YA Comedy, Fantasy Writing Samples
- Melanie Lech
- Apr 12
- 6 min read
All of these samples, both story and prose, are by Melanie Lech. I never use AI.
Website & Links
· All links & press: https://flowcode.com/page/melanielech
Excerpt 1 – Comedy, Dramedy, YA
If You Are Reading This, I Died (For Real)
Lola B. Mitchell’s Last Will & Testament (& Some Other Fun Surprises)
If you’re reading this, it finally happened: I met my perilous demise. Either that, or I asked you to pull up a file from my Google drive and you got to snooping, you sneaky, conniving rat! But I forgive you, on account of how I would prefer to kick it with the angels rather than the demons of the underworld when I meet said perilous demise.
You may be wondering, why do I have access to this madwoman’s last will and testament? I’m just a stranger! Or a friend from 12 years ago! Or a disgruntled relative who only knew the quiet side of her and is reluctant to have to skim through to the part where there might be something in it for me!
Patience, my friend/relative/perplexed internet trawler, all will be answered in time…
Well, provided I finish writing this elaborate piece of prose prior to my parlous, precarious, imponderable, puzzling, premature passing. Hehe.
This is going to be a doozy, so it may be best to break it up over the course of a few days. What you read may shock you, it may soothe you, it may change what you think about the very world around you forevermore… It may even rouse in you a desire to pick yourself up, to change your future, to change your fate! Or make a Netflix series??? I was overdramatic in life, so why would you expect anything different in death? I attest that this Last Will & Testament will be ridiculous, and it will be juicy, but most of all, it will be heartfelt. Aw!
With any luck, more than eight people will read this because they feel obligated to since I died (in what can only be described as a gruesome death) (if it was pathetic, you have my permission to brand it as gruesome anyway), and I can consider it posthumously becoming a successful author. Yes! I finally did it!
Did I Learn Anything?
There is a saying that you don’t regret the things you do, just the things you didn’t do. Well, I am here to inform you that That Is a Lie. I have said many things in my life which made it concretely much, much worse. Chalk it up to impulsivity or unfettered autism or a misconstrued (but valiant) attempt to live a life that is honest and true–whatever you like. But boy howdy, did I make a mess of things sometimes…
I’m reflecting on friendships I imploded by confessing my feelings, despite having absolutely no desire to act on said feelings, nor seeing any semblance of a future with said recipient of feelings beyond the scope of friendship. Or trying to “work things out” with people who just wanted to let it go. And worst of all, sharing too much with people who shouldn’t have been involved in my business in the first place (this will doesn’t count).
Excerpt 2 – Fantasy, Mystery
He had an exceptionally ordinary face. If she looked at it pointedly, she could tell that it was attractive, but she had to pay very close attention, or she would lose focus and start staring at the person past and to the left of him, whoever that was. She studied his average hair and his average eyes and his average eyebrows, and even the curious birthmark on his cheek. Yet when she looked away, she couldn’t remember a bit of it. If you asked her to pick him out of a lineup, she would simply have to guess.
He was exceptionally forgettable, and it was exceptionally useful to him.
Excerpt 3 – Fantasy, Comedy, YA
“I keep having this other one, though,” she continued. “There’s a pink cliff, and the sky’s pink – everything’s pink, even the ocean.” Her mother’s back stiffened. “And I’m looking for something,” she said, shoveling another bite of cereal down. After a pause, Naomi responded, “Spaghetti before bed again?” Her tone stayed cool. If Billie hadn’t been so preoccupied with matching the marshmallow morsels in her bowl to the appropriate number of wheat pieces per spoonful, she might’ve noticed concern flashing through her mother’s eyes. “Guilty. I keep waking up gasping for air too, like I was really underwater.” “Probably your sleep apnea making sense of itself. Wear your CPAP machine.”
Later that night as Billie snored away with the intensity of several elephants, the CPAP machine on the nightstand beside her untouched, another curious thing happened. She was back on the shores of the pink sea.
