Prompt: Write a poem that evokes the sensations of one or more of the five senses without using nouns or verbs that are directly related to the senses themselves. Think about how the word “boom” tickles your ears just a little bit and you’ll get the idea. Examples of words to avoid: smell, scent, aroma, odor, taste, touch, feel, sight, see, view, hear, listen, etc.
Source: writingforward.com
Response: Dancing
tingles tangling in pulsating rhythm
though arms and legs
weaving through tendons
the beat shimmers and penetrates
into the depths of skin and fatty tissues
churning cells into a torrent of
sensation
bones bend in agonizing mimickry
tantilizing in their surrender to
symmetrical impulses
bones bend in agonizing mimickry
tantilizing in their surrender to
symmetrical impulses
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Another Brick in the Wall
Prompt: Write a character you know nothing about. If you grew up in the big city, write as a farm hand. If you grew up on a farm or small town all your life, write about an army brat who was raised living in dozens of towns, going to different schools each year. Are you a stay-at-home, married mom? Write as a single woman making it big in the big apple. If you’re a successful businessman, write as a prison inmate who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.
Source:writingforward.com
Response: Another Brick in the Wall
I ran my fingers through my curls. They bounced back with a perfectly hair-sprayed charm, falling into my smoky eyes. I looked at myself with brief approval before I allowed my personal criticism to return. My jeans made me look fat, though I was only a size two, and my makeup, though tasteful, made me look skanky. I pursed my lips at my reflection with a seductive smirk. I was so ugly, I told myself, even though I knew it wasn't true.
And I told everyone else so during the day and ignored their responses. I thought about my magazine submission that was supposed to come that day and fluttered my eyelids out of answering questions in my math class.
I pretended to be above my friends and teachers, but in all honesty I didn't care enough to bother to even ignore them. I just wanted to get home and take some pictures for my facebook with my new shade of lipstick on.
Source:writingforward.com
Response: Another Brick in the Wall
I ran my fingers through my curls. They bounced back with a perfectly hair-sprayed charm, falling into my smoky eyes. I looked at myself with brief approval before I allowed my personal criticism to return. My jeans made me look fat, though I was only a size two, and my makeup, though tasteful, made me look skanky. I pursed my lips at my reflection with a seductive smirk. I was so ugly, I told myself, even though I knew it wasn't true.
And I told everyone else so during the day and ignored their responses. I thought about my magazine submission that was supposed to come that day and fluttered my eyelids out of answering questions in my math class.
I pretended to be above my friends and teachers, but in all honesty I didn't care enough to bother to even ignore them. I just wanted to get home and take some pictures for my facebook with my new shade of lipstick on.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Remember
Prompt: Write the word "remember" three times. Then write whatever the word brings to mind.
Source:Modified from: writingforward.com
Response:
remember remember remember
Write it down so you don't forget. Because if you forget you will regret it. Remember the laundry and the shopping list. Remember to be polite and to cover your cough. Remember to be on time and not to leave your baggage or children unattended. Don't forget or the world will start to crumble and melt down in to oblivion. Remember - DON'T FORGET.
Notes: A little stressed? Yes. But also excited. I did this by hand and then typed it - it just felt better that way.
Source:Modified from: writingforward.com
Response:
remember remember remember
Write it down so you don't forget. Because if you forget you will regret it. Remember the laundry and the shopping list. Remember to be polite and to cover your cough. Remember to be on time and not to leave your baggage or children unattended. Don't forget or the world will start to crumble and melt down in to oblivion. Remember - DON'T FORGET.
Notes: A little stressed? Yes. But also excited. I did this by hand and then typed it - it just felt better that way.
Penance: August 28, 2010 - Fireflies
Prompt: Take 30 seconds and list all of the words you think of when you hear "fireflies".
Source: None.
Response:
fireflies
light
small
airy
wafer-thin
delight
whimsy
magical
phosphorescent
glowing
jars
children
Notes: "Owl City" is probably also on this list, but I didn't quite get that far. School starts tomorrow morning for me, so maybe that will help me get back into the swing of writing.
Source: None.
Response:
fireflies
light
small
airy
wafer-thin
delight
whimsy
magical
phosphorescent
glowing
jars
children
Notes: "Owl City" is probably also on this list, but I didn't quite get that far. School starts tomorrow morning for me, so maybe that will help me get back into the swing of writing.
August 28, 2010 - Under Her Glare
Prompt: He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw…
Source:writingforward.com
Response: Under Her Glare
He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror he saw that she was still there - the hideous, gigantic painting was still taking up half of his his living room wall. The eyes of the huge impressionist woman seemed to be glaring at him as he walked in and slammed the door closed.
It was as if she resented his plan to have her snatched and burned. He sat on the couch across from her glare and glared back. The insurance money would have been enough to pay for his divorce and a new upscale apartment. Yet she was still here.
The money wasn't all. More than the money, his plan would have removed the overbearing stare of his late mother-in-law from above his mantle. And that was more important.
And she was still there.
He sat and stared her down. He sat and thought about what being free would feel like.
Finally he stood and muttered, "So much for being under her thumb - anything would be preferable to her glare."
Source:writingforward.com
Response: Under Her Glare
He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror he saw that she was still there - the hideous, gigantic painting was still taking up half of his his living room wall. The eyes of the huge impressionist woman seemed to be glaring at him as he walked in and slammed the door closed.
It was as if she resented his plan to have her snatched and burned. He sat on the couch across from her glare and glared back. The insurance money would have been enough to pay for his divorce and a new upscale apartment. Yet she was still here.
The money wasn't all. More than the money, his plan would have removed the overbearing stare of his late mother-in-law from above his mantle. And that was more important.
And she was still there.
He sat and stared her down. He sat and thought about what being free would feel like.
Finally he stood and muttered, "So much for being under her thumb - anything would be preferable to her glare."
Friday, August 27, 2010
Déjà Vu Week: Heartbeat
Prompt: Write a poem that contains at least two phrases from a piece written previously.
Source: None
Response: Heartbeat
I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears and behind my eyes
as you walked past me
and then,
ever so slowly,
skin crawling
I watched you walk away.
Notes: Sorry, little late again. These phrases ( "I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears and behind my eyes" and "skin crawling") are from the submission for May 2 - "The Silent Hallway"
Source: None
Response: Heartbeat
I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears and behind my eyes
as you walked past me
and then,
ever so slowly,
skin crawling
I watched you walk away.
Notes: Sorry, little late again. These phrases ( "I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears and behind my eyes" and "skin crawling") are from the submission for May 2 - "The Silent Hallway"
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Déjà Vu Week: My Angel
Prompt: Write the murder of someone else's character - have your own character kill them.
Source: None
Response: My Angel
In the lair of the demon, she sits
pensively waiting for her chance.
Still as masonry
she watches his body laying unmoving . . .
she curls close to him body conforming
and whispers
Sleep My Angel. Sleep.
Notes: I'll admit it - this is a cop-out. The character is an unnamed woman from a poem that you can read here: http://www.webook.com/submission.aspx?p=a9c5aff846ca4dca98a7326fff5fb059&st=faa173f00f2145df87de82f0e4288d7c. The man/prince is Jase from The Mortal Instruments series (a really twisted version of him who kidnapped this girl - hence the killing of him that is about to take place). This is a perfect example of why I don't write fanfiction. It's hard and unrewarding. Ugh.
And I almost forgot - yesterday's response was a makeover of Fabian from Guardians (http://www.webook.com/project/Guardians-3).
Source: None
Response: My Angel
In the lair of the demon, she sits
pensively waiting for her chance.
Still as masonry
she watches his body laying unmoving . . .
she curls close to him body conforming
and whispers
Sleep My Angel. Sleep.
Notes: I'll admit it - this is a cop-out. The character is an unnamed woman from a poem that you can read here: http://www.webook.com/submission.aspx?p=a9c5aff846ca4dca98a7326fff5fb059&st=faa173f00f2145df87de82f0e4288d7c. The man/prince is Jase from The Mortal Instruments series (a really twisted version of him who kidnapped this girl - hence the killing of him that is about to take place). This is a perfect example of why I don't write fanfiction. It's hard and unrewarding. Ugh.
And I almost forgot - yesterday's response was a makeover of Fabian from Guardians (http://www.webook.com/project/Guardians-3).
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The Scientist
Prompt:Change the physical appearance of a character you have already created completely and write an introduction to them.
Source: None
Response: The Scientist
He was standing over his equipment, muttering in a charming, nutty way. He didn't even turn when I came in, though I knew better than to take that as an insult. Fabian never paid attention to anyone unless they were under his microscope.
I had to walk around his vitals monitor to catch a glimpse of his face. His giant hazel eyes were fixated on the machinery. It was hard to imagine someone seeing Fabian - his toned, tanned skin and macho-puppy eyes - for the first time and labeling him a nerd. But a nerd he most definitely was.
Source: None
Response: The Scientist
He was standing over his equipment, muttering in a charming, nutty way. He didn't even turn when I came in, though I knew better than to take that as an insult. Fabian never paid attention to anyone unless they were under his microscope.
I had to walk around his vitals monitor to catch a glimpse of his face. His giant hazel eyes were fixated on the machinery. It was hard to imagine someone seeing Fabian - his toned, tanned skin and macho-puppy eyes - for the first time and labeling him a nerd. But a nerd he most definitely was.
August 24, 2010 - Penance: Moving Target
Prompt: Write a scene in which one of your characters experiences something new and "foreign" to them.
Source: None.
Response: Moving Target
Felis looked down at the boy. His light hair was shining in the sharp ocean sunlight as he strode down the dock. Felis set him in his sights. It would be simple - a clean shot and a clean escape.
