28 posts tagged “writing”
An entry for the Writing Prompts group.
This weeks prompt: Write a scene that turns on a ransom note - for something other than a human being.
Josh plops into his chair, kicks off his sandals, and swivels around to the computer. He taps the space bar and pulls his microphone into speaking range. Taps it again. How strange; he doesn't remember shutting it down. He reaches under the desk and presses the power button on the tower. Still nothing. The timing couldn't be worse. He's got plans to enter a three-on-three tournament with Matt and Len. Maybe there's a blown fuse. No, that can't be it. The desk lamp is working. He crawls under the desk and checks the power strip. Wait a minute! He pulls the tower forward a bit, turns it toward him. There's a folded piece of paper taped to the back. He opens it and starts reading.
Josh -
As you may have figured out, I have taken the power supply cord from your computer. I'm sure you're aware that desktop computers do not operate without electricity. Sadly, this may pose insurmountable challenges to your gaming plans for this afternoon. As a backup precaution, your wireless card has also been confiscated. I regret it has come to this. But as you have not responded to polite requests, impassioned pleas, or irritated nagging, you leave me no choice. If you wish to see your computer components returned to you safely, please carefully read and complete the following steps:
1) Pick up your clothes from the floor. Dirty items are to be placed in the hamper in the laundry room. In case you have forgotten, it is located at the end of the hall.
2) Clean your cat's litter box. He has been hoping you'd do it for days, but he is much to timid to ask you. I am not, as evidenced by my numerous prior requests.
3) Take out the trash. All of it.
4) Remove your shoes from the kitchen, your t-shirt from the sofa, and the plate with dried-on salsa from the desk in your room.
5) Return the movies you rented and pay the fine. Yes, the ones the rental store left you messages about.
It's a lot to remember, which is why I've taken the liberty of writing it down for your convenience. Once these tasks have been completed, I will gladly return the aforementioned items. And remember, no cops.
Fondly,
The Kidnapper
How it works: Write an entry of any length or style using five assigned words. Bold the five words. Tag your post with 5wordchallenge and any other tags you wish to add.
This week's challenge words: carpet, jury, pasta, shapeless, whey
Here's my entry:
The pasta provided as our evening meal -- and I'm using that term loosely -- is overcooked and watery. The alleged sauce is nothing more than a reddish liquid pooling like whey and threatening to swamp the paper plates as it drains from the mushy glop of lukewarm noodles. It's an unappetizing and shapeless mess. I'd just as soon skip it. My fellow jury members are tentatively digging in, hunger overcoming disgust for at least a few bites. The so-called chef should be called on the carpet. He's guilty of a greater crime than the defendant in our case.
How it works: Write an entry of any length or style using five assigned words. Bold the five words. Tag your post with 5wordchallenge and any other tags you wish to add.
This week's challenge words: original, surf, laughter, intentional, prepared
Here's my entry:
He sits a few yards above the tidemark, feet loosely buried under a cool caress of sand. The longer he stares at the endless cycle of rushing and retreating surf, the more his face relaxes, as if the water is simultaneously ironing away the worry lines as it smoothes out the sand. Getting himself to the water's edge was intentional; beyond that, he'd had no plan. Random meandering along the strand brought him to this particular patch of heaven, with the sound of children's laughter lilting on the breeze from somewhere out of sight. His life will change tonight. He's prepared: the reservations made, the words rehearsed, the ring secretly sparkling within its box, a heart brimming with love and hope. "Will you marry me?" may not be an original question, but he's about to ask it for the first and only time. He concentrates on emptying his mind, submerging himself in the sight, sound, and sensation of waves and sky, finding solace here as he always does.
Look at the first post you ever wrote on Vox. What important developments or changes have occurred in your life since then?
Submitted by Alexandra.
I've taken thousands of pictures,
read over a hundred books,
written countless words I probably would never have written otherwise.
I've learned to say more,
and at times, to say less.
From pseudonymous shelter, I've opened my heart and mind to the world.
I'm a a bit older and grayer,
with new lines on my face,
yet on the inside, where it really counts, I still feel like the same young kid.
I'm hopefully a little wiser,
possibly more cynical,
and at the same time, even more hopeful, grateful, and in love with life.
An entry for the Writing Prompts group.
This weeks prompt: Write about a person whose reputation rests on the appearance of an inanimate object.
He's just stepped out of the shower when he hears it. Oh. My. God. The garage. No! How can they be home already? He hurriedly towels off and hightails it to the kitchen in time to see his mom head upstairs and his dad come in through the mud room, a suitcase in each hand.
"Dad. Hey."
"Hi Jared. Shouldn't you be at school?"
"We got out early. Assembly. Um, I thought you guys weren't coming back until tomorrow."
"That was the plan. But I wrapped things up with my client earlier than expected. Your mother called the airline and we were able to get standby on a flight home this morning. Not first-class, but at least we didn't have to stay in that godforsaken city for another day."
"Oh."
"Jared? Come up here please. Right now."
Oh man. This can't be happening.
"Yeah, ma. Be right there."
Full of dread, he trudges up the stairs, walks down the hall to his room, peers in. What the...? His mother is standing just inside the room, facing him, hands on hips.
"Jared? What's been going on in here?"
"What? Nothing. Why?"
"You've had a girl in here, haven't you?"
"Whaaaaat? Ma, no. Of course not. "
"Jared don't lie."
