Free Plots
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by Tale Wins |
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I'm not the guvnment, but I don't have that many friendly dinner tabs to pay back either, so feel free to flesh out any of these plots with your own writing abilities. These are plots you can have for free, but I'd appreciate it very much if -- after it is published -- you let me read the finished product for free. And, if you'd like to have a little help in fleshing out your story, feel free to write to me about that also. I come up with thousands of plots. There is no reason for them going to waste. Somebody might as well use them. |
| These plots are starters to get your creative juices
flowing.
Use the plots
to start your story out. After you get going take the rest
of the book (or story) wherever you wish to go. .
The Thorn that Never Leaves the Flesh A child is stolen from a poor couple and though the years are kind to them afterwards, the thorn never leaves their flesh. How to be happy when you never know the child's fate, can only imagine the grossest horrors, or hope the wildest dreams. At moments when achievements should have brought joy, memories are triggered instead: "When s/he woke up s/he always wanted potty cakes because the first thing s/he wanted was to go potty, and the next thing s/he wanted was pancakes, so she made the two events one word." A smile, then the tormented wonder: "Where is s/he now? What are they doing to my poor child?" *** The minister finished early with the graveside eulogy. There really wasn't that much to say about Elmer Fudd, because quite frankly he was the most boring man in the whole state. People that had been dragged to the funeral were busy on their cell phones telling others that had escaped being dragged there just how boring it was. But one thing that was fascinating to everyone was the Lt. Col. In full dress uniform with a green beret on his head. What in the world he was doing there no one knew. As the minister closed the funeral service and began moving back to deal with the family, the Lt. Col. with the Green Beret stepped forward and asked if he could say a few words to the congregation. “Of course,” said the minister as he glanced around and the family nodded numbly yes –for every one of them was consumed with curiosity and could not imagine who this Lt. Col. might be. The silence thickened as the Lt. Col. With the Green Beret strode to the microphone, removed his beret and began speaking softly: “Elmer Fudd,” said he, “was one of our best operatives in the spy system of the United States. It is only fitting that we speak a few words to express our satisfaction with his selfless service. For over 20 years now we have kept his activities a secret so that nobody knew what he did or how well he has served his country -- without fanfare or bugle. Looking dull and faintly bored was what Elmer Fudd did best. But behind those lackluster eyes Colonel Fudd had a photographic memory that recorded everything that was going on around him. Colonel Fudd has been a true hero for the past 30 years; he never saw the limelight he never clamored to have his courageous record made known. Some of you that thought you knew him best may have believed he really was even boring. But I can assure you that Elmer Fudd was one of the most intelligent men I have ever known in my life. Nor did his service to America cease when Elmer Fudd left the service. With the intelligence methods and skills he had gained during his chaotic adventures while serving under orders in primitive and dangerous countries Elmer Fudd has spent the last 30 years monitoring gang movements in this area and drug transactions that he would report directly to me. His ratiocinations were most accurate in gauging the criminal infiltration into key industries of this region. At the Bureau we shall always appreciate Elmer Fudd. Thank you." As the Lt. Col stepped back from the microphone he was thronged by family and friends of the deceased that were demanding to know more. “I'm sorry,” he said. “As you should realize, our work must remain secret, and the intricate, valued parts played by Elmer Fudd cannot be released at this time. However, I can tell you that such was the nature of his work that those records can be released only by the President of the United States, 50 years from now, perhaps. But in the meantime, you might ask yourself occasionally, who was Elmer Fudd listening to most?” A long stretch limo pulled up nearby and the officer bolted to leap in the open door. “Get me back to Washington,” he was heard to say. * Here's my second plot: it happened by chance, the two boys came to the same school on the same day. One was in the upper grades and the other was in a lower grade and the boy in the lower grade was particularly thin and ill dressed. When the afternoon recess began there was a gang of boys that gathered around the youngest new kid on the school grounds. They began shoving and pushing him around. friendless and hopelessly outnumbered, the little boy began to cry. The obvious leader of the bullies leaped forward and smashed him in the nose. It was at this point that the other new boy stepped forward. His arms were trembling, his legs wobbling and because he was literally scared to death there was a scowl on his face. He stopped close to the center of the fight and side by side of the little boy. "I say, is this a new game you're playing?" The the bully paused and stared at him in astonishment. "Uh yeah, and you stay out of it." then he drew his fist back as if to strike the little boy yet again. The new boy was still not as large as the bully although looked like he was