Fairytale of Newark - a TUPPENCE story for Fairy Tale Friday, 26th December 2014
I lazed on the sofa, bestrewn with chocolates. Hans Gruber was belching out Christmas cheer in a fetching cathode ray flavour from across the room. Next up was Scrooged. Yum.
Just then a knock at the door, a trope which has featured in no fewer than three Fairy Tale Fridays this year, rang out across my yuletide abode. I rose warily to my feet and padded across the shag, my soles picking up no fewer than several unwanted pine needles from our resolutely vengeful indoor tree as I did so. There, in the doorway, gazing upon me in my unapologetic "Arthur Dent chic", was the hulking figure of the Gorey Beast, besuited, bebearded and betop-hatted.
"Oh bloody hell, it's another meta one is it?" I sighed, bemoaning the lack of originality in my own accursed oeuvre.
"Aye, tis that!" said the Gorey Beast chirpily, stepping over the threshold and tugging off his gloves, then he removed them, wiped them off and placed them on the hook provided.
"Come in, why don't you?" I drawled, hastily shutting the door behind him (it was threatening to snow in a matter of months).
"I expect you know why I'm here," continued the Gorey Beast, unperturbed.
"Aye, and you can bugger off-" I started.
"You always swear more when you're out of ideas, do you know that?" said the Gorey Beast, helping himself to a Matchmaker. Fucking liberty, I thought.
"It's Christmas Eve!" I said, showing my own disdain for perturbation, "push off and let me enjoy being with my girlfriend's loved ones!"
"It may be Christmas Eve," said the Gorey Beast sternly, "but it's also Fairy Tale Friday as usual tomorrow. Will you be favouring us with a festive vignette?"
"As we've established," I said, removing the Matchmakers to a safe distance, "I'm out of ideas."
"That's no problem," said the Gorey Beast, producing a shiny tuppence from his waistcoat.
"It's a little more than my usual fee," I half-joked.
"Not a fee," smiled the Gorey Beast mischievously, "A charm. One that will give your work the illusion of competence, nay, brilliance!"
He continued to grin maniacally. I took the proffered talisman and surveyed it uncertainly.
"How does it work?" I said.
"Simply write it into your story," said the Gorey Beast, rising to leave, "and it will create creativity where there is none, give self-reflexivity the appearance of comic genius, and even cause your audience to forget all your previous efforts, obfuscating your flagrant self-plagiarism."
"Moreover, it will make even the most unsatisfactory ending read like a Breaking Bad season finale."
"Right," I said, gazing at the piece, "and does it guarantee a winning entry?"
"Good gracious no," said the Gorey Beast, chuckling slightly, "what would be the fun in that?"
"What if I write a metatale in which I win? What then?"
The Gorey Beast fell silent. Hans Gruber sniggered in the background. Exquisite timing, methought.
"Well, that would scarcely be in the spirit of the season now would-
I won.
Just then a knock at the door, a trope which has featured in no fewer than three Fairy Tale Fridays this year, rang out across my yuletide abode. I rose warily to my feet and padded across the shag, my soles picking up no fewer than several unwanted pine needles from our resolutely vengeful indoor tree as I did so. There, in the doorway, gazing upon me in my unapologetic "Arthur Dent chic", was the hulking figure of the Gorey Beast, besuited, bebearded and betop-hatted.
"Oh bloody hell, it's another meta one is it?" I sighed, bemoaning the lack of originality in my own accursed oeuvre.
"Aye, tis that!" said the Gorey Beast chirpily, stepping over the threshold and tugging off his gloves, then he removed them, wiped them off and placed them on the hook provided.
"Come in, why don't you?" I drawled, hastily shutting the door behind him (it was threatening to snow in a matter of months).
"I expect you know why I'm here," continued the Gorey Beast, unperturbed.
"Aye, and you can bugger off-" I started.
"You always swear more when you're out of ideas, do you know that?" said the Gorey Beast, helping himself to a Matchmaker. Fucking liberty, I thought.
"It's Christmas Eve!" I said, showing my own disdain for perturbation, "push off and let me enjoy being with my girlfriend's loved ones!"
"It may be Christmas Eve," said the Gorey Beast sternly, "but it's also Fairy Tale Friday as usual tomorrow. Will you be favouring us with a festive vignette?"
"As we've established," I said, removing the Matchmakers to a safe distance, "I'm out of ideas."
"That's no problem," said the Gorey Beast, producing a shiny tuppence from his waistcoat.
"It's a little more than my usual fee," I half-joked.
"Not a fee," smiled the Gorey Beast mischievously, "A charm. One that will give your work the illusion of competence, nay, brilliance!"
He continued to grin maniacally. I took the proffered talisman and surveyed it uncertainly.
"How does it work?" I said.
"Simply write it into your story," said the Gorey Beast, rising to leave, "and it will create creativity where there is none, give self-reflexivity the appearance of comic genius, and even cause your audience to forget all your previous efforts, obfuscating your flagrant self-plagiarism."
"Moreover, it will make even the most unsatisfactory ending read like a Breaking Bad season finale."
"Right," I said, gazing at the piece, "and does it guarantee a winning entry?"
"Good gracious no," said the Gorey Beast, chuckling slightly, "what would be the fun in that?"
"What if I write a metatale in which I win? What then?"
The Gorey Beast fell silent. Hans Gruber sniggered in the background. Exquisite timing, methought.
"Well, that would scarcely be in the spirit of the season now would-
I won.
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