hushed and looked towards the haggard lady as she began making her way towards the stage.

“For pity’s sake, not you again!”

“What’s that, son? I’m afraid I’m almost stone-deaf.”

“I said, for pity’s sa… Oh forget it!” Nigel looked up and saw—for the first time—the audience all agog. “And a big hand for this brave lady, folks.” A ripple of applause spread through the throng.

“Now what’s your name, dear thing?”

“Maggdread.”

“Really?” he whispered.”Christian, surname or both?”
“Yes!”

Nigel cleared his throat. “Okay! Well now, Maggdread, I’d like you to drink… ermm… a quarter… ermm… a half, no! In fact, the whole bottle of this; ‘The fountain of youth’.” he announced, loudly. He pulled the stopper from the bottle, theatrically for the audience’s benefit. To Nigel’s horror, Maggdread grabbed the bottle from his grasp and necked the contents. “For the love of… it’s meant to be diluted!”

Nigel took a step backwards, in awe at what he thought he saw. Maggdread dropped the empty bottle and fell to the floor. She started convulsing; huge bodily thrusts lifting her clear off the stage. And then she grew. Started to transform in bubbling blobs and mounds. Her face contorted and elongated, then her forehead exploded outwards. She paled, disappeared into an encompassing veil of mist, eventually emerging from It… as… a horse with a horn. Nigel, suddenly regretted his choice of the light grey suit, not that any of the audience would notice—they were already heading for the hills.

The unicorn got to its feet. Nigel fell over backwards in trying to join the erstwhile spectators. Maggdread reared above Nigel and landed her front legs either side of his prostrate form.

“What do you want from me?” he stuttered, fearing for his life.

Maggdread spoke through the unicorn—pleasantly. “It’s time to give up all this nonsense, son, and come home with us.”

Nigel’s eyes widened. “Mum?”

“Come on now, son. We allowed you to set out on your own life, give you the chance to do something of your own… but this…” The unicorn wheeled its head, as if to take in the travelling medicine showman’s stage and, the fleeing public. “this isn’t us!”

“But what is… us?”

“Your brother does the science, I do the spells and you… with a little work, will sell our potions. But not here! Nor at Nipchettanwah!”

“But that’s what I was doing all along.” Nigel remonstrated.

“No, son. You stole some potions from the family that... _were not _the fountains of youth!”

“What were they, mum?”

“Enemas!” Maggdread dropped her head momentarily. “Oh shit!”

“And the cats? Was that you?”

But it was too late for an answer. The unicorn reared and leapt from the stage making its way, hastily, to some bushes.


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## TL Murphy (Nov 3, 2022)

The Heist


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## SueC (Nov 6, 2022)

*The Village Bully*


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## rcallaci (Nov 8, 2022)

*Plot Type: AI/Robots/Androids
Inciting Incident: Meet benevolent stranger
Plot Device: Clue
Plot Device: Red Herring
Plot Device: Long lost friend/relative
Character 1: Gossip
Character 2: Bodyguard
Character 3: Damsel in distress
Trial: Hero is slandered, by: Psychic/Mystic
Solution: Villain blunders, by: Politician*


The Tinder Box (650 words)
(An interlude in the space opera serial ‘Androids’ Dream: of Heaven, Hell, Dragons and other things’)


Zurester Mavenworth was the Federation Governor of the Topaz System. It consisted of twelve planets and thirty-three moons. All colonized. He was one of the few governors who belonged to the order of Neo-Mages; a powerful warrior society of sorcerer -mystics who enforced the law and kept order amongst the Solaris Federation’s Jeweled Worlds. He just received news from his personal bodyguard and trusted confidante, that there was an android spy in his inner circle. The Governor needed to root out this spy at all costs. If the spy gained access to the secrets contained in the ‘Hera Project’; it could prove catastrophic. He summoned his counsel to report to him immediately.

“I’ve gathered you all here to discuss a matter of utmost importance. All systems are ready for operation. The Hera project is a success. All of you know many of the details concerning this project but you don’t know it’s real purpose. I’ve led you all to believe that it was a weapon that would decimate planetary infostructures. This was a top, top secret project and only a few know it’s real purpose. I can now reveal that the Hera Light scrambles the neural conductors of the androids’ brain receptors. We can then reprogram them once again to do our will. Our first target is Earth Prime. In two days, those machines will be groveling at our feet” The go date is in two days.” The Governor surveyed the room looking for any signs of alarm or distress on the faces of his supposed inner circle.

Most of the council members pounded on the table to show their approval. One of the members, Lenwood Briarwood, actually got out of his chair and did a jig. But Patema Pinkerton, the governor’s chief ambassador remained silent, she even looked distressed.

So, it’s you!” screamed the governor. “How could you turn on your own people.” The governor turned towards his bodyguard and said, “Seize the traitor.” The Ambassador couldn’t believe what she just heard, she said, “Are you mad, Zurester. I’m as loyal to the federation as you. I’m just against robbing a whole race of free will. They’re more than just machines, their people. My replicant brother is one of them. You’ve known me for most of my life, how can you make such an accusation? “The governor came over to her, grabbed her by the chin and said, “The most trusted and renowned make the best spies, such a waste, send her to the interrogation room.” “How can you do this, what evidence to you have?” wailed the ambassador. “My gut feeling is all the evidence I need, get her out of my sight.”


…………….

​Patema was stripped naked and strapped on a gurney. A man and woman loomed over her with twisted smiles. The one nearest placed a device between her breasts and said: “You will feel intense pain every time you give an answer that we find to be untruthful. Let me demonstrate.” She screamed. Her insides were on fire. “Now, tell us…. You’re not authorized… WAIT! DON’T SHOOT….” Patema fainted dead away.

