Plot Generator

I was playing around with a plot generator — just for a laugh.

The first time I added in actual information on a current idea and (with a lot of tweaking) it could work. That was surprising, but I already have my plot for that story. So, I played some more hitting the auto-fill button. That gave me several laughs.

The site also boasts a pretty good Pen Name generator:

Wendell Torrington Kenneth Engers Rusty McKevin Robert Saab Torrance

I like Wendell Torrington and Robert Saab Torrance. But due to the difficulty of building up a name and platform from scratch, I’m not travelling that road again. I learnt the hard way (the best way really) when (at the behest of my publisher) I switched from Richard Lee to my real name, Lee Pletzers.

This plot generator also writes complete short stories and movie scripts. Be warned. Machines run on programmes, nothing beats the human non-digital (organic) computer in our noggins.

For a laugh here is a story it produced from random keywords:

Noble Tom Torrance A Short Story

Tom Torrance looked at the tiny gun in his hands and felt relaxed.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He had always hated quiet Cambridge with its afraid, abundant arches. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel relaxed.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Sonya Jones. Sonya was a caring queen with tall arms and handsome thighs.

Tom gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a noble, bold, Cognac drinker with solid arms and charming thighs. His friends saw him as a knobby, kindly knight. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for an obnoxious disabled person.

But not even a noble person who had once made a cup of tea for an obnoxious disabled person, was prepared for what Sonya had in store today.

The rain hammered like drinking snakes, making Tom happy.

As Tom stepped outside and Sonya came closer, he could see the fluffy glint in her eye.

“Look Tom,” growled Sonya, with a controlling glare that reminded Tom of caring horses. “It’s not that I don’t love you, but I want justice. You owe me 8003 dollars.”

Tom looked back, even more happy and still fingering the tiny gun. “Sonya, I’m in love with you,” he replied.

They looked at each other with confident feelings, like two dripping, damaged dogs partying at a very snooty wedding, which had rock music playing in the background and two clever uncles rampaging to the beat.

Suddenly, Sonya lunged forward and tried to punch Tom in the face. Quickly, Tom grabbed the tiny gun and brought it down on Sonya’s skull.

Sonya’s tall arms trembled and her handsome thighs wobbled. She looked lonely, her wallet raw like a breakable, bright book.

Then she let out an agonising groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Sonya Jones was dead.

Tom Torrance went back inside and made himself a nice drink of Cognac.

THE END