almost twice the size of the little boy. "No," he said. "I want to play too." Wait a minute, don't you realize that you should not be interfering with me when I'm picking on him? this is between us; you have no part in it. "Who made that law? I didn't vote on it. I'll bet you and your suck-ups here are the only ones that ever heard of that law. Well, it's not that way here anymore. Maybe I am new in this school, but I am not new in the world. And I have learned that it is just as right for good people to unite together as it is for bad people to gang up on those around them." "Say, I will beat you to a bloody pulp and then I will still whip your little friend too." "Let's get on with it that's what I say. Stand back, little kid, unless you want a piece of this action?" "Let me at him," said the little kid. His lips still quivered, but his eyes were now gleaming with the fire of fight. "The bullies in school always win the first round. But before the year is out we will have ground your nose into the ground and then I will bloody the noses of every one of your gang." Together the two new boys rushed the bully that was bigger than both of them. "But next time there will be three of us standing up to you. Note this next one's similarity to a certain television series. The title gives that away. TOUCHED BY AN AGENT. If you let your mind hover over this pretty quick it could be your television series coming up. Opening scene: Michael Johnson comes whistling into his office. Sarah, his private secretary that receives $185,000 per year just for her Christmas bonus, greets him with eyes still lowered to the work in front of her. "Mr. Johnson, Samuel Harder is waiting in your office." Michael keeps moving after responding with "thank you." but at the door he remembers that he doesn't know any Samuel Harder. Sarah looks busy, therefore he pushes on through the door and notes as he goes around his desk and sits down that Samuel Harder has a powerful looking body. He raises a flickering smile, just in case this is someone worth his time. "What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Harder?" "You'll be needing your attorney present before you do anything for me, Mr. Johnson. Basically I have come in to shut your business down until we complete a total audit. You will leave your office instantly, taking nothing with you. Do not return here for any reason. You may contact me, but only with your attorney present, at my office, at my convenience." Most Americans secretly dread hearing the tread of IRS Agents at their door. They have heard rumors of the broad, sweeping powers given to the IRS for the invasion of property and compelling American citizens to testify against themselves. By the time these agents find out a man is innocent his whole business can be destroyed. They look mad about something when that happens *** Okay, now we have another hapless victim of the IRS. He has already received his letter of intent to seize all property and is just waiting for the bloody axe to fall. Fred, we'll call him, has walked away from his business and is staying at home. He walks out to the mail box and returns. Janet is sitting in the darkest corner. She barely lifts her head as he comes back in. "We'll divide these up equally. One for you, one for me, one for you, one for me. One for you, hmm, my literary agent must be needing more money too -- the sorry, rotten, no good, left handed -- . One for me, uh-oh, this is THE letter from the IRS that we've been looking for. The execution date must be set." As he sits down Janet glances his way. "Are you sure that I won't go to prison with you?" He shakes his head. "Everything is in my name, honey. You'll be on welfare, living the life of Reilly. All your doctor bills and hospital bills will be paid for while I work off my salvation. If I'd just been smart enough to be a crook I'd be living in splendor too, at the Government's expense. Ah well, life goes on. See me smile? Let's see how much of this mail we can throw away." 1 letter, 2 letters, 3, and then 4 Fred is working swiftly down to the bottom of the pile where the letter from the IRS is waiting. Suddenly, Janet gasps and turns a deadly white in the face. "Fred, Fred --" He glances her way, sees the envelope from his literary agent dangling in her hand and about to fall. "What is it?" Fred asks anxiously as he rises to his feet. "A check, he's sent us a check." "Yeah? Must be a refund. I knew he couldn't sell the movie rights until after some publisher put it on the news stands. How big is that check?" Janet holds it up to the light so she can be sure of not reading the numbers wrong. "One million, six hundred and fifty-two thousand, nine hundred and forty two dollars and -- umm -- nineteen cents." Fred collapses back into his chair, so dazed he can't even swear for a long moment. Finally he gets his wind back and says: "I always said that agent would come through for us. Best damn agent in the United States, haven't I always said that Janet?" *** |
Down