He pulled his bowstring back. And paused.
The boy was not even an obstacle to their plan and killing him would make things only slightly more convenient. The realization hit him in the chest. His hands relaxed.
Felis watched for a moment more before raising the bow again, the place for weak compassionate moments had passed.
Notes: So I wanted to do something in the spirit of Déjà Vu Week so yeah . . . This character is from The Plague Master (which will have a new chapter up soon, I promise).
Source: None.
Response: Moving Target
Felis looked down at the boy. His light hair was shining in the sharp ocean sunlight as he strode down the dock. Felis set him in his sights. It would be simple - a clean shot and a clean escape.
He pulled his bowstring back. And paused.
The boy was not even an obstacle to their plan and killing him would make things only slightly more convenient. The realization hit him in the chest. His hands relaxed.
Felis watched for a moment more before raising the bow again, the place for weak compassionate moments had passed.
Notes: So I wanted to do something in the spirit of Déjà Vu Week so yeah . . . This character is from The Plague Master (which will have a new chapter up soon, I promise).
August 24, 2010 - Déjà Vu Week: Sense of Smell
Prompt: Write a crossover between two stories you have already written.
Source: None
Response: Sense of Smell: An A Time to Bleed/The Skin You're In Crossover
The instant I caught the scent I knew something was wrong. Sebastian and I were out. We weren't really hunting, just wandering around enjoying our animal forms.
I smelled it first, and odor unlike anything I knew. Humans smell a lot like nature, believe it or not; they smell like earth and moss and decomposing leaves, but in a way that somehow manages to be incredibly appetizing (don't ask me how, I've no clue). Shifters smell more artificial - like the smell that remains in a really well sanitized public building - almost like cleaner, but not quite. It's distinct, but not bad.
The beings I smelled, though, smelled like . . . The food you crave but can't place, but you'd give up your first born child for one taste of it. They smelled like victory and freedom and justice and true love rolled into a ball and tied with an ocean breeze. It was so good - a feeding frenzy, perfect test score, most-cleaver-most-perfectly-executed-comeback-EVER kind of good.
When Sebastian caught the scent it seemed to almost knock him off his feet. He was instantly salivating.
They were travelling in a group of three; they made almost no noise, but we could smell them each individually. We didn't think and there was not even an attempt at discussion. Sebastian and I moved into identical crouches (though, being a wolf, I was several times larger than his lithe fox form). We morphed into hunters, trackers, predators. Vicious predators . . . Ok, maybe we were a little too drunk off their scent to be considered vicious, but we were at the very least pretty dang determined predators.
We stalked them. They were ahead of us a little way, but they were in no hurry. We were anxious and if anything can make two relatively lazy teenage boys move quickly, its food-related anxiety.
We were stalking and stalking, but we were doing a pretty shoddy job, apparently, because we didn't even notice that they had stopped moving until we stumbled into the clearing where they were waiting for us. Staring into three pairs of mesmerizing onyx eyes I tried to smile. One of the white, sweet-smelling people bared his teeth back.
***
I was regretting my encouragement of Zeke's storytelling. The stories were not pretty. They were convoluted, ugly things. The were fascinating, the intricate tales of scandal and politics in the vampire city, but they were also repugnant. My father's I did not look at either of them as we walked. Zeke spoke with such knowledge and zeal that I could not stand to look at him. Lucious would not speak at all. He had told me I did not want to hear what Zeke would say and I wished I had listened to him.
I was so busy avoiding looking at Lucious that I did not see his initial reaction to the scent, but the next thing I knew his hand was gripping my arm like a vice.
"Shifters," he hissed. "The Others."
I went cold. We walked on - complete silence enveloping us. I could hear them in the underbrush. I could smell them. Their scent was so strong that it overpowered everything - it was neither pleasant nor abhorrent. It was too strong to be either. I wanted to run, but Lucious and Zeke continued on with flawless nonchalance.
My senses were all screaming. They were obviously trying to hunt us and while their methods were primative, I was afraid because their odor was clouding rational thought.
Lucious came to an abrupt halt in a clearing. He did not say anything, but turned to face those hunting us and Zeke did the same.
A moment later there they were - a gigantic wolf and a grinning fox with altogether too-human of eyes. The wolf's lips lifted into a snarl. Zeke fell into a crouch and bared his teeth.
Notes: Sorry this is late - I was flying across the country and I wanted to put a little more work into this prompt than I did the last one.
I said I would NEVER write anything vampire/werewolf after Twilight and the flood of Twilight-look-alike trash that has overwhelmed fiction writing. This vampire story - A Time to Bleed (http://www.webook.com/submission.aspx?p=060491a6c6aa441683a1b678f30d95b3&st=53e257f97ff540ce8a819d6090195462) - is NOT Twilight inspired and is an unfinished novel written about four years ago. The werewolf story - The Skin You're In (http://www.webook.com/project/The-Skin-Youre-In) - is a recently completed novella and it's not in any way inspired by Twilight either; I paired them only because I thought their characters would be interesting together.
Source: None
Response: Sense of Smell: An A Time to Bleed/The Skin You're In Crossover
The instant I caught the scent I knew something was wrong. Sebastian and I were out. We weren't really hunting, just wandering around enjoying our animal forms.
I smelled it first, and odor unlike anything I knew. Humans smell a lot like nature, believe it or not; they smell like earth and moss and decomposing leaves, but in a way that somehow manages to be incredibly appetizing (don't ask me how, I've no clue). Shifters smell more artificial - like the smell that remains in a really well sanitized public building - almost like cleaner, but not quite. It's distinct, but not bad.
The beings I smelled, though, smelled like . . . The food you crave but can't place, but you'd give up your first born child for one taste of it. They smelled like victory and freedom and justice and true love rolled into a ball and tied with an ocean breeze. It was so good - a feeding frenzy, perfect test score, most-cleaver-most-perfectly-executed-comeback-EVER kind of good.
When Sebastian caught the scent it seemed to almost knock him off his feet. He was instantly salivating.
They were travelling in a group of three; they made almost no noise, but we could smell them each individually. We didn't think and there was not even an attempt at discussion. Sebastian and I moved into identical crouches (though, being a wolf, I was several times larger than his lithe fox form). We morphed into hunters, trackers, predators. Vicious predators . . . Ok, maybe we were a little too drunk off their scent to be considered vicious, but we were at the very least pretty dang determined predators.
We stalked them. They were ahead of us a little way, but they were in no hurry. We were anxious and if anything can make two relatively lazy teenage boys move quickly, its food-related anxiety.
We were stalking and stalking, but we were doing a pretty shoddy job, apparently, because we didn't even notice that they had stopped moving until we stumbled into the clearing where they were waiting for us. Staring into three pairs of mesmerizing onyx eyes I tried to smile. One of the white, sweet-smelling people bared his teeth back.
***
I was regretting my encouragement of Zeke's storytelling. The stories were not pretty. They were convoluted, ugly things. The were fascinating, the intricate tales of scandal and politics in the vampire city, but they were also repugnant. My father's I did not look at either of them as we walked. Zeke spoke with such knowledge and zeal that I could not stand to look at him. Lucious would not speak at all. He had told me I did not want to hear what Zeke would say and I wished I had listened to him.
I was so busy avoiding looking at Lucious that I did not see his initial reaction to the scent, but the next thing I knew his hand was gripping my arm like a vice.
"Shifters," he hissed. "The Others."
I went cold. We walked on - complete silence enveloping us. I could hear them in the underbrush. I could smell them. Their scent was so strong that it overpowered everything - it was neither pleasant nor abhorrent. It was too strong to be either. I wanted to run, but Lucious and Zeke continued on with flawless nonchalance.
My senses were all screaming. They were obviously trying to hunt us and while their methods were primative, I was afraid because their odor was clouding rational thought.
Lucious came to an abrupt halt in a clearing. He did not say anything, but turned to face those hunting us and Zeke did the same.
A moment later there they were - a gigantic wolf and a grinning fox with altogether too-human of eyes. The wolf's lips lifted into a snarl. Zeke fell into a crouch and bared his teeth.
Notes: Sorry this is late - I was flying across the country and I wanted to put a little more work into this prompt than I did the last one.
I said I would NEVER write anything vampire/werewolf after Twilight and the flood of Twilight-look-alike trash that has overwhelmed fiction writing. This vampire story - A Time to Bleed (http://www.webook.com/submission.aspx?p=060491a6c6aa441683a1b678f30d95b3&st=53e257f97ff540ce8a819d6090195462) - is NOT Twilight inspired and is an unfinished novel written about four years ago. The werewolf story - The Skin You're In (http://www.webook.com/project/The-Skin-Youre-In) - is a recently completed novella and it's not in any way inspired by Twilight either; I paired them only because I thought their characters would be interesting together.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Déjà Vu Week: The Orchid Flower
Prompt: Use a line from one of your favorite songs as well as one from one of your favorite books in a story.
Source: None
Response: The Orchid Flower
There once was a child who lived in a close-knit village at the bottom of a mountain. She was a lovely child, with a face as soft as rose petals and flowing hair the color of Spanish chocolate, but shy and quiet. Her name was Hecabe, so called for the orchid flowers that grew near the mountain, never-fading.
The mothers of the village watched the child sadly as she would go to the mountain every morning unaccompanied. The other children would play in the village streets or the pastures. Hecabe was often alone.
But she was a happy child. Far from the bustle and noise of the other children and the gossiping of the adults, she found simple happiness among the animals and flowers of the mountain. She could speak to them in a way that she could not speak to humans and the animals spoke to her.
