Writing Prompt

The plane crashed because……………

the goblin on the left wing showed up to work drunk and failed to deploy the flaps when needed.

Writing Prompt

Jack and Maureen took their first steps towards ……………

reconciling a marriage that had ended thirty years previously. The old squabbles which had so enraged each of them seemed insignificant after all this time, and, being the only Americans remaining alive, it seemed unpatriotic to remain separated.

Writing Prompt

Rodney looked down the ……………

eyepiece of the microscope and gasped. He’d been told what to expect. He’d even believed what he’d been told. But seeing them there, looking back up through the glass as if fully aware of being watched, he couldn’t help but mumble a prayer dredged up from his Catholic upbringing.

Writing Prompt

The sun went in and Maureen went ……………

out. It was their little dance, repeated for millennia. Sometimes they were both out at the same time, but usually it was one or the other.

Writing Prompt

Turn on your TV. Write down the first line that you hear and write a story based on it.

Result: “Do you want to run in the rat race or chase your dream? You decide.”

What Do You Want?

“Do you want to run in the rat race or chase your dream?” Mrs. Kettleman asked from her desk at the front of the classroom.

Kenneth, slumped over with all the spinal support of a slime mold, raised himself just enough to rest his chin on the well-graphittied desk. He was alone for this particular detention – the only one that got caught. “Huh?” he asked.

Mrs. Kettleman repeated the question. Kenneth blinked at her uncomprehendingly. “It’s your decision,” Mrs. Kettleman added by way of clarification.

Kenneth’s eyes dropped. “I don’t have a dream to chase,” he said. Though it didn’t seem possible, the boy squished even lower in his chair.

“Nonsense,” the teacher scolded. “Everyone has desires. Even if they’re not particularly admirable.” She leaned back, and her chair squawked. “What do you like? What do you want?”

Kenneth rotated his face down to the desk so that his nose squashed up to the side. Then he wrapped his arms protectively around his head and disappeared like an ostrich.

“Kenneth,” the teacher warned.

A muffled rebuke sounded from the depths of the boy’s hiding place. Mrs. Kettleman changed her tone slightly so that when she called him again it was clear that, while she had of course been joking earlier, she was now quite seriously requesting his attention.

The boy reappeared, sitting up briefly and then slumping backwards so that his lolling head stared up at the pock marked ceiling. Finally, his spinal muscles regained control, and he made eye contact with the harsh mistress at the front of the room.

“What do you like to do, Kenneth?”

Kenneth sighed as if trying to refill an airless room with the contents of his lungs. “Video games, Doritos, not going to school, ping pong.”

“Oh, good,” Mrs. Kettleman feigned relief. “So there are things you enjoy.” Her chair protested as she abandoned it to take a seat closer to Kenneth. “There’s an unfortunate requirement that goes along with all desires, you know.” Kenneth stared blankly, so she continued. “It’s that you have to work in order to achieve them.”

Kenneth’s eyes flicked upwards before he caught himself. He knew from experience that Mrs. Kettleman did not appreciate eye-rolling. “I don’t have to do jack to play video games and eat Doritos,” he said, hoping to distract her from his ocular transgression.

“Maybe not now. Your parents handle most of that for you. But at some point you’ll move out, and then you’ll have to pay for the video games, the electricity, the rent, the Doritos, the doctor bills that come from doing nothing but playing video games and eating Doritos.”

“I’ll get a job.”

“Mmm hmm. At McDonald’s maybe?”

“Maybe. A job’s a job.”

“No, I disagree with you on that point,” Mrs. Kettleman said. “There are jobs, which you go to to make some money – usually not very much. And they’re usually not very interesting or enjoyable. Then there are jobs, where you work towards something bigger. Towards something meaningful to you. What’s great about those jobs is that you tend to actually enjoy them. And they tend to pay more, of course.”

Kenneth dutifully paid attention, and he dutifully held his eyes in check.

“The thing is, Kenneth, that, unless you’re going to be a bum – in which case you won’t get video games and Doritos at all, – you need income to do the things you actually want to do. So, you can either get a miserable job that you have to spend a lot of time at because it pays so little, or you can spend your working time on something you do enjoy and also make more money so you can afford more video games and Doritos in your spare time.”

Kenneth sighed again. It may have been impatience or lack of interest. Or it may have been a sudden insight into the deeper workings of life. He didn’t let on either way. But Mrs. Kettleman didn’t continue, and it was clear to him that it was his turn to speak. He tried to come up with something and decided on, “Well, unless I can find a job playing video games or eating Doritos, I think I’m stuck with McDonald’s.”

“That needn’t be the case. School is here to prepare you for something greater than McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, so I work harder now so that I can work harder for the rest of my life? I don’t care about any of this stuff school has to teach me. It’s stupid and boring. I don’t care.” Kenneth’s voice rose as he talked. They were entering emotional territory.

“Kenneth,” Mrs. Kettleman started, then paused. She seemed to be struggling with something internally. “Life is work, one way or another. It’s long hours flipping burgers and dealing with rude customers, or it’s putting up with selfish children who don’t care what you have to say.” Mrs. Kettleman had a wistful look as she said that last bit. “Or it’s days and nights searching through dumpsters for a meal and shivering under bridges. One way or another, you’re going to have to work to get the things you want. But a little work now, in school, will set you up for more fulfilling work later that will allow you–”

And then he did it. He couldn’t help himself – it came so naturally. Kenneth’s eyes circled, of their own volition, up and around before returning to a less-than-impressed looking Mrs. Kettleman. He’d done it now, Kenneth thought. More detention.