| There's a scout out there It's the last game of the season and coach tells the team a national scout has been seen in the grandstands. "Play your hearts out. Make him notice you." The news is intoxicating and the team scrambles for the scrimmage line. There's a scout up there. There's a scout up there watching US. There's a scout up there watching ME! The quarterback pulls some fancy plays and the team shows off in its glory. The game is soon over, and they won by just a few points, but it had been a beautiful game. The coach tells the quarterback to hang back in the dressing room. "Let the scout come to you, boy." They wait for thirty minutes, but no scout shows up. "Maybe he's waiting at your house. Maybe he's going to write you a letter. Maybe somebody made a mistake?" They go to the teen hang out and the whole place is ringing with excitement. "Johnny's been picked by the scout." Stunned, the quarterback leaves the joint while the coach rushes over to congratulate Johnny. As the quarterback pauses by the coach's car he notices an older man getting into a Cadillac. He rushes over. "Aren't you the scout?" "Yes." After a pause too long the quarterback says.. "I'm the quarterback -- you know, from the winning team tonight." "Yeah, I believe you are." There's another pause too long. Then the quarterback asks, "Didn't you like the way I played?" "Oh, you were pretty good," says the scout. He pauses for a moment as if wondering how blunt he should be. "I guess you don't realize that games are won and lost long before the football team is ever picked." "What? There's nobody fixing the games I've played in." "No, not fixing, just picking the competition." The scout pauses again, shrugs then plows on. "Before the school year ever starts somebody down in the office goes to a meeting where they pick the schools they want you players to play against. There's teams they don't want you to meet, and there's teams they beg to come against you. You've had it easy all year, son. It's been like playing your own second string. You've been a hero here, but if you ever go up against some real competition you'd get wiped out in the first quarter. It might be a good idea to go down to the office sometime and tell them how much you appreciate THEIR strategy for making you look like a hero." Where will you take your football hero from here? *** The car screeched to a halt only inches away from the spectators ringed around the fiercely burning house. Both doors slammed open. The man exploded from the car like a shot from a cannon. He broke through the spectators and lunged for the hole where the front door used to be. He was screaming: "Larry! Shirley! LARRY --" The woman sagged on the car door, screaming at the top of her lungs... "Larry, SHIRLEY!" Two of the firemen sprinted after the man. Joe tackled him, but the man kept right on struggling to get away. "They're safe," Joe shouted. "We got them out!" The man didn't hear, or hearing, did not understand. He tore loose and -- eyes wild with terror -- sped again for the open hole filled with boiling flames and oil-laden smoke. You can take it from there. Right? ============== After a vicious and disastrous early morning attack the Captain of Company E goes looking for an officer who is naturally awake early in the morning and appoints him to form The Knight Platoon. This platoon is designated to work exclusively in the early morning hours from midnight
to 8. The next time the enemy attacks in the early morning, not only is disaster averted but many prisoners are taken and not one attacker escapes. You know what that means: You have a series on your hands. Gambo XIV, coming up.
I had zipped up the inner protective portion and begun tugging up the outer covering when Marleen said, “Don't you mind wearing that stupid, Buck Rogers outfit?” “No,” I told her sadly. “What I mind is going through the living room and having Little Zeke snap to attention and salute me.” She rolled over to face me. After a moment of intense study she realized I was serious. “Why does he do that?” “Because the first time he saw me in this suit I told him I was going to the city park to pick up trash. 'Oh,' he said, understanding immediately. 'You're doing your part to keep the world environmentally safe!' I didn't have the moral courage to tell him I was just the mayor doing my civic duty, and he's been saluting me ever since.” Marleen chuckled; she loves to hear me confess my shortcomings. Then she paused to look serious. “But why does it matter if he salutes you?” “Because that means he is in the top 20% of his class and he has been dot.coded to be politically correct.. For some reason I've been ashamed of every politically correct child I've ever met.” |
My Son JohnGene Verenable comes out of the rest area bathroom and notices a family at one of the tables. The man and woman have been arguing. She has been crying and he looks baffled and frustrated. On an impulse, Gene walks over and speaks to them. He quickly learns they are broke, tired and hungry. Gene suggests that they use the rest room to pretty themselves up while he puts gas in their car. When they come back he leads them into town and buys lunch for them at a full-scale restaurant. It is just upscale enough to impress them without embarrassing them. Gene talks with the father to learn what kind of work the father can do. The father has only basic skills and limited education. Gene nods as he assesses the father's talents. I have some friends in this town, he says. Let me go make some phone calls while yawl finish eating. Minutes later he comes back with a list of names and addresses of people who need odd jobs done for them that day. If you start right now you can earn enough money to rent a place to stay for the night. Then you can start early in the morning and finish up the list I give you. If you do a good job some of these people will suggest friends of theirs who need work done for them too. You can go on from there. What can we do to pay you back asks the father. Gene becomes very serious. He looks the father right in the eye and says, I have a son. His name is John. He is a very wayward boy. Sometimes I think he hates everyone and everything in this world. Remember his name -- John Verenable. I think that some day you will meet him when he really needs some help. Please do what you think is best for him. The father starts to work and the family merges into the community. They live there for nine years and then move to New York City. Before long, the father joins the police force. A short time later he accidentally interrupts a robbery and ends up as a hostage to the frantic young robber. During a long siege, he begins to talk to the young man. He learns that the young man is named John. John, he asks sharply? What is your last name? "John Jones," responds the boy. "John Jones," the father muses. "What was your father's first name?" "Salem Jones," the boy grimaces as if scarcely able to bear the sound of that name. "Salem Jones," exclaims the policeman. "I think I know him! Yes, I do know him. Let me tell you what he did for me one time, long ago." Take it from there. |
