I got this idea the other night while talking on a chat site with other writers.

Plot Bunnies

Generations ago, aliens came to our Earth.  We didn’t notice because they didn’t use space ships.  They drifted through space, in a migration away from a world where creativity had died.  They were the last of their kind, gossamer beings held together with thin bonds of static charge.  Driven purely by instinct, they migrated toward energy, the creative energy that young races generate.  It was their food and without it, they would surely go extinct.

They fell gently, slowly through the atmosphere, their negligible weight allowing them to enter without burning up.  Drifting along with the wind, they found food, all around the planet there was creative energy everywhere.  Each alien found a being generating energy but they were too big, too solid to connect with however near those beings were constructs more like them.

Small, gentle sparks of life, the beings called them dust bunnies.  They grew near the beings that generated the energy.  Little conglomerations of dust, hair, dander and mold, they were beautiful and the aliens loved them.

Soon the matings between the aliens and the dust bunnies created new life, plot bunnies.  They too fed on creative energy and the young left their parental homes and attracted by new energy, found homes of their own.

Sally Lowe was a new writer.  She’d dabbled for years but now, she felt she couldn’t stand it anymore and began to write seriously.  She took a creative writing class in the local community college and discovered a whole underground community of like-minded souls, all focused on putting word to paper.  Sally had an idea for a story, and every evening after work, she went to the tiny second bedroom in her apartment, and tried to put her thoughts down on paper.

The nearest unattached plot bunnies noticed the uptick in creative energy and a few found their way to her house.  Settling in the dead space between her desk and the wall, they fed on her energy as she built her first book, word by painful word.

Full and happy, they started sending her ideas, some she used immediately in her book, some she wrote down in her notebook, to use later.  The more ideas they sent the more creative energy she produced until she began to become fearful with so many ideas, asking herself questions like; what if no one likes my work?  She began to doubt herself and blocked the ideas.  Her energy generation fell off and the plot bunnies grew concerned.

They slowed the idea flow down and sent only little ideas, happy ideas.  She recovered her confidence and finished her novel, sending it off to publishers and began a new book right away.  The plot bunnies relaxed, they’d found the right rhythm with their being and settled in for the long haul.

They felt safe.  Happy, creative writer beings almost never clean behind things, they’re too busy writing.  The plot bunnies began reproducing and sending little bunnies out into the world.  Sally wrote novel after novel and soon, publishers began selling her work.  She made good money and never let anyone into her little office.

The plot bunnies and Sally Lowe lived happily ever after.

The end

529 words

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