Dinosaurs: Writer's Block

[RedPiggy]

Rated Teen. I'm posting this on ff.net as well.

A loud thud followed the ringing of the school bell. Robbie’s head looked like a giant spiky cucumber with teeth.

Or he looked like an emerald lizard-shaped paperweight.

Either way, he found no motivation to move his head off his desk.

Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted a flirtatious wagging brown tail. His heart started to pick up some speed as his eyes crept up her spine, her rose-colored sweater hanging loosely from her athletic but feminine frame. Her warm brown eyes sparkled in the fizzling white-blue fluorescent light.

She giggled. “It wasn’t that bad, Robbie,” she told him with a grin, patting his head sympathetically.

He groaned, placing his scaly green hands over his eyes. “I’m a complete failure,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” the female teased.

He took his hands off his head and sat up straighter, his green eyes glistening. “I’m gonna fail if I don’t come up with a story by tomorrow.”

“So?”

Robbie growled in desperation. “So … Dad’s gonna kill me!” He gasped, his eyes widening. “No, I take that back: Dad’s not going to kill me … it’s not even on the top ten list of things that will suck if I go home with an F.”

“So, what is?”

He sighed and thunked his head on the desk again, a small green scale flying off and nearly hitting the female in the eye.

“******, Robbie,” she grumbled.

“Sorry, Wendy,” he muttered in monotone. “Gramma’s not going to get me those tickets to the Sonic Boom concert.” He started to whimper.

Wendy rolled her eyes and slapped the back of his head.

“Ow! What was that for?” he yelled, sitting up again and rubbing his head, his Mohawk of spikes twitching in his agony.

“A dinosaur as bright as you can surely come up with a story for Lit class, Rob,” she told him, frowning. “How hard can it be?”

“As hard as writing a story about writer’s block?” he replied, glancing up at the human girl typing this story in the first place.

Wendy shook her head. Shrugging, she continued, “Look: just get some help and it’ll go a lot easier.”

“Who’s going to help me? I can’t ask Gramma. She’ll just know I’m a lava-turd.”

“Why not ask Spike?”

Robbie stared at her blankly for several moments.

“Spike can write?”

Wendy shrugged. “He’s not the logical choice, I admit. He’s got to be good at stories, though. I mean, all the girls know about how he spends his Friday nights ….”

Robbie shook his head. “I don’t think I wanna know. Besides, Spike’s idea of a book report is ripping the back summary off the cover and handing it in.”

Wendy smirked. “See? It might work after all. For starters, I underestimated your friend.” She chuckled. “I didn’t realize Spike could find the back cover summary of a book.”

Robbie looked up at the ceiling, which had grown an impressive garden of broken pencil tips and paper spitwads. “Or maybe my girlfriend could help me write it.” He glanced at Wendy and raised one eyebrow.

Wendy smiled, nodding. “Sure thing. Let me know when you get one,” she laughed before walking out of the classroom.

Robbie thunked his head on the desk again, which was starting to dent. “I’m doomed.”

 

[RedPiggy]

Charlene found herself in the kitchen, resting her feet on the table as her toe claws dried with a neon pink polish. She blew on them and smiled proudly.

Robbie ran into the kitchen from the right, nearly knocking the door off the hinges. “Charlene! Good!” he yelled, panicking, clutching a pile of paper as though they were keeping his heart from just flopping out of his ribcage. He dropped the papers hurriedly on the table.

“Aaaargh!” Charlene growled, trying to whisk her feet off the table.

No such luck: the papers were stuck.

She glared at her brother. “Do you know how I’m gonna get your stupid papers off my claws?” She leapt up and grabbed him by the throat. “I’m gonna make you peel them off with your EYELIDS!”

Robbie grunted as he tried to pry her off. “Ch-Ch-Charlene … my … my … pap … er.”

“Your paper?” she screeched. “Your geeky clutziness made them a part of me!”

“A … cool … fifty … if … y-y-you … help me … with … m-my … pap … er,” Robbie coughed, finally freeing himself from the crazed grip of a ceratopsian on the edge.

