I’m taking next week off. I invite you to spend the time in my absence to create your own writing prompt, put it in a comment under this post, and write the beginning of your story about your own writing prompt. Yes, make it up yourself. Anyone who feels inspired can reply to your comment with 50 words on your prompt. Everybody got that? Good. Write something.
Travelin’ Dan never met a stranger, but he never made a long term friend, either. He could shoot the bull with anyone, about anything. As long as it didn’t get personal. As long as no one said, “Where you from, Dan?” or “Tell us about yourself, Dan.” That’s when the conversations ended for Dan and you saw nothing but the worn down heels of his shoes as he jumped on a bus for the next spot on down the road a bit.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “travelin’ Dan.”
I don’t remember being particularly difficult as a child, but I must have been. I remember my mother becoming absolutely frazzled trying to deal with me. Did I cry when she tried to tame my curly hair? I can see her standing over me with a brush in her hand and a look of frustration on her face. Was I rebellious? I remember “running away” with my cousin – heading down the highway to go someplace where we thought we could ride a horse. I remember how angry everyone was when they found us.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “I don’t remember.”
I remember Sarah Vaughan singing “Autumn Leaves.” I was walking down the street – long before the days of Walkmans or iPods – so the song must have been coming out of my head and imagination. But it was perfect. That voice of hers caressing each note. The pauses, the sweep of violins. The image of leaves drifting down. The melancholy.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “I remember.”
A text came at 6 AM. It said “I’m ready.” Translated, that meant that she was up and when daylight came would be dressed and ready to walk. I texted back an “OK” and dragged out my walking shoes. I would go walk with her – make sure she got some exercise each day. Anything to keep her healthy.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “ready.”
Where do you write? I don’t mean those moments when you’re at the computer or notebook – I mean those moments when you’re in your head putting words together that will come out later. I write in my sleep and I wake up with words arranged in my mind. I write in the car when I should be paying more attention to my driving. I write in the shower with soap in my hair. I write when I’m walking or raking leaves or vacuuming. Oh, face it, I’m always writing.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “writing.”
“I know you’re a serious Broadway star,” he said. “Serious. I get it.” He paused. “But I was serious when I said we perform in our underwear. I play the uke in my skivvies. The cello player does, too. Well, she wears panties and a bra.”
There was another long pause while he waited for some response. None came. “Look,” he said, “I’m sure you can figure something out. PJs or a bathrobe or something. And, the best part is, you get to pick the songs yourself.”
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “skivvies.”
In her own house, her husband had been watching CNN all day in a state of outrage about some piece of news. Next door, she could hear Ralph watching Fox News and she was sure that Ralph would be in a state of outrage about some other piece of news. She dug peacefully in the garden, picked several ripe tomatoes, and went for a walk. It was a beautiful day.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “news.”
She moaned in ecstacy as she read the menu. “They have mashed potatoes and gravy with their hamburgers,” she whispered. She leaned over the table and smiled, “Mashed potatoes are like heroin to me.”
I didn’t want to reveal myself too soon, but I knew what she meant. I feel that way about soft serve ice cream. I merely said, ” . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “mashed potatoes.”
“Pretty is as pretty does.” Did your mom use that one on you? Mine did. It was meant to encourage kind behavior. Maybe it even worked, since I turned out to be pretty decent and not a sociopath. But it never made be believe I was pretty. In fact, being pretty was never one of my aspirations. Maybe that old expression bred that into me as well.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “pretty is.”