Hecabe had a particular affinity with the birds of the air. She wondered what it was like to fly. In her imagination it felt like being carried on the strong mountain winds or being lifted by tufts of powdery clouds. Oh how she dreamed of being lifted by clouds and carried away on the wind.
One day while she was coming down from the mountain, Hecabe tripped. She rolled head over heels over the rocks and plants until she came to the bottom of the mountain. As she lay stunned she felt herself flying over valleys and over great vast oceans. She felt herself come to rest inside a castle room. The room was all purple and gold and in the center there was a canopied bed. A boy lay on the bed and in his hand was an orchid.
As she looked at him he opened his eyes and spoke. He called out to her and asked her to come to him. He reached to her and as she was walking toward him, a hand on her shoulder woke her.
An old woman stood above her. "Are you all right, dear?" she asked.
The woman looked old and humble and Hecabe instantly trusted her. But nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. The woman, though certainly trustworthy, was not what she seemed.
The woman guided the child back to the village and the sparrows flew close overhead. When Hecabe slept that night she flew again. She saw the valleys and seas again and then found herself in the purple room.
The boy was surrounded by orchids and he called to her so plaintively that she thought her heart would break. When she woke in the morning, her room was full of flowers and a sparrow was perched on her window sill.
Hecabe went outside and the sparrow did not move. She spoke to it, but it did not respond. The sparrow had come with the unexplained flowers and the child knew that the bird knew where she could find the boy, but she could not convince the bird to tell her. And Hecabe wept because she knew she could not find the boy on her own.
And the old woman watched Hecabe as she cried.
At the end of the day when the child curled up in her bed she saw the boy before she even closed her eyes. The orchids were gone and he looked so sad her heart ached. He called to her once more and his eyes stared into hers. "I will be yours," he said. "I will be your father. I will be your lover. I will be yours."
Hacabe went to the mountain in the morning. There were no animals and the flowers were all gone. She sat on the mountain alone and dreamed of floating on the wind.
The old woman watched from a distance and wondered what the girl was thinking about as she stared out into the clouds.
Notes: Yeah . . . I don't know how this ends - it's just a little scene. My song line is "I'll be your father . . . I'll be your lover. I'll be yours." from "I'll be Yours" by Placebo and my book line is "Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility." from "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen.
This is written in the style of Hans Christen Anderson (who I LOVE) and I was hoping to do more with it, but I went over my time limit as it is.
Source: None
Response: The Orchid Flower
There once was a child who lived in a close-knit village at the bottom of a mountain. She was a lovely child, with a face as soft as rose petals and flowing hair the color of Spanish chocolate, but shy and quiet. Her name was Hecabe, so called for the orchid flowers that grew near the mountain, never-fading.
The mothers of the village watched the child sadly as she would go to the mountain every morning unaccompanied. The other children would play in the village streets or the pastures. Hecabe was often alone.
But she was a happy child. Far from the bustle and noise of the other children and the gossiping of the adults, she found simple happiness among the animals and flowers of the mountain. She could speak to them in a way that she could not speak to humans and the animals spoke to her.
Hecabe had a particular affinity with the birds of the air. She wondered what it was like to fly. In her imagination it felt like being carried on the strong mountain winds or being lifted by tufts of powdery clouds. Oh how she dreamed of being lifted by clouds and carried away on the wind.
One day while she was coming down from the mountain, Hecabe tripped. She rolled head over heels over the rocks and plants until she came to the bottom of the mountain. As she lay stunned she felt herself flying over valleys and over great vast oceans. She felt herself come to rest inside a castle room. The room was all purple and gold and in the center there was a canopied bed. A boy lay on the bed and in his hand was an orchid.
As she looked at him he opened his eyes and spoke. He called out to her and asked her to come to him. He reached to her and as she was walking toward him, a hand on her shoulder woke her.
An old woman stood above her. "Are you all right, dear?" she asked.
The woman looked old and humble and Hecabe instantly trusted her. But nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. The woman, though certainly trustworthy, was not what she seemed.
The woman guided the child back to the village and the sparrows flew close overhead. When Hecabe slept that night she flew again. She saw the valleys and seas again and then found herself in the purple room.
The boy was surrounded by orchids and he called to her so plaintively that she thought her heart would break. When she woke in the morning, her room was full of flowers and a sparrow was perched on her window sill.
Hecabe went outside and the sparrow did not move. She spoke to it, but it did not respond. The sparrow had come with the unexplained flowers and the child knew that the bird knew where she could find the boy, but she could not convince the bird to tell her. And Hecabe wept because she knew she could not find the boy on her own.
And the old woman watched Hecabe as she cried.
At the end of the day when the child curled up in her bed she saw the boy before she even closed her eyes. The orchids were gone and he looked so sad her heart ached. He called to her once more and his eyes stared into hers. "I will be yours," he said. "I will be your father. I will be your lover. I will be yours."
Hacabe went to the mountain in the morning. There were no animals and the flowers were all gone. She sat on the mountain alone and dreamed of floating on the wind.
The old woman watched from a distance and wondered what the girl was thinking about as she stared out into the clouds.
Notes: Yeah . . . I don't know how this ends - it's just a little scene. My song line is "I'll be your father . . . I'll be your lover. I'll be yours." from "I'll be Yours" by Placebo and my book line is "Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility." from "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen.
This is written in the style of Hans Christen Anderson (who I LOVE) and I was hoping to do more with it, but I went over my time limit as it is.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Déjà Vu Week: Angst and Ego
Prompt: Write a poem from the perspective of a character you have already written.
Source: None
Response: Angst and Ego
I hurt me.
Just to please you.
You hurt me.
To please your ego.
It was the same.
Each time I hurt.
Somehow your aim.
Hurt me worse.
Notes: So I forgot to put the "Déjà Vu Week:" in front of the title for yesterday's submission, but as you may see, I have remedied that. So the theory behind Déjà Vu Week is that you get a chance to dig up dusty characters, settings and random tidbits (which I have in great abundance, I don't know about you). So, yeah, take something familiar and tweak it or take something old and refurbish/recreate/expand.
I'm really excited for this week's prompts, but I gotta say that this prompt is ridiculous because I try not to write my characters as glaring extensions of myself and so, because I'm a sometimes-poet, I don't have a lot of characters inclined toward the poetic. In the end I went with a nameless compilation character (found here: . . . mostly because she is pretty emo and boy crazy and what more could you possibly ask for in a poetic character? And you can tell I tried to get out of my comfort zone because . . . this poem actually has a rhyming pattern . . . sort of.
Source: None
Response: Angst and Ego
I hurt me.
Just to please you.
You hurt me.
To please your ego.
It was the same.
Each time I hurt.
Somehow your aim.
Hurt me worse.
Notes: So I forgot to put the "Déjà Vu Week:" in front of the title for yesterday's submission, but as you may see, I have remedied that. So the theory behind Déjà Vu Week is that you get a chance to dig up dusty characters, settings and random tidbits (which I have in great abundance, I don't know about you). So, yeah, take something familiar and tweak it or take something old and refurbish/recreate/expand.
I'm really excited for this week's prompts, but I gotta say that this prompt is ridiculous because I try not to write my characters as glaring extensions of myself and so, because I'm a sometimes-poet, I don't have a lot of characters inclined toward the poetic. In the end I went with a nameless compilation character (found here: . . . mostly because she is pretty emo and boy crazy and what more could you possibly ask for in a poetic character? And you can tell I tried to get out of my comfort zone because . . . this poem actually has a rhyming pattern . . . sort of.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Déjà Vu Week: You're a Pain in the Left Ventricle
Prompt: Use the first and last lines of a poem you have already written as dialogue in a story.
Source: None
Response: You're a Pain in the Left Ventricle
David sighed. The breath of air ruffled his scruffy, shaggy hair that was in desperate need of a trim. "Anatomy teachers are quacks."
His lab partner, Kurt, raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"
David spun like a little kid on his lab stool, kicking his feet back and forth. "They try and teach us about all these things we'll never see and they act like it's vital to our survival or something. I'm not going to live or die based on whether I know about a sacrum or a coccyx."
"You'd die without them." He smiled a little, David tended toward entertaining theatrics. He checked the book again and wrote on his worksheet. Their relationship was pretty balanced - he did the work, David provided entertainment.
David sighed, seeming bored with the subject. "So . . ." he looked over his partner's shoulder. "What are we working on?"
Kurt resisted an impulse to cover the paper. It always felt more like cheating than it was when David peeked at their joint worksheet. "Nothing for you to worry about."
David leaned back, a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Kurt, right in my left ventricle."
Kurt snorted. "Your left ventricle really isn't my concern."
David moved his hand to his forehead to swoon dramatically - and precariously - on his stool. "And my heart gathers another paper cut to stain ridged paper crimson," he moaned.
Kurt gave him what he hoped was a "what-the-flip-was-that?" look or at least a "where-the-flip-did-that-even-come-from-dude?" look and said blithely, "I care why?"
David sat up straight. "You know, I have no idea."
Kurt nodded to himself and tried his best to ignore his lab partner - who had begun making bird noises - as he looked up the answer to the next question on their worksheet.
Notes: This poem, entitled Anatomy 101, is included in my poetry project "Now You See Me" (http://www.webook.com/project/The-Dark-Deep-Wonder).
Source: None
Response: You're a Pain in the Left Ventricle
David sighed. The breath of air ruffled his scruffy, shaggy hair that was in desperate need of a trim. "Anatomy teachers are quacks."
His lab partner, Kurt, raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"
David spun like a little kid on his lab stool, kicking his feet back and forth. "They try and teach us about all these things we'll never see and they act like it's vital to our survival or something. I'm not going to live or die based on whether I know about a sacrum or a coccyx."