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Here are some situations to developSuffer in silenceSPLAT! I don't know who was more shocked, him because he hadn't killed me, or me because I hadn't even seen the blow coming. I'd made him angry with my sharp orders and he had challenged me with violence. Well, I just naturally moved a step closer. My eyes were right on him. You know how you can tell by their eyes when they are about to strike? His eyes never gave a glimmer of warning. You know how you can tell by their shoulders when they are moving to strike? I never saw a flicker of movement. But there it was, SPLAT! Right in my face. JC had hit me so hard my whole bottom lip was busted, mashed to jelly. He had hit my chin so hard that my jaw came down to meet his fist and there was enough force left to do all that damage. And I thought, Gee, I've got a REAL fight on my hands. It made me cautious as I moved towards him. But if I was shocked JC was stunned. He knew how hard he had hit me and he could not believe that ANYONE could still be standing perpendicular to the ground after that kind of connection. His eyes widened and he backed up a step. Three men got between us and pushed us apart then hauled us both up before the Section Sergeant. He glared at me first. "I gave you those stripes because I thought you could lead men." I nodded and apologized. "It just happened so quick." Then his face turned into a real scowl as he turned towards JC. "And
you, stupid! Using your fists on an NCO right in front of all those officers." I shook my head, tried to grin and realized the situation wasn't quite that funny. "No, this much damage would have to go down on report and Clarke is too good a man to have charges brought against him for doing what he should have." JC was even more stunned than when I didn't go down. I got the grin all the way onto my face then. I don't think he could tell it was a friendly grin by looking at my face though because he shuddered. Sergeant Davis and I both laughed at his confusion. "Take him with you on that raid tomorrow then. Let's see if his courage is as solid as his fist." After that first raid in which his nerve held admirably well, I would volunteer us when a tough situation came up by saying, "Let me and JC go in." That's how the team of "Me & JC" got started. Over the next two years Me & JC put a lot of brass to shame, stealing their equipment from under armed guard, finding the weak points in their defenses. They hated us, but it was a whole lot better for us to do it and give everything back than for the enemy to hit them where it hurt, once and for all. Now, if this was a work of fiction the next thing you'd hear is either how me and JC fought each other at every turn after that just for the fun of it, or how we fought others and tore them apart with our fists. But the truth is, we just flat had a good time after that. I mean, after all, the other side had loaded guns so we didn't go in there to court violence. In fact, the only time we even came close to an experience with physical violence was when we came down over a razor blade fence at a strategic compound and two bullets came scratching at the asphalt between us, followed by an alert guard shouting: "HALT. HALT OR I'LL SHOOT!" We skinned out of there amidst another hail of bullets, laughing almost out loud. Once we were out of the compound and safe we collapsed with laughter. Again and again hooted at each other. HALT. HALT OR I'LL SHOOT!" It's good to know there are soldiers like that, ready to shoot when a thief drops on his turf.. We wanted to go testify in his behalf at his courts martial for shooting at shadows but Sergeant Davis wouldn't let us. I'd like to say that Sergeant Davis went in our stead, but that didn't happen either. Just one more reason I did not reenlist when my tour was up. Too much sadness, too much pain, too much shame. Maybe my country was better off because of what I did, but I wasn't. I came home a scrambled wreck – more like a hand grenade rolling around loose on a downhill slide with the pin already half way out. Just show me the target. I tried the police force and the first week on line I was called in to help stop a burglary in progress. The alarm had gone off and five of us surrounded the home to bust the guy. Five of us, one guy. We nailed him and there were high-fives all around, those silly cops so hyper you'd have thought they'd done something. I was going to settle for this kind of excitement for the rest of my life? I had to get away and puke. The FBI invited me in for a look-see and as I walked through the office desks to get to the interview what I saw them doing in just that short recon made me so sick I had to detour to the bathroom and puke again. Boy, if I'd had a hand grenade in my hands that day! But what I really wanted was a bomb; that would wipe the whole nest of them out. Fortunately for my sanity -- You take it from there.