But instead she let him go early. Kenneth slunk guiltily from the classroom but was in full sprint by the time he reached the school’s front doors. As he ran home, Mrs. Kettleman’s question repeated in his brain. What did he want?

The answer, of course, was video games and Doritos. Definitely. And that’s what awaited Kenneth when he arrived at the empty house. He had a very enjoyable afternoon, with all his dreams fulfilled.

Writing Prompt

Rewrite a fairy tale from the bad guy’s point of view.

The Emperor’s New Clothes

Stevedori fussed over a bare mannequin, picking imaginary lint from its midriff and brushing its shoulders with the backs of his hands. For the thousandth time, he circled the canvas torso, admiring his work. “Just magnificent,” he muttered again and again. He licked a thumb and dabbed at a leftover dot of chalk only he could see.

“Father?” A young girl stood to the side, eyes wide with concern, but Stevedori paid her no attention. Whoever she was, she could wait until this business with the Emperor was over.

The pair had been ushered, along with the Emperor’s spectacular new outfit, into a room within the royal apartments. Though the room was larger than Stevedori’s entire home and tailor shop, it was clear that this was only the Emperor’s closet. And if Steveordi was correct, it was only one of the Emperor’s closets. The room was lined with dark paneling and deep blue curtains and upholstery that absorbed sound and light both, but a row of large windows brightened it enough to adequately show off Stevedori’s handiwork.

Upon entering, he’d set the mannequin up by the windows and gotten to work. From a large bag he pulled long rolls of crinkly paper. Each of these was unfurled and spread out upon the room’s carpets to reveal nonexistent articles of a rich, decorous robe and gown, one of several from which the Emperor would select for this afternoon’s affairs of state. The long-running war with their neighbor to the north was on the brink of petering out, and today’s ambassadorial visit would seal the final details. Hence the need for a new outfit.

Stevedori lifted each imagined piece, mime-like, from its paper wrappings. He inspected them and fit them in place on the mannequin. It was like piecing together a puzzle, and he went at it with an intensity that caused the girl to wring her hands. She had with her a bag of her own and repeatedly fished from it rolls of fine fabric that she offered to Stevedori as if he was in need of additional materials. He waved the nuisance away and wished the stewards would come retrieve her. Perhaps she was a test, put in the room as a final challenge to his focus and fortitude.

Stevedori continued assembling the Emperor’s new outfit on the mannequin which grew no less nude as he worked. He appeared to carry on a conversation as he went, though when the girl tried to answer – for nobody else was doing so – she was hushed and told to stop interrupting. Stevedori then apologized, perhaps to the mannequin, and continued a debate about how best to present the clothing.

“Don’t be silly, humility is for peasants. We must show you off as the grandest ever to exist.” Stevedori held a needle between his lips and rolled it around with his tongue as he listened to a response only he could hear.

“That’s it,” he answered finally. “Utter confidence. That’s our angle. Anyone who can’t see the magnificence of this outfit is an idiot.”

“No,” he continued after a pause. “I won’t be calling the Emperor an idiot because he will see the magnificence. Just you wait. Oh, he’ll see it alright.”

Finally, when there was nothing more Stevedori could do – when the outfit was pure perfection and any additional attention could only detract from its integrity – he shooed the girl into a corner of the room, returned to stand by his masterpiece, and waited, back straight, for the doors to open. The Emperor was on his way, and Stevedori would dress the man in an outfit that the world would not soon forget.

Writing Prompt

Write a letter to an agent telling her how wonderful you are.

Let me tell you a thing about myself

Dear Ms. Stuffenterkie,

As you are well aware, we live in a dark age of writing and reading. Over recent decades, the collective imagination of the world has dimmed, and those willing to call themselves writers have become fewer and more elusive. Transcripts are now an endangered species. The writing world has frozen over, leaving editors, publishers, book stores and agents like yourself scurrying over the ice-encrusted surface and digging furiously for any sign of paper with words on it.

Where are the books? Where are the authors? Will they ever return?

It is this scene, barren and hopeless, into which I make my appearance. Riding upon the back of a great mastodon, I clutch the beast’s thick, clumpy mane in one hand and the salvation of humanity in the other. Sad, shattered people gather below, so hungry for what I offer that they risk being trampled under mighty columns of fur just for a glimpse. Staring up, they see that I am not swaddled in heavy furs, for the cold of this age does not touch me. They feel it now, too. The warmth I bring radiates outward, and the melodic drip, drip, drip of melting ice begins and increases until it’s a rushing torrent of water flowing outward and away from this once tormented land.

I am the light-bringer. I am Prometheus. And in my hand is The Transcript.

And now The Transcript passes to you. It is up to you, Ms. Stuffenterkie, to spread this message of hope to a frigid world. I have chosen you as my messenger because I know what you are capable of. We all stand on the shoulders of giants, and you have represented many of those upon which I respectfully place my feet. Unlike the mastodons I wintered with, the giants you have nurtured are respectable authors like myself and heroes of ages past. Though I know the world is hungry to hear my stories, I desire to work with someone like yourself who will help ensure they are the best stories they can possibly be and that they find the right ears to help spread them even further.

Given the dearth of authors and transcripts in this cold era, I expect that your first instinct will be to phone me immediately to say, “Yes. Emphatically, yes.” But I ask that you please first read The Transcript I have set before you. Soak it in. Warm your bones. Harken back to the old days when stories were plenty and enjoyable. If my story can remind you of the glory days before the ice came, then – and only then – please contact me with your praise. Then, together, we can save the world and bring an end to this literary ice age.

Sincerely,
The Chad