"You'd die without them." He smiled a little, David tended toward entertaining theatrics. He checked the book again and wrote on his worksheet. Their relationship was pretty balanced - he did the work, David provided entertainment.
David sighed, seeming bored with the subject. "So . . ." he looked over his partner's shoulder. "What are we working on?"
Kurt resisted an impulse to cover the paper. It always felt more like cheating than it was when David peeked at their joint worksheet. "Nothing for you to worry about."
David leaned back, a hand to his chest. "That hurts, Kurt, right in my left ventricle."
Kurt snorted. "Your left ventricle really isn't my concern."
David moved his hand to his forehead to swoon dramatically - and precariously - on his stool. "And my heart gathers another paper cut to stain ridged paper crimson," he moaned.
Kurt gave him what he hoped was a "what-the-flip-was-that?" look or at least a "where-the-flip-did-that-even-come-from-dude?" look and said blithely, "I care why?"
David sat up straight. "You know, I have no idea."
Kurt nodded to himself and tried his best to ignore his lab partner - who had begun making bird noises - as he looked up the answer to the next question on their worksheet.
Notes: This poem, entitled Anatomy 101, is included in my poetry project "Now You See Me" (http://www.webook.com/project/The-Dark-Deep-Wonder).
Friday, August 20, 2010
One Word Week: Finale
Prompt:Write a piece that combines all of the words for the week. Here they are again: warmth, tapestry, sonorous, cobalt, Aquarius, and marvel.
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompt
Response:
The wind whistled over the tiny island, shaking the precarious houses and villagers that occupied it. The bright Aquarius constellation hung overhead, steady above the churning sea and shivering landscape.
Jaiyi huddled in her house, not quite touching the walls. The walls were shaking. The building was devoid of warmth - it had been sucked out when the wind storm had begun hours ago. Over the sound of the winds she could hear them distantly. The sonorous chants that shaped the winds and waves higher floated in over the island. Jaiyi knew that she was the only one who could hear the voices of the sirens. It made the haunting sound all the worse.
The first time she had heard it she was cleaning a cobalt idol in the shape of a lovely finned woman in the sirens' shrine as had been her family's duty for three generations. She had marveled at the beautiful voices weaving in intricate tapestry until she had realized what they were saying. The voices told the ocean to destroy the docks, to crash the fishers' boats. The song spoke of raising the winds to destroy the island's crops and to send disease throughout the island's people. At the end of the mantra, Jaiyi had heard them laugh.
So as the wind howled around her and the sirens sang, she huddled in her shack, praying that they would go away.
Notes: It's my little sister's birthday today - she's 14 (holy cow . . .) - so I guess this is for her. Though if she doesn't want it, I won't hold a grudge if she returns it LOL.
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompt
Response:
The wind whistled over the tiny island, shaking the precarious houses and villagers that occupied it. The bright Aquarius constellation hung overhead, steady above the churning sea and shivering landscape.
Jaiyi huddled in her house, not quite touching the walls. The walls were shaking. The building was devoid of warmth - it had been sucked out when the wind storm had begun hours ago. Over the sound of the winds she could hear them distantly. The sonorous chants that shaped the winds and waves higher floated in over the island. Jaiyi knew that she was the only one who could hear the voices of the sirens. It made the haunting sound all the worse.
The first time she had heard it she was cleaning a cobalt idol in the shape of a lovely finned woman in the sirens' shrine as had been her family's duty for three generations. She had marveled at the beautiful voices weaving in intricate tapestry until she had realized what they were saying. The voices told the ocean to destroy the docks, to crash the fishers' boats. The song spoke of raising the winds to destroy the island's crops and to send disease throughout the island's people. At the end of the mantra, Jaiyi had heard them laugh.
So as the wind howled around her and the sirens sang, she huddled in her shack, praying that they would go away.
Notes: It's my little sister's birthday today - she's 14 (holy cow . . .) - so I guess this is for her. Though if she doesn't want it, I won't hold a grudge if she returns it LOL.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
One Word Week: Marvel
Prompt: Marvel
Source: None
Response:
Walk down to the ocean
feeling the sound of the
salty
sandy strain.
and the breeze straining against unruly
hair strands. Stare
out over the water
and imagine. Castles
or broad sailing ships with
bulbous
billowing sails
or the distant songs of sirens calling
to sailors.
Wade out.
Deep into the dancing water. Wade.
Marvel at the meditative feeling of
movement
motion undulating
around you and beside you and
inside you - yourself responding.
Notes: I LOVE the ocean. Some friends and I are visiting the beach today and I'm way excited (which is also why this is being posted at 12:45 instead of a slightly more human hour).
Source: None
Response:
Walk down to the ocean
feeling the sound of the
salty
sandy strain.
and the breeze straining against unruly
hair strands. Stare
out over the water
and imagine. Castles
or broad sailing ships with
bulbous
billowing sails
or the distant songs of sirens calling
to sailors.
Wade out.
Deep into the dancing water. Wade.
Marvel at the meditative feeling of
movement
motion undulating
around you and beside you and
inside you - yourself responding.
Notes: I LOVE the ocean. Some friends and I are visiting the beach today and I'm way excited (which is also why this is being posted at 12:45 instead of a slightly more human hour).
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
One Word Week: Aquarius
Prompt: Aquarius
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
I lay back in the grass looking up at the sky. I could see all the constellations, connect the dots to create the fanciful pictures of deities and monsters. It was a beautiful, writhing painting splashed across the night's face.
I found Aquarius - the constellation I was named for. "Cup-bearer". "Water-bearer". Though I was born under Leo - a constellation of power, of fire, of masculinity - my parents had seen another destiny for me. I was to be a servant - a base, sub-human, unacknowledged protector. I was to be a cup-bearer.
I turned on my side, letting the stars fade from my view. The beautiful pictures held no lure, no magic, for me.
Notes: In case you were wondering, I did not pick this prompt because I'm an Aquarius. As a matter of fact, I happen to be a Pisces.
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
I lay back in the grass looking up at the sky. I could see all the constellations, connect the dots to create the fanciful pictures of deities and monsters. It was a beautiful, writhing painting splashed across the night's face.
I found Aquarius - the constellation I was named for. "Cup-bearer". "Water-bearer". Though I was born under Leo - a constellation of power, of fire, of masculinity - my parents had seen another destiny for me. I was to be a servant - a base, sub-human, unacknowledged protector. I was to be a cup-bearer.
I turned on my side, letting the stars fade from my view. The beautiful pictures held no lure, no magic, for me.
Notes: In case you were wondering, I did not pick this prompt because I'm an Aquarius. As a matter of fact, I happen to be a Pisces.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
One Word Week: Cobalt
Prompt: Cobalt.
Source: None.
Response:
He licked the tip of his finger and pressed it into the cobalt powder, tasting it. It was so vibrant a color that it looked fake - artificially created.
The blue dust was almost tasteless, but it left a bitter tang on his tongue.
He looked around the room from his crouch. The powder was everywhere, filling bottles and vases, spilled across a table and dusting the tops of velvet boxes. It gave an eerie feeling to the place. What kind of magician or scientist created only one substance?
He was still mulling over when he was forced to put a hand on the cobbled floor to steady himself. He thought to himself that he should have stocked more water in his pack. A moment after the thought, he was sprawled on the floor, still as death.
Source: None.
Response:
He licked the tip of his finger and pressed it into the cobalt powder, tasting it. It was so vibrant a color that it looked fake - artificially created.
The blue dust was almost tasteless, but it left a bitter tang on his tongue.
He looked around the room from his crouch. The powder was everywhere, filling bottles and vases, spilled across a table and dusting the tops of velvet boxes. It gave an eerie feeling to the place. What kind of magician or scientist created only one substance?
He was still mulling over when he was forced to put a hand on the cobbled floor to steady himself. He thought to himself that he should have stocked more water in his pack. A moment after the thought, he was sprawled on the floor, still as death.
Monday, August 16, 2010
One Word Week: Sonorous
Prompt: Sonorous
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
His voice was a rich baritone. Listening to it was like sinking into a gently bubbling hot tub filled to the brim with melted chocolate, letting the silky warmth shiver over your skin. She could not help but lean closer as he regaled her with stories, always pausing in the right places for her to comment, always allowing her to lead the conversation when it suited her to do so. The perfect gentleman.
His creamy voice had her always on the verge of a shiver. It was their first date. If he had tried to steal a kiss she might have slapped him, but if when asked for it with his delectably sonorous voice she was helpless to refuse it to him.
Such was the power of his mesmerizing voice.
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
His voice was a rich baritone. Listening to it was like sinking into a gently bubbling hot tub filled to the brim with melted chocolate, letting the silky warmth shiver over your skin. She could not help but lean closer as he regaled her with stories, always pausing in the right places for her to comment, always allowing her to lead the conversation when it suited her to do so. The perfect gentleman.
His creamy voice had her always on the verge of a shiver. It was their first date. If he had tried to steal a kiss she might have slapped him, but if when asked for it with his delectably sonorous voice she was helpless to refuse it to him.
Such was the power of his mesmerizing voice.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
One Word Week: Tapestry
Prompt: Tapestry
Source: squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
It was fraying along the bottom right. Little threads of blue and red and cream poked out where the rats and moths had claimed the ancient weaving betraying the blueprint of the pattern that was hidden elsewhere.
