Metafiction

I just thought I’d have a little fun with some metafiction – enjoy!

Metafiction: fiction that discusses, describes, or analyzes a work of fiction or the conventions of fiction. (Analyses is spelled with a z because I pinched this definition from an American online dictionary)



Lyndon pulled his car up outside Naomi’s flat. She paused for a while, because she really didn’t want this time together to end.
‘I had a really great time tonight,’ Naomi said.
Lyndon undid his seatbelt, and for a moment, Naomi thought he was going to lean across and kiss her, but instead, he pulled the car door handle and began to get out. Naomi took the cue and got out from her side.
‘Can I come in for a while?’ Lyndon asked.
Naomi grinned and nodded. She was all thumbs trying to fit her front door key into the lock, and it only got worse as Lyndon placed his warm hands on her shoulders, and bent his head to kiss her neck. Bolts of pleasure shot through her like electrical currents. She could hardly wait to get the door open. She almost fell through the door, dropped her bag and keys on the floor and turned around to face this wonderful man – the one she had dreamed about for months. He stepped close to her and put his arm around her waist, drawing her body close to him.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’
‘What?’
‘Tea. Would you like a cup?’
Lyndon pulled his head back, but didn’t let her go from his embrace.
‘I didn’t come inside to drink tea,’ he said.
‘Oh, I know, but you know how it is.’ Naomi carefully extracted herself from Lyndon’s grip.
‘No, how is it?’
‘The author.’ Naomi whispered the words and put her finger up to her lips.
‘What about her?’
‘She’s in control of this whole scene you know.’
‘Surely she knows why I came into your flat.’
‘Of course she knows, but we can’t go there.’
‘Why not? I want to go there, you want to go there, the whole reading world wants us to go there.’
‘Lyndon, really. You know she’s a Christian author. It’s not going to happen.’
Lyndon let go of Naomi completely and sat disconsolately onto a kitchen chair.
‘I think she should just butt out and mind her own business.’
‘Well, controlling us is her business, and we have to mind our...you know...’
‘Mind our morals.’
‘Sure. She has an agenda too, you know. Shortly, I will quote a Scripture to you, and possibly tell you I can’t see you again.’
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because you’re not a Christian – Lyndon, you know this.’
‘How am I supposed to know that? I don’t read Christian fiction.’
‘Oh! That’s a shame. I can lend you some if you like. The hero always has to have some sort of religious experience before he can really get together with the heroin.’
‘Seriously. Isn’t that a bit lame?’
‘Well, that’s what has to happen. In the meantime, we can drink tea.’
‘Nothing with a bit more kick to it?’
‘I have ginger tea with lemon grass!’
Lyndon got up from the chair and picked up his keys from the bench.
‘Well, you can just tell the author to go ....’
‘Lyndon! You can’t say that! You’re not allowed to use bad language.’
‘She is such a control freak – she’s driving me crazy.’
‘Well, I am really sorry, but for now, you’re just going to have to deal with it. Oh, and by the way, the Scripture she has just looked up and will probably run across your path in an upcoming plot point is John 3:16.’
Lyndon opened the door to leave.
‘Will I ever see you again?’ Naomi asked, tears beginning to well in her eyes.
‘Of course. She’ll have written some plot that will make our paths cross, probably tomorrow, and probably in either an embarrassing situation for you, or a really tense one.’
‘Ooh! I’d prefer tense. I have to go to the bank tomorrow, do you suppose there will be a hold up?’
‘It’s likely, but the bank robbers will be ever so polite.’
‘Now you’re being sarcastic, Lyndon. The author doesn’t appreciate your tone!’


Meredith Resce has just released her sixteenth title, but under a new pen name: E.B.James.

To read about this exciting new Crime Drama and her other fiction titles, please visit her website:

www.meredithresce.com