The old Storyteller chuckled, indicating his curious visitor should sit.
"Well," he said, settling down for the telling, "Some say Spontaneous Fiction is a bizarre occult ritual, practiced only by the mysterious Fantasy Monks of the Unreal Territories. Some," he gestured with his hand, in a way that suggested he was somehow directing the visitor's attention to the nebulous "some people" currently under discussion, "Some say it is a naturally occurring phenomenon that afflicts storytellers who have too many tales cluttering up their heads."
The old Storyteller pointed to an earthenware jug sitting next to a clay cup, "The drink dispenser is in the wall just above the jug. Bring me a bottle of the Europa water," he leaned in conspiratorially, "and I'll tell you what Spontaneous Fiction really is."
The visitor rushed to do as he'd been asked, sliding the wall panel open, and telling the dispenser what he wanted. It gave him a small plastic bottle of water from one of Jupiter's moons, which he brought back to the old Storyteller, who continued his tale.
"What it really is," he said, taking a long pull on the water bottle, "is the result of an experiment. An attempt to start a blog and post only fiction for a year (more or less)." The Storyteller gestured to the visitor's right with the bottle. "Look there to the right. The fruits of this experiment have been collected in a single volume, called The Spontaneous Manifesto. Of course," he smiled, "you can also read through the archives whenever you're here."
The visitor thanked the Storyteller and rose to leave. At the door, the visitor turned and asked one more question.
"More stories?" the Storyteller chuckled. "I suppose there might be the odd new tale of Spontaneous Fiction, from time to time. In fact, should you continue past here, you'll find a few new tales waiting to be read."