Wow, it's April 30th, 2011 - the last day of A Prompt A Day. I am not sure if I honestly thought that I would actually still be writing on this blog on this date. This is the last day of my daily prompt mania (which, in all reality, is a little bit of a relief), but it is not the last day of my blog mania, nor my writing mania. Another blog has already been created in anticipation of the extreme boredom brought on by completion of an enormous task (plus summer). This new blog is currently entitled "Castles in Air" and can be found at castlesandfoundations.blogspot.com. I don't know exactly what I will do with it yet, but, as I am flying cross country today and have very little better to do, I suspect that the issue will be remedied quickly. I do know that it will be a writing blog and that it will (hopefully) be a little less impersonal than this blog.
I wish you all the best in all your adventures. See you on the next webpage.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Faster Ride
Prompt: Write three sentences. Last sentence is lyrics from a song.
Source:Modified from WEbook on Facebook. Lyrics from "Faster Ride" by Cartel.
Original Airdate: May 1, 2010 (aka the first day of this project)
Response:
You think no one understands you, but I see you. You're nothing more than an adrenaline junkie. You just want to take a faster ride - lower lows, higher highs.
Source:Modified from WEbook on Facebook. Lyrics from "Faster Ride" by Cartel.
Original Airdate: May 1, 2010 (aka the first day of this project)
Response:
You think no one understands you, but I see you. You're nothing more than an adrenaline junkie. You just want to take a faster ride - lower lows, higher highs.
April 29, 2011 - Finals Week: The End
Prompt: Write the last sentence of a story using words of one-syllable only.
Source: (TBA)
Original Airdate: (TBA)
Response:
And so they lived with less joy than you were told as a kid for the rest of their lives.
Notes: I can't remember where this prompt comes from/its original airdate, hence the TBAs. I promise to find and modify it as soon as I am no longer inhabiting an airport (aka, tomorrow probably).
Source: (TBA)
Original Airdate: (TBA)
Response:
And so they lived with less joy than you were told as a kid for the rest of their lives.
Notes: I can't remember where this prompt comes from/its original airdate, hence the TBAs. I promise to find and modify it as soon as I am no longer inhabiting an airport (aka, tomorrow probably).
April 28, 2011 - Finals Week: The Glass Slipper Incident
Prompt: Write the end of a story which puts a new twist on an old legend.
Source: Modified from writing.com
Original Airdate: July 20, 2010
Response:
And, of course, the slipper fit perfectly. But, because the fairy godmother had been hit by a runaway carriage that morning and was still unconscious, it had none of its usual magical reinforcement and broke the instant Cinderella stood.
The Prince fainted at the sight of the blood, leaving Cinderella to clean up the mess.
Note: Though I missed the 28th and 29th, I was extraordinarily busy trying to assign of my belongings a place in a box or suitcase. I've decided not to do penance (my final slack of this project - this is "finals week" after all)
Source: Modified from writing.com
Original Airdate: July 20, 2010
Response:
And, of course, the slipper fit perfectly. But, because the fairy godmother had been hit by a runaway carriage that morning and was still unconscious, it had none of its usual magical reinforcement and broke the instant Cinderella stood.
The Prince fainted at the sight of the blood, leaving Cinderella to clean up the mess.
Note: Though I missed the 28th and 29th, I was extraordinarily busy trying to assign of my belongings a place in a box or suitcase. I've decided not to do penance (my final slack of this project - this is "finals week" after all)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Victory
Prompt: Use this cliché at the end of your story: burn the midnight oil.
Source: Modified from creativewritingprompts.com
Original Airdate: July 22, 2010
Response:
"Ready, set . . . Type!" Their fingers flew over their respective keyboards, words thundering across their screens.
She glanced over at his screen as her fingers described the swirl of a lemon-colored ballgown and the kiss of a summer rain. He was lagging behind, stuck on the difficult phrasing of a run-on sentence.
