I had hoped that the story would moulder away unseen in the comments section of that post, but Jenni found it and poked me and here I am.
So--to lessen the embarassment of posting intentional sillyfic in my LJ (whoever's laughing and saying, "What's new about that?" stop it! :^P)--I have turned it into a meme. Because the basis actually was really fun.
I want you to envision your life as a Tolkien sillyfic, full of all the melodramatic angst, bad sex, and shoddy descriptions that you can muster in few words. Pick an ordinary event in your life and write a short sillyfic about the scene using Tolkien's characters. Naturally, you're free to embellish all you want and change details, but the premise should be based in real life.
For example, I had an encounter with a spider in the bathroom that resulted in this sillyfic. Now I was not in the bathtub when this happened. I was not...erm..."self-sparring." And I am not Erestor. But we were both frightened by a large spider in the bathroom while pining for our absent lover. So there is a connection, however frail it may be.
Stuck in traffic? Frustrated by all the schoolwork you have to do? Have a crush on someone? I smell sillyfic....
As told by just about every handbook on writing out there, write what you know. It often is that a real life story or encounter that has your audience laughing, crying, or cringing whenever you tell it can be good fodder for a story....
Or just fodder for fun with sillyfic.
Most of all, have fun with this! We're not trying to win Pulitzers here!
So here's my sillyfic, based off of my Experiences with the Spider, inspired by nienna_weeper and shared because of the gently prodding by digdigil. Be forewarned that it is slash. Be forewarned that it is Third Age and we all know that Dawn Just Doesn't Do Third Age. Be forewarned that it was written on a whim and is, well...silly.
Erestor reclined in the bathtub, skin as pale as the porcelain beneath the oil-dark swatch of silken hair spilling over the side. The warm water slid like a lover's caress over his naked skin.
Glorfindel was gone on one of his famous "missions," this time to assuage a possible quandry involving a mishmash of adventurers preparing to cross the Bruinen. Well, that was all that he would tell Erestor, ignoring--Erestor thought with some annoyance--the fact that it was their anniversary and they'd had plans that Erestor had wholly expected to be...erm..."tended to," until roughly two hours ago, when Glorfindel had left.
So he was left, beautiful Elf naked in the bathtub and quite obviously needing...erm..."tending to."
"Ai, quandry indeed," muttered Erestor because the damned thing insisted on poking above the surface of the bathwater no matter how many times he thought of how utterly, irrevocably incensed he was with Glorfindel.
He knew how it would progress from many years of experience (that were supposed to be honored tonight, he might add): Glorfindel would return late and grimy and smelling of horses and mud and filth and Erestor dared not ponder what else; he would slide between the sheets of their clean bed (made up just this morning by Erestor, who didn't trust Elrond's vapid-eyed servants), and expect Erestor to simply relinquish to his charms and oh-so-supple warrior's hands.
"Not tonight," Erestor growled.
Glorfindel was the revered warrior, but as Erestor was fond of teasing him, given the right motivations, Erestor was also very skilled with taking sword in hand. And with a delightfully bitter thought of turning his back upon Glorfindel that night and leaving him unfulfilled, Erestor did just that.
He was approaching a very key moment in his self "sparring" when he noticed the spider.
No matter all the charms of Rivendell, the place cultivated the biggest spiders Erestor had ever seen. (Elrond, in his wisdom, suggested it was the dampness.) No matter the cause, Erestor was stricken, naked in the water, "sword" in hand, with the spider blocking his passage to the door and crawling steadily toward him on chitinous legs that Erestor imagined he could hear clicking on the bathroom floor.
But at the moment the bathroom door flew open hard enough to hit the wall and knock the portrait of Nienna that Glorfindel insisted on keeping there to the floor, revealing none other than Glorfindel himself, golden skin humid with perspiration, clothing torn asunder, and with a mutinous gleam in his eye.
"Erestor," he said, "how delightful to find you with sword in hand, ready to spar. Prepare to immolate your foe!"
As he launched himself across the room to tumble fully clothed into the bathtub, his foot quashed the spider.