Charlene’s face went blank for a couple of seconds as she processed the new information. She raised an eyebrow and jabbed an index finger in his sternum. “Make it an even hundred and you have a deal,” she said in a calmer tone.

He glared at her. “Have you no shame?”

Charlene twirled her finger in her blouse playfully, swishing her tail. “I think I’ll buy some after you pay my commission.”

He growled, baring his teeth.

“Shall we go for two?”

Sighing, he hung his head. “Fine. A hundred bucks and I get an A.”

“Is that above a C?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t think you … uh,” she stopped, thinking quickly, “should’ve waited so late to come to me!” She sat at the table and patted the stool beside her. “Pull up a chair, Chicken Boy … you’re up for carpal tunnel.”

Deep in the heart of the swamp, a young, gorgeous young female dinosaur, her horns curving gently against her purple skull, plucked a giant yellow buttercup from the murky depths and sniffed it. Fireflies danced as though to a romantic song. The moon gave her scales a heavenly glow.

It had been a year since her last date. It terrified her, but she got comfort resting by the misty swamp in the moonlight, with only the sounds of giant dragonflies to interrupt the profound beating of her lonely heart.

“Oh, brother,” Robbie countered, rolling his eyes.

Charlene whacked him with a pencil. “Speaking of brothers … do you think Baby could do this better? At least with my talent, you’ll have a story that makes females flock to you like rats to the moon.”

“Huh?”

Charlene sighed, shaking her head sadly. “Alas, poor brother … didn’t you learn anything in class? It’s made of cheese, you know.” She took the pencil and shoved it into his hand. “Now, keep writing,” she told him flatly.

However, just as the sun was beginning to peek out over the horizon like Lou’s head --.

“Wait,” Robbie noted in astonishment, “are you talking about that know-it-all jerk from the Scavengers?”

“Shut up and keep writing,” hissed his sister.

Anyway, the sun was absolutely beautiful, but it would always remain hotly jealous of the female dinosaur’s ravishing beauty and talent. For, you see, the sun was actually a giant dinosaur, trapped in the sky for millions of years, until one day he was tossed into the sky by a volcanic eruption.

“So, he was in the sky and then he was put in the sky?”

Charlene huffed, placing her hands on her ample hips. “Do I criticize every stupid thing that comes out of your mouth?”

Robbie raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Never more than I do you.”

“Thank you,” she replied happily, before continuing with the tale.

As the sun finally rose above the dark, foreboding tree tops, bathing them in a reddish-orange glow, he spotted the lonely female and decided it’d be an excellent time to finally get down and settle, with a nice family in an upscale part of town. Of course, he’d have to hire a gardener and a maid, as the female would be too busy competing with the other females for the sun’s attention. He tried to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, but this was in an age before affordable long-distance charges, so he could never get through to her. No, the only way was to come down to Pangaea and sweep her off her feet….

Robbie sighed, gently putting the pencil down. “Are you sure girls are going to flock to me because of this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Charlene replied coyly. “You’re proving you’re sensitive to female romantic needs.”

Robbie stared at her. “Lemme get this straight: girls want to date a star?”

Charlene gawked at him as though he had just said humans would overtake the world. “You don’t?”

“I was thinking star models, not gaseous molten rocks or whatever deep in outer space.”

Charlene scoffed. “Well, my way’s better. Get used to it.”

“Or I could ask for Mom’s opinion,” Robbie countered.

Charlene grinned maliciously. “Or … I could tell Gramma her favorite grandson that he’s failing Lit class,” she offered, laughing.

Robbie nervously tapped his fingers on the table, refusing to take his eyes off her. “One-fifty … and I do your laundry for a month.”

Charlene stood and shrugged, with a wide smile gracing her emerald face. “Oops! Look at the time! Too bad Mom’s off counselling toads or whatever again. Guess you’re stuck with Dad,” she told him, chuckling. “Be sure and have my unmentionables ready by ten. I’m going out with Mindy tonight.” She waved good-bye to him playfully before heading to the living room, leaving Robbie cursing the fact his parents ever had other children.