Despite the dust and disrepair, the tapestry was a bright spot in the dismal building. All around it stones crumbled and chinks in the walls let through swirls of dirty air, but the tapestry's design remained exquisite. A river ran the entire length of the fabric - its blue once the perfect blue of the sky combined with the trickery of blue jay feathers. At the edge where the rats had begun consuming the artwork little fish composed of a few precise stitches leapt from the waves as if alive. A field of golden wheat shimmered over the rest of the tapestry, beginning in the foreground as stitchery so detailed that the viewer could not make out the individual threads and fading to a sheen of unbroken bronze.
There was also a red house - an inticate little cottage - but it was concealed by a swath of tangled brown hair. The street urchin was snuggled against the wall covering, half asleep. A few broken threads testified that she had first tried to pull the tapestry down, but the old fixtures had held against her desperate search for warmth.
Her body was wracked with fever chills and her feet were covered in a collage of scabs and scars and coagulated blood. It was bitterly cold, but the girl's fluttering eyes were fixed on the golden wheat and sparkling sunlight of the tapestry and she thought, in her delirium, that she would be grateful to die warm.
Source: squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
It was fraying along the bottom right. Little threads of blue and red and cream poked out where the rats and moths had claimed the ancient weaving betraying the blueprint of the pattern that was hidden elsewhere.
Despite the dust and disrepair, the tapestry was a bright spot in the dismal building. All around it stones crumbled and chinks in the walls let through swirls of dirty air, but the tapestry's design remained exquisite. A river ran the entire length of the fabric - its blue once the perfect blue of the sky combined with the trickery of blue jay feathers. At the edge where the rats had begun consuming the artwork little fish composed of a few precise stitches leapt from the waves as if alive. A field of golden wheat shimmered over the rest of the tapestry, beginning in the foreground as stitchery so detailed that the viewer could not make out the individual threads and fading to a sheen of unbroken bronze.
There was also a red house - an inticate little cottage - but it was concealed by a swath of tangled brown hair. The street urchin was snuggled against the wall covering, half asleep. A few broken threads testified that she had first tried to pull the tapestry down, but the old fixtures had held against her desperate search for warmth.
Her body was wracked with fever chills and her feet were covered in a collage of scabs and scars and coagulated blood. It was bitterly cold, but the girl's fluttering eyes were fixed on the golden wheat and sparkling sunlight of the tapestry and she thought, in her delirium, that she would be grateful to die warm.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
One Word Week: Warmth
Prompt: Warmth
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
I touched the flame and felt it breathing. As it shifted, lapping at my skin, I heard it sigh. The sound was as once contented and forlorn. I thrust my hands deeper into the blaze and the fire sang in my soul - a crackling, cackling cacophony. It flowed over me and through me until it was all about me. Its warmth penetrated to my bones making them ache.
Then the fire commanded conquest, demanded an addition to its domain. So I turned toward the boy and let the fire flow from me to claim him.
Notes: Since I have already confessed to being a major nerd, it gives me only a little twinge of childishness to admit that I've been watching Avatar like a mad-girl the last few days (and, no, I don't mean the Avatar with the blue people - I mean the anime Avatar with epic element battles and stupid jokes and overly dramatic music . . . and a flying lemur). I think that pastime played a role in this response . . . I'm all for fire-bending (well, and water-bending and flying is awesome so I guess air-bending, too . . .).
Anyway, I saw the One Word Week as a combined prompt and I loved the idea. Six of the prompts are similar and then the last prompt does something fun with them (if you want to spoil the surprise, feel free to visit the weather forecast on the blog - http://apromptaday.blogspot.com/2010/08/weather-forecast-august-2010.html).
Source:squidoo.com/writeprompts
Response:
I touched the flame and felt it breathing. As it shifted, lapping at my skin, I heard it sigh. The sound was as once contented and forlorn. I thrust my hands deeper into the blaze and the fire sang in my soul - a crackling, cackling cacophony. It flowed over me and through me until it was all about me. Its warmth penetrated to my bones making them ache.
Then the fire commanded conquest, demanded an addition to its domain. So I turned toward the boy and let the fire flow from me to claim him.
Notes: Since I have already confessed to being a major nerd, it gives me only a little twinge of childishness to admit that I've been watching Avatar like a mad-girl the last few days (and, no, I don't mean the Avatar with the blue people - I mean the anime Avatar with epic element battles and stupid jokes and overly dramatic music . . . and a flying lemur). I think that pastime played a role in this response . . . I'm all for fire-bending (well, and water-bending and flying is awesome so I guess air-bending, too . . .).
Anyway, I saw the One Word Week as a combined prompt and I loved the idea. Six of the prompts are similar and then the last prompt does something fun with them (if you want to spoil the surprise, feel free to visit the weather forecast on the blog - http://apromptaday.blogspot.com/2010/08/weather-forecast-august-2010.html).
Friday, August 13, 2010
No One Else Ever Needs to Know
Prompt: Dark embarrassment toll.
Source: creativewritingideasandprompts.com
Response: No One Else Ever Needs to Know
He leaned close. His eyes shone was a malicious glint, but he smiled in a calculated, reassuring way. "This is how it works, simple really, very simple. You have a dark embarrassment - a secret no one else can ever know - and I know it. That's bad enough, isn't it? Knowing that I know your dark embarrassment. Think about how much more horrible it would be if someone else were to find out."
I gritted my teeth, mostly to stop myself from shaking. "Are you threatening me."
"No," he sounded shocked at the very idea, but his smile widened. "I'm not threatening you - just think about it. If you let me, I can protect you. No one else ever needs to know what I know about you. Your dark embarrassment can just disappear."
"I don't trust you - you've given me no reason to."
His breath smelled of jalapenos and stale liquor. "Think of it like a toll - you pay and I provide a service - a business transaction. No one else ever needs to hear about it. "
I bit my lip and cursed him.
Source: creativewritingideasandprompts.com
Response: No One Else Ever Needs to Know
He leaned close. His eyes shone was a malicious glint, but he smiled in a calculated, reassuring way. "This is how it works, simple really, very simple. You have a dark embarrassment - a secret no one else can ever know - and I know it. That's bad enough, isn't it? Knowing that I know your dark embarrassment. Think about how much more horrible it would be if someone else were to find out."
I gritted my teeth, mostly to stop myself from shaking. "Are you threatening me."
"No," he sounded shocked at the very idea, but his smile widened. "I'm not threatening you - just think about it. If you let me, I can protect you. No one else ever needs to know what I know about you. Your dark embarrassment can just disappear."
"I don't trust you - you've given me no reason to."
His breath smelled of jalapenos and stale liquor. "Think of it like a toll - you pay and I provide a service - a business transaction. No one else ever needs to hear about it. "
I bit my lip and cursed him.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
In the Night
Prompt: Write a love story with a grove of trees as the setting.
Source: thepromptwriter.com
Response: In the Night
Zane spotted Amelia as she entered the clearing. He offered her a coy smile though he kept up his conversation with one of the dark carnival performers flawlessly.
As she came closer, she recognized the performer. He was a fire juggler and chronic gambler named Boose. Amelia hated him even more than most of the dark carnival performers - he was shifty and usually smelled of whatever he had eaten that day.
She joined them with a disarming smile. Zane turned to her, tucking her under his arm. "Amelia. We were just talking about you."
Amelia snuggled against him. They looked just like the happy couple they were supposed to be. "Really?" she asked.
Boose's heavily-lidded eyes traced the contours of her face before trailing down the edge of her neck.
Amelia resisted pulling her wrap closer as Boose spoke, his eyes still wandering. "This is a lovely party. So kind of you to invite the dark carnival."
"I am glad they could come."
He smirked. "I am sure you are."
Boose turned on his heel and walked away from them. Neither Zane or Amelia spoke. They had nothing to say to each other.
After an acceptable time Amelia left Zane to his motley friends. She walked through the dark performers, avoiding them wherever possible. The bell players in the trees seemed to be watching her, she could feel their gazes.
The bell players saw everything, she knew that they knew much more than they would ever say. Amelia smiled. Cutting out a person's tongue was as good a way as any to keep them silent. They would never reveal her secret.
Out of sight of the players, Amelia walked more quickly. There were no lights in the trees, but the waxing moon allowed her to see well enough.
She entered the hidden grove of trees silently. The moonlight illuminated the trees and cast their heavy shadows to the ground. She stood beneath the sky and let her wrap slowly slither to the ground.
"You look so lovely, Amelia."
She did not turn but a smile graced her lips. She felt him behind her as he pulled her into his arms and his breath brushed her bare shoulder.
"Really?" she asked.
"The most beautiful."
Amelia did not try to look at him. It had been a condition since the beginning - he would blindfold her before she was allowed to turn around. She had never seen his face.
He used her wrap to bind her eyes. She became blind, but she felt everything so much sharper in his presence, smelled everything so much more strongly.
He called himself Owl - a creature of the night. And he knew the night. He was the night and Amelia loved the feeling of being blindly swallowed up in the night.
Notes: I told you I was going to expand "The Perfect Night". I was having trouble coming up with a direction for this prompt so I decided to write a little more.
Source: thepromptwriter.com
Response: In the Night
Zane spotted Amelia as she entered the clearing. He offered her a coy smile though he kept up his conversation with one of the dark carnival performers flawlessly.
As she came closer, she recognized the performer. He was a fire juggler and chronic gambler named Boose. Amelia hated him even more than most of the dark carnival performers - he was shifty and usually smelled of whatever he had eaten that day.
She joined them with a disarming smile. Zane turned to her, tucking her under his arm. "Amelia. We were just talking about you."
Amelia snuggled against him. They looked just like the happy couple they were supposed to be. "Really?" she asked.
Boose's heavily-lidded eyes traced the contours of her face before trailing down the edge of her neck.
