Having Fun with Cliche Writing
cli·ché
noun
- a phrase or opinion that is overused and betrays a lack of original thought.
Sure, using clichés is considered “lazy” and uncreative, but there’s no reason why we can’t have fun with them.
I took my first writing class when I was 22 years old, and one of our assignments was to write a story packed with as many clichés as possible. It was a fun exercise.
Here’s that story I wrote – 27 years ago.
Like a dream, he came into my life from out of nowhere and swept me off my feet. Winning my heart was a piece of cake for him, for I was eager to let him have his way with me.
The moment our eyes met across the crowded room, time stood still and I found it very hard to breathe.
Before he came along I was the loneliest girl in the world, pale as a ghost, the butt of everyone’s jokes, always on the outside looking in. But I refused to hang up my shoes and instead took heart, remembering what grandma told me: “Patience is a virtue” and “Everyone finds someone eventually.”
Everyone warned me about him, saying he was nothing but trouble and would only cause me unnecessary heartache. But I chose to listen to my heart. I wouldn’t let anyone rain on my parade. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. My philosophy is to never judge a book by its cover.
Being wrapped in his arms was like a breath of fresh air, a tall, cold glass of water.
“Where have you been all my life?” I asked.
“Looking for you,” he replied. Boy, he sure knew how to push my buttons.
“I love you like I’ve never loved a woman before”
I stood baffled. I couldn’t believe my ears. “You must be pulling my leg. Why would anyone in their right mind love little old me?”
“You are the woman of my dreams and don’t you forget it. We were destined to be together. The gods must be on our side.”
Those were the days. I should’ve known it was too good to last. People were only too eager to burst my bubble. I heard it through the grapevine the good-for-nothing scumbag was horsing around with another woman behind my back right under my nose. He actually had the nerve to bring her to our home sweet home while I was out pounding the pavement!
I decided to check out the competition to find out what she had that I didn’t. At the sight of her, my heart dropped to my feet and turned as cold as ice.
If I were in his shoes, I’d go ga-ga over her too. The girl had a body to die for: The skintight dress she wore showed off her hourglass figure; legs that never seemed to end; and skin as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
I was green with envy. I got drunk as a skunk and when he got home I attempted to drag the truth out of him.
“Are you rolling in the hay with another woman?”
Silence.
“Cat got your tongue? For crying out loud, spill your guts, you coward!” I could not believe my eyes. The jerk stood there looking as pathetic as a dog with its tail between its legs.
“Forget it. Get out of my sight. The mere thought of you makes my skin crawl.”
In a flash, the years we spent together passed before my eyes.
“You’ve changed. You’re not the same man I fell in love with. Whatever happened to happily ever after?”
“That was once upon a time,” he said through clenched teeth. “Listen, I never promised you a rose garden.”
I never saw him again.
I’ve gone from walking on air into the pit of despair. But I know it’s not the end of the world. I
wasn’t born yesterday, after all.