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Writing Prompts #10

For March 26th, 27th, and 28th:

32.I didn’t mean to read his journal. Really I didn’t. But there it was open on the table . ..

33. A character trying to catch his/her ex girl/boyfriend. Why, When, Where, and by what means(so really, how)?

Write in the perspective of a blind person, never using the word “blind”.

Begin a piece with: “I was too short to see above the counter but I knew there was something waiting on the top. I stand on my tiptoes…”

Describe your room/house in detail and how it relates to you as a person. Now describe an unknown room/house and speculate about who would live in this room/house. What is their name? Age? Favorite color? Occupation? Hobbies? Likes? Dislikes? Would you get along? Incorporate all of these and anything else that comes to mind in a first person account of walking into a stranger’s house/room and speculating about who they are.

Take these four lines and incorporate them into a story however you would like:
-This couldn’t happen to me.
-I swear it/they were out to get me.
-can it(goes in a question)
-You’re lying.

38. You are a ____________ and it is your first time at the [fashion capital] Fashion Week. The show is stunning, soon to be dubbed the best in the decade, when the star model in the show drops dead halfway down the stage. What is the reaction of everyone? How is it handled? Does the show go on? Why did she die?

39. Write a poem titled: “Amid the Ruins” and include the words: scarred, door, path, destruction, pale

40. Go outside with a blindfold on and sit or (CAREFULLY) walk around. Without the sense of sight, use your other four senses to describe your surroundings. Write about it, then go back outside and describe your surroundings using only your sight.

41.Your narrator has a disease/disorder/syndrome. What is it and how does it affect his/her life and relationships with other people? Write a scene about it.


( 5 comments — Post Your Response! )
Mar. 28th, 2008 02:31 am (UTC)
I know I'm lazy. I'd post to a longer prompt, but still wrapped up in the whole nanowrimo thing.


Down the weathered steps
through an archway of scarred wood
thin trees arching above us
like a shanty roof.

You turn to me
you watch my eyes.
I watch the pale stone.
It is as inscrutable as you.

When we leave the catacombs
for the forest path
the world looks worse.

Civilization after civilization
rushing to our own destructions

and still I am unable
to work up the nerve to speak.
Mar. 30th, 2008 03:21 am (UTC)
I didn't mean to read his journal. Really I didn't. But there it was, open on the table... my interest got the best of me, however. I couldn't turn away from it; I mean… he is my brother. I cannot overlook the fact that he has become so isolated as of late. We used to be so close. He would tell me everything and vice versa. I can't handle the fact that he has been drifting away. But now, since I looked upon those pages, I know everything. I sat there, drinking in each page, every written word. I knew it was restricted territory, and I am a horrible person for doing so, but there was just something in the atmosphere that drew me in. The first page or two was this phenomenal description of this beauty. Strawberry blonde hair, sea green eyes; the description was so generic. It could have been anybody. Then, he went more in detail. He called her gorgeous, ravishing. He described her colors, her shape, and her scent… but there was something I didn’t understand. He wrote it so penitently, as if it were such a sin to be in love with her. Actually, I believe that was the word he used. Sin. It wasn’t until the near-end of that entry that I saw. And suddenly, it made sense to me. The strawberry blonde hair, the green eyes, I knew it sounded familiar at first glance. I could almost feel the color draining from my face. Of course, I didn’t think of it then, because, well, because he described everything so differently than the way I would think to portray the subject—and besides, he's my brother. It would be foolish to think that the girl he depicted… It was the last sentence, the last sentence that got me. He said, If sis ever knew I felt this way, she would despise me. That was when everything made sense.
Apr. 14th, 2008 11:23 am (UTC)

How the World Feels

I’ve never seen light. Why should I have? Color is meaningless to me; black is white is red is blue is green. I feel the world, pulsing and breathing. It’s warm and cold, not bright and dark. Sharp or soft, sweet-smelling or pungent and odorous. Why should I care what color the sky is? Why should I care, when I know how open it is. I know I can reach and reach, and I’ll never touch it. What does the sky feel like, that I want to know. Is it velvet, is it silk? Is it satin, or a coarser, more natural fiber? It is smooth and cold, or it is fresh and breathing and warm?

I know what the grass smells like. I don’t care that it’s green, or if it’s blue, or even red. I know it smells earthy and good. It smells like life and vitality, like something that can stand up to a good thwacking and come right back again.

I know how the bird sings. I don’t care what color the feathers are, how dark or how light its eyes. I hear it’s song, it’s chirp chirp chirrrrrup! I hear how sweet the sounds it makes, how lonely it is without its mate.

I don’t need to see the crystal in sugar to taste its sweetness. I know it’s sweet. I don’t need to see its white powder form to identify it, because I know it’s smell. Hah, think of the benefits! I’ll never put salt in my coffee by accident.

I’ve never seen dark. I don’t need to see it. I know it is cold and damp, or dry and hot. I know what the dark feels like. It’s evil and lurking and skulking. It clings to your very bones, chilling your skin and pulling sweat from your pores.

I can’t see these things, but I still know them. What you think of as a misfortune, I view as a blessing. I don’t need to see these things to confirm their existence; I know them. I know how to really sense—how to really feel, to smell. I know how to really truly taste, how to hear things that sight cannot tell you. I know how the world feels.
Apr. 14th, 2008 11:26 am (UTC)
#39 (It looks better in Word, really. I have tabs and such set up, so it's not so hard to read. Anyway, this is about what happened in 2001, and I don't mean to be contreversial or anything like that, etc. This is just art, and how I feel.)

Amid the Ruins

How did you feel
that day?
What did your heart tell you
on that fateful day?
In the months and even years
after, we swore we would never forget.

But did we truly mean it?
Have we forgotten what clenched in our hearts?
Have we forgotten what it felt like
to be a country, rendered in two by
those planes?
Have we ceased to live in America the beautiful
in favor of the Good Ol’ US of A?
Have you forgotten what they felt that day?

He couldn’t think.
He couldn’t find her.
He—he couldn’t think, because
he couldn’t find her.
He had to find her.

She lay there,
Between the door and the
pale, pale ashes.

He saw her; it killed him
Because he was dead, wasn’t he?
Wasn’t that why he hurt so?

He saw the path to her,
saw her laying there among the destruction,
and wept.

Have you forgotten?
Feb. 16th, 2013 06:53 pm (UTC)
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