Amelia resisted pulling her wrap closer as Boose spoke, his eyes still wandering. "This is a lovely party. So kind of you to invite the dark carnival."
"I am glad they could come."
He smirked. "I am sure you are."
Boose turned on his heel and walked away from them. Neither Zane or Amelia spoke. They had nothing to say to each other.
After an acceptable time Amelia left Zane to his motley friends. She walked through the dark performers, avoiding them wherever possible. The bell players in the trees seemed to be watching her, she could feel their gazes.
The bell players saw everything, she knew that they knew much more than they would ever say. Amelia smiled. Cutting out a person's tongue was as good a way as any to keep them silent. They would never reveal her secret.
Out of sight of the players, Amelia walked more quickly. There were no lights in the trees, but the waxing moon allowed her to see well enough.
She entered the hidden grove of trees silently. The moonlight illuminated the trees and cast their heavy shadows to the ground. She stood beneath the sky and let her wrap slowly slither to the ground.
"You look so lovely, Amelia."
She did not turn but a smile graced her lips. She felt him behind her as he pulled her into his arms and his breath brushed her bare shoulder.
"Really?" she asked.
"The most beautiful."
Amelia did not try to look at him. It had been a condition since the beginning - he would blindfold her before she was allowed to turn around. She had never seen his face.
He used her wrap to bind her eyes. She became blind, but she felt everything so much sharper in his presence, smelled everything so much more strongly.
He called himself Owl - a creature of the night. And he knew the night. He was the night and Amelia loved the feeling of being blindly swallowed up in the night.
Notes: I told you I was going to expand "The Perfect Night". I was having trouble coming up with a direction for this prompt so I decided to write a little more.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
August 11, 2010 - Freewrite
Prompt: Freewrite for five minutes.
Source: None. For instructions on freewriting go to http://fictionwriting.about.com/od/writingexercises/ht/freewrite.htm
Response:
sleep breathe hurting inside outside breathe in breathe out tapping oils healing and fixing correction imperfection incorrect wrong bad imperfect wrong bad failure fail epic fail can't stop stop can't recant recall remember writing freewriting gifts and curses and halloween whales harpoon Moby "how do I taste, Moby?" little fish short term memory loss what? what am I doing, I forgot forget-me-not tie a string on your finger look at the time little reminders magnet fridge alphabet magnets alphabet soup little kids messy adorable blond big cheeks chubby cute little girl clothes flowers and hearts and miley EW! over-done over-the-top untalented everywhere too much overload overkill
Source: None. For instructions on freewriting go to http://fictionwriting.about.com/od/writingexercises/ht/freewrite.htm
Response:
sleep breathe hurting inside outside breathe in breathe out tapping oils healing and fixing correction imperfection incorrect wrong bad imperfect wrong bad failure fail epic fail can't stop stop can't recant recall remember writing freewriting gifts and curses and halloween whales harpoon Moby "how do I taste, Moby?" little fish short term memory loss what? what am I doing, I forgot forget-me-not tie a string on your finger look at the time little reminders magnet fridge alphabet magnets alphabet soup little kids messy adorable blond big cheeks chubby cute little girl clothes flowers and hearts and miley EW! over-done over-the-top untalented everywhere too much overload overkill
August 10, 2010 - Insomnia
Prompt: Write about a boycott.
Source: None.
Response: Insomnia
I refuse! I won't do it - you can't make me! It's unjust! It's immoral! It's unconstitutional! I don't have to sleep if I don't want to and you can't make me! I know my rights! You can't make me . . . zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Source: None.
Response: Insomnia
I refuse! I won't do it - you can't make me! It's unjust! It's immoral! It's unconstitutional! I don't have to sleep if I don't want to and you can't make me! I know my rights! You can't make me . . . zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
August 9, 2010 - In Time
Prompt: Create a character that has an unusual phobia. Write a scene that causes that character to face his fear.
Source: writersdigest.com
Response: In Time
I glanced at the chicken soup cans. Who knew when a worm hole could open up on the soup aisle and you could get sucked into a time period when they didn't even have antibiotics?
I checked chicken soup off my list without putting any in my basket. Didn't want to risk it. What if I went back to 1950 and then contracted polio before Jonas Salk had a chance to discover the vaccine?
I was walking past the coffee beans when the lights began flickering and the ground began to shake. I dropped to the ground. I could feel the warp of time travel on my body and suddenly I was coughing and I could see blood on my hands.
I think I screamed. Tuberculosis! Much worse than polio!
The lights came back on and I ran to find a worker, leaving my groceries on the floor. What if I had gone back to before 1905 and there wasn't even a vaccine?
I came up to the girl. "What happened?" I asked.
She said. "It was a tremor. Oh, you've got a bloody nose, let me get you a tissue."
I held my nose and tried to breathe. I wondered what year it was. I wondered if the tremor had triggered time travel or if it had just been a tremor.
Source: writersdigest.com
Response: In Time
I glanced at the chicken soup cans. Who knew when a worm hole could open up on the soup aisle and you could get sucked into a time period when they didn't even have antibiotics?
I checked chicken soup off my list without putting any in my basket. Didn't want to risk it. What if I went back to 1950 and then contracted polio before Jonas Salk had a chance to discover the vaccine?
I was walking past the coffee beans when the lights began flickering and the ground began to shake. I dropped to the ground. I could feel the warp of time travel on my body and suddenly I was coughing and I could see blood on my hands.
I think I screamed. Tuberculosis! Much worse than polio!
The lights came back on and I ran to find a worker, leaving my groceries on the floor. What if I had gone back to before 1905 and there wasn't even a vaccine?
I came up to the girl. "What happened?" I asked.
She said. "It was a tremor. Oh, you've got a bloody nose, let me get you a tissue."
I held my nose and tried to breathe. I wondered what year it was. I wondered if the tremor had triggered time travel or if it had just been a tremor.
Shoe Box
Prompt: Look around the room and pick an object. Write one paragraph describing the object in full detail and a second paragraph explaining where it came from.
Source: writersdigest.com
Response: Shoe Box
It was white and no longer perfect in its symmetry. The box slouched to one side where it had been stepped on by a careless foot. The original designer label had been charmingly crooked to begin with, but it had grown dirty at the edges and was starting to peel, revealing the gold brand name and shoe size.
It had been passed from hand to hand, its contents shifting and changing. From friend to friend and from friend to second-hand store to child's hands. Then once again from friend to friend the box travelled until it settled onto its perch, hoping to stay a little longer.
Notes: I seem to be really busy lately, but I'm going camping/to a family reunion for the next three days so those prompts are coming up next.
Source: writersdigest.com
Response: Shoe Box
It was white and no longer perfect in its symmetry. The box slouched to one side where it had been stepped on by a careless foot. The original designer label had been charmingly crooked to begin with, but it had grown dirty at the edges and was starting to peel, revealing the gold brand name and shoe size.
It had been passed from hand to hand, its contents shifting and changing. From friend to friend and from friend to second-hand store to child's hands. Then once again from friend to friend the box travelled until it settled onto its perch, hoping to stay a little longer.
Notes: I seem to be really busy lately, but I'm going camping/to a family reunion for the next three days so those prompts are coming up next.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
August 7, 2010 - Chance
Prompt: Begin a story with "There was once a chance I didn't take."
Source: creativewritingprompts.com
Response:
There was once a chance I didn't take
a road I could not travel.
There was once a threat I could not face
a word I could not write.
There was once song I did not sing
for fear my voice would shatter.
There was once a light I could not see
for it was far too bright.
But now I open my eyes to see and after blinking
I can face the threat and sing and write
and the roads are open to my feet.
There was once I chance I didn't take,
but now the chances take me.
Source: creativewritingprompts.com
Response:
There was once a chance I didn't take
a road I could not travel.
There was once a threat I could not face
a word I could not write.
There was once song I did not sing
for fear my voice would shatter.
There was once a light I could not see
for it was far too bright.
But now I open my eyes to see and after blinking
I can face the threat and sing and write
and the roads are open to my feet.
There was once I chance I didn't take,
but now the chances take me.
Penance: August 6, 2010 - Psalm
Prompt: Lost
Source: None
Response: Psalm
Though I cry out with the voice of the lost the Lord will hear my cries. Though I am stained with the blood of my own hands, I will be washed clean by His light. Though I traverse the valley of the shadow of death, I will be bathed with blessed waters and made to lie down with His fold.
As my heart is turned again, I will feel the strength of His hand. Though I am of the dust of the earth, His voice will calm the storm inside my breast and guide me and preserve me, that I will stumble not. Though I walk alone, I will feel again His presence and His voice will calm the seas that drown me.
Notes: I have been reading the Psalms of David from the Old Testament and I have fallen in love with the beautiful language and the feeling of trust that is present there. And I have felt a lot of comfort and inspiration as I have read them.
Source: None
Response: Psalm
Though I cry out with the voice of the lost the Lord will hear my cries. Though I am stained with the blood of my own hands, I will be washed clean by His light. Though I traverse the valley of the shadow of death, I will be bathed with blessed waters and made to lie down with His fold.
As my heart is turned again, I will feel the strength of His hand. Though I am of the dust of the earth, His voice will calm the storm inside my breast and guide me and preserve me, that I will stumble not. Though I walk alone, I will feel again His presence and His voice will calm the seas that drown me.
Notes: I have been reading the Psalms of David from the Old Testament and I have fallen in love with the beautiful language and the feeling of trust that is present there. And I have felt a lot of comfort and inspiration as I have read them.
August 6, 2010 - Psalm
Prompt: Dragons
Source: None.
Response: Psalm
Stand with me, for I am surrounded by a multitude of faceless dragons. Not those of fire and scales, but taunting specters and malicious gargoyles.