 

[The Count]

This stuff just makes me laugh with how badly Robbie needs to hand in his assignment. Didn't know Creative Storywriting was part of the Lit. Class requirements, those were two different courses. *Remembers fondly the great laughs we got into in that class. Maybe they have the same reward I got, an A there gets you out of another required class? Oh, and nice touch on fourth wall brakage, that thing should come down at least once a story/fic. More please?

 

[RedPiggy]

Well, it's not a part of the literature classes I took, but considering how the show mocks just how bad the schools are, I can handwave it by saying that this is how THEIR curriculum works, LOL.

I've been bummed out for so long due to my horrible writer's block (especially after getting my depression/anxiety largely taken care of), but a couple of nights ago in the shower I had an epiphany: why not write a story about the ridiculous lengths a person'd go to get some fic inspiration?

 

[The Count]

Right. And therein lies the brilliance of the story, writing about what you know and are currently experiencing... Writer's block. *Is reminded to put up my May oneshot.

 

[newsmanfan]

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Confession: I never actually watched "Dinosaurs"...but I like this. I especially love the utterly absurd story in the story, which of course was in the story but then got shot up into the story... *snickering*

Ah gawd. As a former lit-mag editor, I salute your absolute dedication to the TRUE style and content of most lit-mag entries!
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[RedPiggy]

LOL, that's me: writing the franchises hardly anyone writes about. Sure, nearly everyone wants to ship Kerggy, but I like writing about the strange and unusual, LOL.

Can you explain "TRUE style and content of most lit-mag entries"? Not that I mind, as it seems to be a compliment, of course, LOL, but not having read one, I'm not quite sure what you mean

And the story within a story was originally just going to be completely different depending on who helped Robbie, but I realized it'd probably be cooler (or something) to develop the story, to "evolve" it, if you will, just with sillier and siller elements to it.

edit: The inspiration for Robbie's story (the one he's writing, not the one I'm writing, LOL) was, well, while I was typing the initial sentences of the story, my mind flashed back to a Cherokee legend about a female sun or whatever. Anyway, I'm a big fan of Native myths and I'm sure there will be elements of my book of them, whether I put them in consciously or not.

 

[Dominicboo1]

Your story captures the spirit of the show, and is very funny.

 

[newsmanfan]

-----------
By the lit mag comment, I meant merely that nearly 99% of the entries we editors received for the school lit mag were every bit as forced, purple, and melodramatic as the piece Charlene is creating! That's even funnier that you weren't going for the reject-pile style with it.

Enjoying. Continue?
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[RedPiggy]

“What does it take to kill it?” a female voice pleaded in exasperation amidst a torrent of audible gunfire.

There was a slight pause, then a deep-voiced male remarked wistfully, “They don’t die. They never die. No matter what you do to them, they just keep getting back up. In the future, they’ll finish off the last of us and spread their heartless natures until the planet dies off, and it’ll be all our fault.” The male sobbed quietly. “We let it happen. We let them take over the world.”

“Gimme your grenade,” the female shot back.

“Why?”

The sounds of a struggle were followed by the sound of the pin being yanked from a grenade. The female voice was determined and bloodthirsty. “Let ‘em take this first!”

There was the sound of a tremendous explosion, and then a cheerful announcer blurted out: “Cave-inator 4: Take Back Dystopia will air Friday at 8.”

“Goodie,” Earl Sinclair, portly head of the Sinclair household, noted with an approving nod as he sat on his stool in the middle of the living room, his red and black plaid flannel shirt covered in broken potato chips.

“Dad?” Robbie asked as he sat down on a sofa made from carved bone and rock. “Can you help me with my homework?”

There was a long pause. Earl didn’t glance at his son, but continued to watch tv. “Are there numbers?”

“No.”

“Are we pretending letters are numbers?”

“Not really, no.”

“Are we going to talk about triangles, but instead of coloring in dem, we’re actually going to discuss how triangles relate to numbers?”