She smiled, slowing her pace to a leisurely consistency. She had very little riding on the exercise. The demonstration was more for her boyfriend's benefit who, without her encouragement, would be burning the midnight oil for a third consecutive night laboring over a 500 word essay.
She paused, mulling over the essence of her scene, wondering if she should add more ambiance. Beside her, he clicked word count and said, "Done - 512."
A little shocked, she checked her own word count. 438. She sighed, deciding that it was all for a good cause, and conceded the victory.
Source: Modified from creativewritingprompts.com
Original Airdate: July 22, 2010
Response:
"Ready, set . . . Type!" Their fingers flew over their respective keyboards, words thundering across their screens.
She glanced over at his screen as her fingers described the swirl of a lemon-colored ballgown and the kiss of a summer rain. He was lagging behind, stuck on the difficult phrasing of a run-on sentence.
She smiled, slowing her pace to a leisurely consistency. She had very little riding on the exercise. The demonstration was more for her boyfriend's benefit who, without her encouragement, would be burning the midnight oil for a third consecutive night laboring over a 500 word essay.
She paused, mulling over the essence of her scene, wondering if she should add more ambiance. Beside her, he clicked word count and said, "Done - 512."
A little shocked, she checked her own word count. 438. She sighed, deciding that it was all for a good cause, and conceded the victory.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Last Sentence
Prompt: Write the last line to an unwritten novel that's so intriguing that others won't help but want to read the book.
Source: writersdigest.com
Original Airdate: June 17, 2010
Response:
And then it stopped.
Source: writersdigest.com
Original Airdate: June 17, 2010
Response:
And then it stopped.
April 25, 2011 (+Penance) - Finals Week: Upstairs/The Prop Room
Prompt: Finals Week: Freewrite for five minutes. Begin with an adjective. Then, use something from your freewriting at the end of your piece.
Source: None
Original Airdate: February 2 and 3, 2011
Response:
black dark rusted musty moth-eaten hidden attic crawl spaces cobwebs stroking silvery caressing shivers cold dark new moon ancient wedding dresses hidden away in army-issue trunks large enough to fit a man inside comfortably. perhaps there are men hidden away in those trunks beneath the musty wedding dress from four generations of foppish women. How would anyone ever find them? Why would anyone be sneaking about in the attic looking in trunks like coffins expecting corpses? They're too busy with their coffee beans on the first floor to worry about their dead uncle on the top floor. He's been dead forever anyway, why would they care? What could be more important than getting the children to school and a cup of perfectly brewed joe and the wedding that's coming up with its new dresses and trims and ribbons and so many congratulatory gifts that they wouldn't even fit in one of the trunks upstairs. Maybe the bride will want to wear her grandmother's pearls, though. Or maybe she's looking for something old or something borrowed
Wren crouched in the prop room, her breathing heavy. Around her, dresses hung with unnatural, limp stillness and trunks like coffins loomed out of the walls.
Source: None
Original Airdate: February 2 and 3, 2011
Response:
black dark rusted musty moth-eaten hidden attic crawl spaces cobwebs stroking silvery caressing shivers cold dark new moon ancient wedding dresses hidden away in army-issue trunks large enough to fit a man inside comfortably. perhaps there are men hidden away in those trunks beneath the musty wedding dress from four generations of foppish women. How would anyone ever find them? Why would anyone be sneaking about in the attic looking in trunks like coffins expecting corpses? They're too busy with their coffee beans on the first floor to worry about their dead uncle on the top floor. He's been dead forever anyway, why would they care? What could be more important than getting the children to school and a cup of perfectly brewed joe and the wedding that's coming up with its new dresses and trims and ribbons and so many congratulatory gifts that they wouldn't even fit in one of the trunks upstairs. Maybe the bride will want to wear her grandmother's pearls, though. Or maybe she's looking for something old or something borrowed
Wren crouched in the prop room, her breathing heavy. Around her, dresses hung with unnatural, limp stillness and trunks like coffins loomed out of the walls.
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