They have no faces, no accountability to me, for to them I am also faceless. They bite and snap, blowing sparks down my throat, trying to drown me. And I feel the heat of their breath.
Light a fire within me that cannot be doused. Make their water as kerosene that when they use it against me it will light me in a glorious blaze. Let my sword grow sharp. Let me cut my teeth on precious stones. Make me strong in your sight and strength.
Stand with me, that my steps will not waver. Preserve me and bring me through the fire as tempered glass for I am surrounded by faceless foes.
Source: None.
Response: Psalm
Stand with me, for I am surrounded by a multitude of faceless dragons. Not those of fire and scales, but taunting specters and malicious gargoyles.
They have no faces, no accountability to me, for to them I am also faceless. They bite and snap, blowing sparks down my throat, trying to drown me. And I feel the heat of their breath.
Light a fire within me that cannot be doused. Make their water as kerosene that when they use it against me it will light me in a glorious blaze. Let my sword grow sharp. Let me cut my teeth on precious stones. Make me strong in your sight and strength.
Stand with me, that my steps will not waver. Preserve me and bring me through the fire as tempered glass for I am surrounded by faceless foes.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Perfect Night
Prompt: Decorated.
Source: oneword.com
Response: The Perfect Night
Pearl lights swayed in the gentle ocean breeze. Their light cast the shapes of the tree leaves onto the ground in dappled swaths.
Amelia closed her eyes, shutting out the understated finery for a peaceful moment. She could hear the tinkling of the angel waterfall and the lilting whispers of her guests.
The garden was beautiful to the senses. The pearl lights set the rose garden and fountains off to an ethereal perfection. The fountains provided a low accompaniment to the bell players in the trees. And the air was filled with the scent, and indeed, the taste of the refined lemon zest tea.
Amelia stood and pulled her wrap a little closer against the night chill. It was perfect - the perfect night for romance or intrigue. Amelia smiled slightly. It was even the perfect night for murder.
Notes: I kind of like this as a setting . . . I may be expanding it later.
Source: oneword.com
Response: The Perfect Night
Pearl lights swayed in the gentle ocean breeze. Their light cast the shapes of the tree leaves onto the ground in dappled swaths.
Amelia closed her eyes, shutting out the understated finery for a peaceful moment. She could hear the tinkling of the angel waterfall and the lilting whispers of her guests.
The garden was beautiful to the senses. The pearl lights set the rose garden and fountains off to an ethereal perfection. The fountains provided a low accompaniment to the bell players in the trees. And the air was filled with the scent, and indeed, the taste of the refined lemon zest tea.
Amelia stood and pulled her wrap a little closer against the night chill. It was perfect - the perfect night for romance or intrigue. Amelia smiled slightly. It was even the perfect night for murder.
Notes: I kind of like this as a setting . . . I may be expanding it later.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Bombing
Prompt: Write a scene or short story starting with this sentence: Heavy white snowflakes dropped to the ground like silent bombs trying to destroy my plans.
Source: pymprompts.blogspot.com
Response: Bombing
Heavy white snowflakes dropped to the ground like silent bombs trying to destroy my plans. I had made a promise at the end of summer to be free in time to watch the first snowfall unfettered; I had promised Nicolas.
I pulled the heavy peach cotton blanket closer around my shoulders as I watched the snow. I had planned so carefully. I was going to be free of the taint of shame - free from Nathan - by the first snow. I had said I would be free.
I looked to the mantle. Nathan's picture was still there, hidden under the cloth runner, though. It was right under our engagement picture - mine and Nicolas' - in its handsome frame. I was still chained to my husband's dead twin brother, despite my promise. He had been gone since our Junior year in high school, but I still could not throw away the picture of him in his crisp naval uniform.
I curled up in my peach blanket, unable to watch the bombing of my carefully-laid plans.
Source: pymprompts.blogspot.com
Response: Bombing
Heavy white snowflakes dropped to the ground like silent bombs trying to destroy my plans. I had made a promise at the end of summer to be free in time to watch the first snowfall unfettered; I had promised Nicolas.
I pulled the heavy peach cotton blanket closer around my shoulders as I watched the snow. I had planned so carefully. I was going to be free of the taint of shame - free from Nathan - by the first snow. I had said I would be free.
I looked to the mantle. Nathan's picture was still there, hidden under the cloth runner, though. It was right under our engagement picture - mine and Nicolas' - in its handsome frame. I was still chained to my husband's dead twin brother, despite my promise. He had been gone since our Junior year in high school, but I still could not throw away the picture of him in his crisp naval uniform.
I curled up in my peach blanket, unable to watch the bombing of my carefully-laid plans.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Cutting
Prompt: Secretly cutting someone else's hair.
Source: pymprompts.blogspot.com
Response: Cutting
I looked down at her face. She looked mean, even in her sleep.
I cut off a little piece first. The long, velvety strand of golden hair fell straight to the floor, twisting like a ribbon to land in a graceful half-moon. It made me angry, its grace, its perfection. Even in desecration, her hair fell beautifully.
I had wondered if I could do it - if I could really cut off Ashley's waist-length locks just because she had sent those pictures around school. That falling hair made it real, though, and I could already imagine the sensation of watching her power curl to the floor.
I used the scissors first, cutting and cutting and the hair slipped over the edge of her bed, slid to the floor in a blond puddle. As I came close to her head I could almost imagine that I would see the mark of the devil on her scalp, or some other evil sign - some hint that she was really, truly evil.
The skin was perfectly smooth, unmarred, just like her face. I finished and left, closing the door silently behind me. My stomach ached and I wanted to cry.
I lay down in my own bed, trying to summon the victory I had thought I would feel. But even recalling the half-naked pictures with taunting comments that had been passed around the school by Ashley did not produce anger or triumph.
Source: pymprompts.blogspot.com
Response: Cutting
I looked down at her face. She looked mean, even in her sleep.
I cut off a little piece first. The long, velvety strand of golden hair fell straight to the floor, twisting like a ribbon to land in a graceful half-moon. It made me angry, its grace, its perfection. Even in desecration, her hair fell beautifully.
I had wondered if I could do it - if I could really cut off Ashley's waist-length locks just because she had sent those pictures around school. That falling hair made it real, though, and I could already imagine the sensation of watching her power curl to the floor.
I used the scissors first, cutting and cutting and the hair slipped over the edge of her bed, slid to the floor in a blond puddle. As I came close to her head I could almost imagine that I would see the mark of the devil on her scalp, or some other evil sign - some hint that she was really, truly evil.
The skin was perfectly smooth, unmarred, just like her face. I finished and left, closing the door silently behind me. My stomach ached and I wanted to cry.
I lay down in my own bed, trying to summon the victory I had thought I would feel. But even recalling the half-naked pictures with taunting comments that had been passed around the school by Ashley did not produce anger or triumph.
August 2, 2010 - A Magician Never Reveals Her Secrets
Prompt: Magic trick gone wrong.
Source: None.
Response: A Magician Never Reveals Her Secrets
I tried to make cards appear from
behind your ear
and scarves
from your deep dark pockets
but they disintegrated in
my fingertips and flowed out. Between them
like grains of sand.
I tried to saw you in
half, to cleave you in two
but the illusion was faint
and the blades too dull
to truly. Cut through
your clothes and flesh.
I put you in a vanishing
cabinet and waved my arms
and said the words
and pranced about the room
and filled the room with fog
and pulled the trapdoor lever.
But no matter how hard I cried
I could not make you disappear.
So I tied myself with scarves and buried
myself in cards and stuck me with a saw.
Let myself in the cabinet and.
Made myself disappear instead.
Notes: Ok, here's the thing. I should do a penance because I didn't post yesterday, but I'm excusing myself. Here's why: I had this response written yesterday, but I could not get onto the internet because the settings were wrong on my computer (a problem which has since been remedied) to post it. If it makes it any better, I also have a math placement test to complete that is late because of my internet problems.
Source: None.
Response: A Magician Never Reveals Her Secrets
I tried to make cards appear from
behind your ear
and scarves
from your deep dark pockets
but they disintegrated in
my fingertips and flowed out. Between them
like grains of sand.
I tried to saw you in
half, to cleave you in two
but the illusion was faint
and the blades too dull
to truly. Cut through
your clothes and flesh.
I put you in a vanishing
cabinet and waved my arms
and said the words
and pranced about the room
and filled the room with fog
and pulled the trapdoor lever.
But no matter how hard I cried
I could not make you disappear.
So I tied myself with scarves and buried
myself in cards and stuck me with a saw.
Let myself in the cabinet and.
Made myself disappear instead.
Notes: Ok, here's the thing. I should do a penance because I didn't post yesterday, but I'm excusing myself. Here's why: I had this response written yesterday, but I could not get onto the internet because the settings were wrong on my computer (a problem which has since been remedied) to post it. If it makes it any better, I also have a math placement test to complete that is late because of my internet problems.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Facebook Nonsense
Just an update: By royal decree, this blog will now have Facebook updates on a fairly often (if not completely regular) basis. This is blatant publicity, I'm not going to lie. I'm hoping by pinging the walls of people who liked this project, they will become more involved with the project. If that's self-serving . . . It's self-serving.
So, from now on, the weather forecast goes up on the blog as well as on Facebook at the beginning of the month and ultra-exciting prompts get little plugs in Facebook statuses. Fun, no?
So, from now on, the weather forecast goes up on the blog as well as on Facebook at the beginning of the month and ultra-exciting prompts get little plugs in Facebook statuses. Fun, no?
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Room for Ghosts
Prompt: Room for ghosts.