Robbie sighed and bowed his head. “This isn’t about math class, Dad.”

Earl shrugged. “Okay, den. Whattaya got for me, son?”

Robbie anxiously leaned forward with pencil and paper in hand. “Okay, Dad, get this: I have to write a story for my literature class, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t think of anything to write.”

Earl shot his son a dry glance, one brow arched. “Lemme get dis straight: you can’t write yer own story, so you’re jus’ gonna write down what ev’ryone else says an’ take all da credit?”

Robbie nervously looked away and shrugged, his heart racing, his pulse throbbing in his eyes. “Yeah, I mean, no, I mean, I don’t --.”

Earl nodded and grinned. “Don’t beat yerself up over it, kiddo. Keep on doin’ what yer doin’ an’ you’ll end up head of a television production company.” He clasped his hands together. “So, whatya got?”

Robbie sighed with relief and perused his paper. “Okay, there’s this female … and the sun is really a handsome dinosaur that --.”

“Charlene help you wit’ dat part?”

Robbie nodded sadly. “Yeah.”

“First of all, get rid of all dat silly nonsense.”

“But she said it’d help me go out with girls,” Robbie countered.

Earl stood up and brushed off his shirt. “Son, lemme teach you a little life lesson: you don’t go to chicks to learn how to get chicks. You go to guys. Guys are meant fer chicks.”

“But Uncle --.”

“I don’t care what your mother’s brother said!” Earl growled, exasperated, gesturing wildly with his arms as though he were drowning in a swamp. “He has no chicks!” He jabbed an index finger in his chest. “I married a chick! Who would you rather listen to?”

Robbie shrugged. “You?”

Earl sat back down, nodding. “Sheesh,” he sighed. “Anyway, your mother was attracted to me because I hunkered down an’ became a towering mass of muscle.”

“I thought she felt sorry for you when you were voted ‘Most likely to slip through a sewer grate’.”

Earl glared at his son. “Son … do you wanna graduate?”

Robbie nodded eagerly. “Yeah!”

Earl’s eyes pierced through Robbie’s soul. “Do you wanna live to see tomorrow?”

Robbie gulped.

“Now use yer hands ta write before I break ‘em,” Earl ordered before leaning back, sighing happily, and closing his eyes.

The male saw her deep in the swamp: she was a true sight to behold. Sure, she could’ve used a different shade of eyeshadow to complement her scale tone in early morning light, but that didn’t matter to him.

All he knew was that there was a strong, awful smell coming from the depths of the swamp. There were bubbles and smoke and stuff and the sharp points of very large horns were beginning to surface.

He ran at a dead run toward the female, his heart pumping, his scales glistening with sweat, his testosterone musking up the entire swamp to where you barely could smell the foul stench of the water anymore.

Just as the 50-foot swamp monster, a hulking green toothy behemoth, bore down on the timid little female, his drool threatening to drown her, he jumped in front of the dainty buttercup and grabbed hold of the swamp monster’s jaws … well, two of his teeth, anyway, as that was the only that’d fit in the male’s strong but somewhat relatively smaller grasp. With a mighty heave and a bellowing “ho” the male broke off the teeth and slashed at the swamp monster’s mouth until it sunk back into the depths, desperate to find a dentist with the proper equipment.

“Oh, my hero,” the female cooed gently, running her fingers over the male’s sweaty scales.

He caressed her and kissed her on the forehead. “Now we’re married,” he told her.

Earl smiled. “What do you t’ink?”

Robbie smiled politely and backed away toward the kitchen. “Uh, thanks, Dad … I think I’ll head over to school now and turn it in. Thanks for your help.”

Earl nodded and brushed him away sheepishly. “Aw, t’anks, Robbie. Go get ‘em.”

Robbie nodded. “I, uh, I sure will, Dad.”

“I’ll have extra barbeque ready … or your mother will … by da time you get out of school. Gotta give da girls somethin’.”

Robbie laughed nervously. “Right, Dad. See ya later,” he told his father, running as fast as he could to school as soon as he was out of sight.