…
The water was remarkably clear. She plunged her head underneath and dared to open her eyes. It stung, but it was bearable. She swam toward the sea floor.
At first, all she saw was a golden glimmer. Then a golden string. And then, her vision came into focus. There was a beautiful necklace with a locket pendant engraved with swirls and intricate markings. She was about to kick up to the surface for a breath when her conscious mind flickered on, and she remembered what Jason had said about lucid dreaming: You can do whatever you want. She couldn’t drown; it was just a dream. Billie pushed the fear from her mind and swam even closer to the illustrious locket.
The chain was stuck under a rock in the seabed. Billie tugged on it but couldn’t break it free. She coughed, and bulbous bubbles rushed up around her face. Remembering that she was in control, she concentrated and imagined herself with a nice pair of gills. Cracking her eyes open, she took a deep breath of water in and sputtered, or tried to, anyway. The gills operation had been a total failure, and an uncomfortable one at that. Her body instantly rejected it, begging for oxygen. Maybe she wasn’t thinking hard enough? She didn’t know how she was meant to think at all, given the circumstances. This didn’t feel like dreaming. Everything felt cold and her vision was going spotty. This was the worst sleep apnea ever. She shoved the rock with both feet while twisting and wriggling the locket – and it worked!
Billie kicked and thrashed her arms furiously toward the surface, which seemed to stretch at least five times as far up as it had going down, desperately willing scuba tanks and giant inflatable doughnuts and anything that would help her into existence. There wasn’t any air left in her lungs; her limbs moved in slow motion. This didn’t feel right at all. She wasn’t going to make it... WAKE UP. Billie screamed inside her head. WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!
She jerked upright in her bed and spewed water from her lungs in a coughing fit. The tears that streamed down her face camouflaged in with the liquid that drenched every inch of her body. Relief. It took her a few minutes to stop gasping and to pick all of the pink seaweed – wait, seaweed? – out of her hair. Only then did she notice it. Clasped in her right hand, just where she’d grabbed it in the dream, was the locket.
…
“Mom??” MOM??” Billie knocked on the door. Naomi was lying on her back with her hands folded over her chest like a sculpture, or a very pretty vampire who had dozed off in her casket. Peaceful nature sounds played out of her color-changing lavender oil diffuser and a satin blue sleep mask rested gracefully on her face. She twitched, and then bolted upright. “Hmm?” she grunted.
“Mom, can I talk to you?” After a brief delay to synchronize herself to the present, Naomi capitulated, “One second.” She swung her legs to the side of her bed and trudged to the door, sleep mask still donned. The door creaked open. “Yes?” Naomi asked. Billie slid the mask up to her mom’s forehead and revealed the locket. Naomi’s demeanor shifted at once. She grabbed Billie’s phone, threw it into the living room, and tore her daughter inside by the shirt collar. She clicked a remote that changed her soundscape machine to a loud waterfall and shoved Billie into the closet, promptly shutting the door behind them. Then she clicked on a light and stared at Billie so ferociously that Billie was certain she would not live long enough to present her history project tomorrow, which wasn’t so bad actually, now that she thought about it. Violent laser beams of rage and disappointment bored out of her mother’s eyes. Billie was starting to miss drowning. “I told you not to go back,” Naomi growled.
Naomi interrogated her daughter with all the intensity of an FBI agent who doesn’t play by the rules, and Billie recounted every detail she could remember from the dream. Or the not-dream. Whatever it was. Naomi rubbed her temples. Billie imagined that the nearby gray roots were growing in double time at that moment.
“You have to put it back,” Naomi finally commanded.
Like what you read? Check out more on my old blog, accidentallytragic.wordpress.com! I also write and make short films and sketches. You can watch those via flowcode.com/page/melanielech.
You rule! Hire me por favor. Or just drop a line to say "lol." :}
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