Source: youtube.com/myterriblefriend
Response: Room for Ghosts
She sat still, the edge of the ancient sofa's frame cutting into her skin. The room was impersonal, cold, formal. The austere furnishings seemed to glare at her from their vast heights; the wheezing chest of drawers and the sweeping drapes seemed to hang suspended above the dreary carpeting, looming like specters.
It was a room for ghosts, she decided. She could almost see the faded gray figures hovering around the window, perched along the tired sofa, gliding above the threadbare topography of the rug.
The though was, first, intriguing. If she squinted, she told herself that the dust drifting in the air was set in motion by unseen beings. And she almost believed it.
Her skin prickled at the delightfully frightening prospect. She wriggled backward, sliding into the sofa. Suddenly, she felt trapped. There were presences all around her, she could feel it. A chilling breeze of words and whispers filled the room, brushing against her ears with phrases and feeling. Her eyes darted around the spacious parlor - it seemed as exposed as a stage, yet as confining as a tomb. She heard her name called on the wind of whispers. She shuddered.
"You are Lily, are you not?"
A cold touch made her jump and she whirled to face a smiling toddler boy. His skin glowed with a faint light and in the stillness of the room his shirt and hair seemed stirred by a breeze.
"I am Mica. You are afraid, Lily. Do not be afraid."
The door to the room opened and she turned toward it. There was her grandmother.
"Gram," she called, but no sound came out - only a rush of wind.
Her grandmother sat on the other end of the sofa, seeming not to see her. Her grandmother began to cry, but when she reached out to comfort the older woman, she could not touch her grandmother.
She curled against herself in the sofa, bursting into tears of her own. She did not understand.
She felt the cold touch again and turned to find Mica beside her.
"You were right," he said. "This is, indeed, a room for ghosts."
Notes: Well I seem to be in the business of recanting today. I am not quite finished with the weather forecast, but it will be up soon. On a happier note, I just found out that I will indeed have internet where I am going so I will be updating normally for the next week (though I'm going away on the weekend and there will probably be some extra prompts then).
Oh and this line is from the song "The Daylight Here" by My Terrible Friend and it is awesome, though not quite as awesome as their song "When I Decide." I recommend them both.
Source: youtube.com/myterriblefriend
Response: Room for Ghosts
She sat still, the edge of the ancient sofa's frame cutting into her skin. The room was impersonal, cold, formal. The austere furnishings seemed to glare at her from their vast heights; the wheezing chest of drawers and the sweeping drapes seemed to hang suspended above the dreary carpeting, looming like specters.
It was a room for ghosts, she decided. She could almost see the faded gray figures hovering around the window, perched along the tired sofa, gliding above the threadbare topography of the rug.
The though was, first, intriguing. If she squinted, she told herself that the dust drifting in the air was set in motion by unseen beings. And she almost believed it.
Her skin prickled at the delightfully frightening prospect. She wriggled backward, sliding into the sofa. Suddenly, she felt trapped. There were presences all around her, she could feel it. A chilling breeze of words and whispers filled the room, brushing against her ears with phrases and feeling. Her eyes darted around the spacious parlor - it seemed as exposed as a stage, yet as confining as a tomb. She heard her name called on the wind of whispers. She shuddered.
"You are Lily, are you not?"
A cold touch made her jump and she whirled to face a smiling toddler boy. His skin glowed with a faint light and in the stillness of the room his shirt and hair seemed stirred by a breeze.
"I am Mica. You are afraid, Lily. Do not be afraid."
The door to the room opened and she turned toward it. There was her grandmother.
"Gram," she called, but no sound came out - only a rush of wind.
Her grandmother sat on the other end of the sofa, seeming not to see her. Her grandmother began to cry, but when she reached out to comfort the older woman, she could not touch her grandmother.
She curled against herself in the sofa, bursting into tears of her own. She did not understand.
She felt the cold touch again and turned to find Mica beside her.
"You were right," he said. "This is, indeed, a room for ghosts."
Notes: Well I seem to be in the business of recanting today. I am not quite finished with the weather forecast, but it will be up soon. On a happier note, I just found out that I will indeed have internet where I am going so I will be updating normally for the next week (though I'm going away on the weekend and there will probably be some extra prompts then).
Oh and this line is from the song "The Daylight Here" by My Terrible Friend and it is awesome, though not quite as awesome as their song "When I Decide." I recommend them both.
Weather Forecast: August 2010
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! August is here. In case you hadn't noticed yet . . . It has definitely arrived. So, I'm in a bit of a slump and stressed as all get out, trying to get ready to get out of my parents' house in less than a month and sail away to college . . . So yeah, that's my excuse for whatever is currently going down.
Moving on . . . here's the weather forecast for August:
August 1 - Room for ghosts.
August 2 - Magic trick gone wrong.
August 3 - Secretly cutting someone else's hair.
August 4 - Write a scene or short story starting with this sentence: Heavy white snowflakes dropped to the ground like silent bombs trying to destroy my plans.
August 5 - Decorated.
August 6 - Dragons
August 7 - Begin a story with "There was once a chance I didn't take."
August 8 - Look around the room and pick an object. Write one paragraph describing the object in full detail and a second paragraph explaining where it came from.
August 9 - Create a character that has an unusual phobia. Write a scene that causes that character to face his fear.
August 10 - Write about a boycott.
August 11 - Freewrite for five minutes.
August 12 - Write a love story with a grove of trees as the setting
August 13 - Dark embarrassment toll.
August 14 - One Word Week: Warmth
August 15 - One Word Week: Tapestry
August 16 - One Word Week: Sonorous
August 17 - One Word Week: Cobalt
August 18 - One Word Week: Aquarius
August 19 - One Word Week: Marvel
August 20 - One Word Week: Write a piece that combines all of the words for the week.
August 21 - Déjà Vu Week: Use the first and last lines of a poem you have already written as dialogue in a story.
August 22 - Déjà Vu Week: Write a poem from the perspective of a character you have already written.
August 23 - Déjà Vu Week: Use a line from your favorite song as well as one from your favorite book in a story.
August 24 - Déjà Vu Week: Write a crossover between two stories you have already written.
August 25 - Déjà Vu Week: Change the physical apperance of a character you have already created completely and write an introduction to them.
August 26 - Déjà Vu Week: Write the murder of someone else's character - have your own character kill them.
August 27 - Déjà Vu Week: Write a poem that contains at least two phrases from a piece written previously.
August 28 - He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw…
August 29 - Write the word "remember" three times. Then write whatever the word brings to mind.
August 30 - Write a character you know nothing about. If you grew up in the big city, write as a farm hand. If you grew up on a farm or small town all your life, write about an army brat who was raised living in dozens of towns, going to different schools each year. Are you a stay-at-home, married mom? Write as a single woman making it big in the big apple. If you’re a successful businessman, write as a prison inmate who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.
August 31 - Write a poem that evokes the sensations of one or more of the five senses without using nouns or verbs that are directly related to the senses themselves. Think about how the word “boom” tickles your ears just a little bit and you’ll get the idea. Examples of words to avoid: smell, scent, aroma, odor, taste, touch, feel, sight, see, view, hear, listen, etc.
Moving on . . . here's the weather forecast for August:
August 1 - Room for ghosts.
August 2 - Magic trick gone wrong.
August 3 - Secretly cutting someone else's hair.
August 4 - Write a scene or short story starting with this sentence: Heavy white snowflakes dropped to the ground like silent bombs trying to destroy my plans.
August 5 - Decorated.
August 6 - Dragons
August 7 - Begin a story with "There was once a chance I didn't take."
August 8 - Look around the room and pick an object. Write one paragraph describing the object in full detail and a second paragraph explaining where it came from.
August 9 - Create a character that has an unusual phobia. Write a scene that causes that character to face his fear.
August 10 - Write about a boycott.
August 11 - Freewrite for five minutes.
August 12 - Write a love story with a grove of trees as the setting
August 13 - Dark embarrassment toll.
August 14 - One Word Week: Warmth
August 15 - One Word Week: Tapestry
August 16 - One Word Week: Sonorous
August 17 - One Word Week: Cobalt
August 18 - One Word Week: Aquarius
August 19 - One Word Week: Marvel
August 20 - One Word Week: Write a piece that combines all of the words for the week.
August 21 - Déjà Vu Week: Use the first and last lines of a poem you have already written as dialogue in a story.
August 22 - Déjà Vu Week: Write a poem from the perspective of a character you have already written.
August 23 - Déjà Vu Week: Use a line from your favorite song as well as one from your favorite book in a story.
August 24 - Déjà Vu Week: Write a crossover between two stories you have already written.
August 25 - Déjà Vu Week: Change the physical apperance of a character you have already created completely and write an introduction to them.
August 26 - Déjà Vu Week: Write the murder of someone else's character - have your own character kill them.
August 27 - Déjà Vu Week: Write a poem that contains at least two phrases from a piece written previously.
August 28 - He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw…
August 29 - Write the word "remember" three times. Then write whatever the word brings to mind.
August 30 - Write a character you know nothing about. If you grew up in the big city, write as a farm hand. If you grew up on a farm or small town all your life, write about an army brat who was raised living in dozens of towns, going to different schools each year. Are you a stay-at-home, married mom? Write as a single woman making it big in the big apple. If you’re a successful businessman, write as a prison inmate who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.
August 31 - Write a poem that evokes the sensations of one or more of the five senses without using nouns or verbs that are directly related to the senses themselves. Think about how the word “boom” tickles your ears just a little bit and you’ll get the idea. Examples of words to avoid: smell, scent, aroma, odor, taste, touch, feel, sight, see, view, hear, listen, etc.
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