Gene glanced at the night clock and realized it was quite late. "Alice," he called. "Can I talk to you for a moment." The bathroom door popped open a few inches and Alice responded. "Oh, I'm sorry dear. I thought you were asleep. Let me say Goodbye to Jacklynn and I'll be right out." In less than three minutes Alice came out and hung up the phone. Sighing deeply she got into bed. "Yes dear, what shall we talk about?" Gene nodded towards the clock. "You called Jacklynn at 8:35 to ask for a very simple announcement be put into the bulletin. It is now 9:57." He felt her body stiffen in the bed beside him. "The question I have is, are you sure Jacklynn was THAT interested in what ELSE you had to say?" "Well, yes, I am," she assured him. "When your husband is underfoot twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, for three months and still counting, us women do tend to clutch at any reed that calls our way." Gene thought about that for a moment then asked. "Since I am also at home, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, and have been for several years, am I driving you nuts too?" "Oh NO, dear," she quickly reassured him. "I was nuts when I married you." He grinned as he reached for her. "Then, can we take off all our clothes and make mad, passionate love?" Alice rolled rolled her head towards him. "No," she responded graciously. "That would require too much effort on my part. However, if you want to take off all your clothes and dance around the room naked, I will promise to watch." Take it from there. In Front of the mirror:George gets a lot of guests because he really knows how to entertain, fresh liquor and myriad snacks brings a steady roll. George is having more fun with his guests after they leave than while they are there. Sooner or later all of his guests go to the bathroom. Maybe you've never noticed before, but posing in front of bathroom mirrors is a national sport second in popularity only to watching television. Smiles are practiced here, hosts are mocked, secrets told out loud which have never seen the light of day before. Unbeknownst to his guests there is a camera behind the mirror. George is taking their pictures while recording their words and expressions. It is all fun and games until he learns a dearly loved friend intends to murder his wife and frame the deed on George.
The motive is the thing and dying is half the fun when the gum-shoe is an on-line psychiatrist trying to decide if you are paranoid while evaluating your best friends to find out who is trying to do you in and what motivation that particular character might have for trying to drive you crazy -- and then two steps beyond. |
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Dan L. Boone's Trail of Discovery. Ever
since the summer of 1768 Dan L. Boone had been dreaming of setting out to explore
the frontier beyond the Appalachian Mountains. Now that the Colonies had declared
their Independence from Great Britain he was in a lather to get away before conscription
became a common practice. Inside The Ninth CellJoe Gibbons is caught just outside his home and carried away
blindfolded. *** These are now your plots. You can go anywhere, do anything from them, then go back and do it all over again on a fresh tack. ** You should take a look at The HERO Plot in order to make your own plots stronger. |
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Literary Treasures
Last Forever
The heroes of Homer still romp through the Trojan plains. The wisdom of Confucius still rings with truth. The last minutes in the life of Socrates shall never die. Christ rises triumphant from the tomb. The immortal works of Shakespeare shall yet claim the thespian boards of deepest space. Gulliver shall travel on forever. Maybe none of the writers you see working here at Tale Wins will ever be that good, but we intend to give them every chance to make it into the Literary Hall of Fame. Remember too, you don't have to be THE best to be proud of doing your best.
It is said you never get a second chance to make a good first impression.
On the web that is very definitely NOT TRUE. Writers on the web can change the ending of each story twice a day, or even change it every time a new visitor comes, according to whether it is a man, woman, or child visiting, or some other criteria entirely.
On the web you can go on improving your story any time and every time you feel like it. You can have your own web site and rearrange each page in it as often as you like. You can change the links and the navigation system as often as you like. If you aren't getting paid enough you can find better advertisers.