Governor we are placing you under arrest for the attempted neural rape of the Android Nation. Don’t attempt to use your sorcery as those powers have been nullified, said Lenwood Briarwood, Vice Governor, and an old friend of Magus Mavenworth. At least when he was totally human but his brain was replaced with an artificial one years ago.

The governor said, “It was a ruse, we have no such weapon, I just wanted to weed out the spy.” “One hell of a miscalculation, Zurester, it made us move up our timetable.” said a grinning Lenwood.

When Patema woke from her faint, Pinkerton Linkhorn, her replicant brother, smiled, and said, “We have no intention of ruling this system. Your council has appointed you acting governor. It’s time to talk about: trade, treaties, and future alliances…


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## Taylor (Nov 12, 2022)

*Love at First Sight*
*(Adult Language)*


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## Harper J. Cole (Nov 12, 2022)

*The Earthkeepers*


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## Ibb (Nov 13, 2022)

*Spin Your Darlings (650 Darlings Were Harmed During the Making of This Literary Maneuver) 

[Confidential, Part of Ongoing Investigation]
[Evidence so Far]*
*Plot Type: Murder*​*Inciting Incident: Object of a challenge (game-sports?)*​*Plot Device: Macguffin *​*Plot Device: Frying pan into the fire*​*Plot Device: False Death*​*Character 1: Idiot savant*​*Character 2: Black knight*​*Character 3: Grande dame*​*Trial: Character is attacked, by: Shrew*​*Solution: Villain blunders, by: Hotshot*​​*[POLICE TAPE: DO NOT CROSS: ONGOING INVESTIGATION: THIS IS NOT PART OF THE STORY: WHY ARE YOU STILL READING? HURRY UNDER THE TAPE, MAN, READ THE STORY BEFORE THEY FIND YOU] *​​*******​​Dry night. Rough skin. I’d run out of moisturizer and was already losing hope. You know how it is. Nights in this city. What’cha want me to say? I exhaled my
nicotine and was harangued by the investigating archivist. “Sir!” she squawked. “Think of the manuscripts!”

Used to be you’d think of the children. Not anymore. Japan’s rebellion against bumpin and humpin had caught fire with the West and put a halt to babies. Pornos
had gotten too good, male suction devices and gyrators of the female orifice too powerful. It was enough to make you sick. I was always sick. From the frying pan of overpopulation into the fire of not enough. Fuck. I went to the window and spat. Down below in the streets a grande dame shook her head, telling one of the investigating librarians that it was a shock, a real shame, how could anyone have ever read Ibb in the first place; liked his writing; tolerated his frequent misuse of semicolons? “Utter buffoonery!” she squawked; couldn’t say I disagreed.

The perp was a frequent contributor to a writer’s game. Once a month a bunch of hotshots gathered and wrote sordid little tales, using the city’s innocent to do it. Murders. Comedies. Bits of fantasy. The worst of them hidden behind a system that retained first rights and concealed their writing from search engines. Some of our best minds still hadn’t cracked it. A thing called Google. Maybe guys like me were just getting old.

“Sir…” The archivist. “We found another one…”

I followed her into the basement. This had been a good city, once. Filled with ideas. Stories. An economy of literacy and commerce. What the hell had happened to us? YouTube? TikTok? Shit.

    The kid couldn’t have been any older than a few hundred words. Hardly a paragraph, not even a sentence. Her flesh lacerated in unfinished thoughts and aborted ideas. Ibb’s handiwork. The archivist swallowed back tears. I lit another cigarette. “Get out,” I grumbled.

    “But—”

    “Out.”

    Being a writer, it used to mean something. Or maybe I was just going soft. Sometimes you wanted to intervene but couldn’t. Some young piece of prose, taken in by promises of publication and Netflix adaptations. _Short story? Baby, I’m gonna make you a novel!_ I looked around. Suits of black armor. Clown hair. The discarded scribblings of a madman or an idiot savant. Ibb was getting desperate. The ideas weren’t flowing. And yet—he’d kill again. Anything for a bad pun or punchline. I checked the one small bit of intel I still possessed: _deadline 23:59 GMT / 18:59 EST, Sunday, 13 November._

    I made a phone call. “I need you to set up a citywide writer’s block.”

    “That’s insane!”

    “So is our culprit.”

    “But—”

_________________​

Rain lashed the window panes. The diner was warm. Nothing to do but wait. The waitress hounded me like an old shrew.

    “You gotsta to eat_ sumtin_, hun!”

    “Fine. Get me a macguffin.”

    “A whatzie whoozie, now?”

    Was I losing it? “Sorry—a muffin.”

That got her away for a bit. I checked my phone. Nothing. What was happening out there?  

    “By the way, mistah… Yeh really shoulda just left things alone.”

    I looked up into a gun. Of course. I hadn’t noticed the makeup and wig, but no mistaking it now: the kid. “Gawsh, I had to play dead for, like, _houahrs_ with you snooping around! Like, sheesh!”

    They never see it. How could they? Just a few shining words and the whole page still your oyster. But that’s all we were. Ideas. Ghostly flotsam. Only ever as good as the next word. And not even that.

    She raised the gun. “Ibb says hello.”

    Fine. Fuck it. I smiled, looked into the barrel of my last page.

    “And tell Ibb I said go fuck himself.”

    Not a bad kid; at the very least she let me finish my sentence.


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