"Lie? What?"
"Your bed's been made."
In his shock, he hadn't noticed.
"Yeah. So."
"You haven't made your bed since you were nine, Jared."
"I can't believe this! Dad?!"
Jared's dad walks in, leans against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.
"Jane? Jared? What's all the commotion? We've only been back 5 minutes and you two are already at each other's throats?"
"She's freaking out and accusing me, cuz I did something I'm supposed to do. I can't even believe this. Dad, it's total crap!"
"I knew we shouldn't have left him. Bob, look. He's had a girl in here. The bed's made for chrissakes."
"And...?"
"This IS Jared we're talking about, Bob. You don't find this sudden tidiness suspicious? I sure as hell do."
"Dad! C'mon."
"All right. Everybody just settle down. Jane, it's been a long day. Let's go down to the kitchen, I'll open a bottle of wine. We'll talk about it. Calmly. Jared, give us a few minutes."
Bob puts his arm around Jane and gives Jared an almost imperceptible over-the-shoulder wink on the way out.
Relieved, but perplexed, Jared stares at the bed. He hears a faint scratching noise coming from the closet, walks across the room, opens the door a crack.
"Jared," Chloe whispers, "you better get me out of here somehow. If they find me and tell my parents, I'm dead."
This is my first submission for the new Writing Prompts group on Vox.
This week's prompt: Write a scene in which the dramatic tension revolves around a misspelling: a road sign, the name on a birthday cake, the directions to a doctor's office, a word in a spelling bee...
I walk into our home office and find my son intently plinking away at the computer.
"What are you working on?"
"It's a paper for my sociology class. I'm almost done."
"Interesting topic?"
"Yeah. Kind of. I was supposed to take a position about whether people have to have religion to be moral. I think I did a good job."
"How about letting me read it?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I guess. But you can't proofread."
"Why not?"
"I just don't want you to."
Looking over his shoulder at the screen, I can already see a misspelled word.
"But what if I see a misspelling or a grammatical error? Wouldn't you want to know so you can fix it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I just don't. If I let you read it, you can't say anything."
"So, if I see an error, I'm just supposed to keep my mouth shut? You'd rather turn it in with a mistake than have me point it out? That's really the way you want it?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, but that seems counterproductive. Other people pay me to do this for them."
"I don't care. Damn."
"All right, all right. I'd really like to read it, so I promise I won't say anything. But it's going to be frustrating, you know."
"Whatever."
How it works: Write an entry of any length or style using five assigned words. Bold the five words. Tag your post with 5wordchallenge and any other tags you wish to add.
This week's challenge words: meringue, traffic, flowers, social, bill
Here's my entry:
Stuck in traffic. Can't make the office party. Breaks my heart in two.
Missing out on all the niceties of forced social mingling.
Shallow chitchat and nasty gossip, topped with a frothy meringue of feigned goodwill.
Suits and skirts parading 'round the buffet like pretty flowers with gnashing teeth.
Pity I won't be there.
Tabulate lost brownie points and bill me.
It's likely that in sharing this post, I'll alienate a few people. It's also likely that I'll fail to adequately convey my point. I may very well be misunderstood. Nonetheless, this is something I've thought about time and again and I think it's worth broaching and discussing.
In a nutshell, I've come to the conclusion that blogging can fall victim to an excess of politesse and reciprocity.
I read blogs because they introduce me to new people, places, and ways of looking at things. I read blogs written by people I'm fairly certain I'd adore in real life. I also read blogs written by people I would undoubtedly not get along with. I read blogs because they amuse, educate, pique, entertain, challenge, soothe, inform, or inspire me in some way. I don't read blogs solely because the author reads my blog. There are blogs I read regularly with no reciprocation whatsoever. Conversely, I'm certain there are people who read my blog without reciprocity from me.
I write a blog for a variety of reasons. I write for the sweet challenge of the written word. For the joy of self-expression. For the catharsis of sharing challenges or triumphs. For the connection and camaraderie.
Since at least part of writing a blog involves the pleasure of reaching or connecting with others, I genuinely appreciate comments. A comment is proof that my words have not simply echoed endlessly into the void. (Someone actually read what I wrote!) However, I'm bothered by the idea of tit-for-tat commenting. If I write a post that you can connect with in some way, great. Maybe you relate to what I've said. Or you think I'm off my rocker. Or it makes you laugh. So far so good. But if you leave a comment because you feel that you owe me one, or because it seems like you should, that's not so good. I hate the idea that a person would ever feel an obligation to comment. If visits and comments are nothing more than rote reciprocations, I think they lose some of their value.
At times, I receive a comment from an individual I've not heard from before. It makes sense to pay a visit and see if there's something of interest to me at their blog. Realistically, there's a possibility nothing will grab me and that will be the end of it. I'm not being mean, just honest. It simply isn't possible for me to forge a connection with every person who reads my blog and vice versa.
Sometimes when an online friend leaves a comment on one of my posts, it reminds me to check in on them. And when I arrive at their blog, I may find something I want to reply to. But I may just read a few things without commenting. I read oodles of posts that I don't comment on. If I don't leave a comment, it doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the post. If I took the time to compose a meaningful response for every item I read, I would have to give up blogging: it would consume far more time than I have to spare. It's a shame that comments are nearly the only indicator we have that an item's been read.
If I frequent your blog, it's because I enjoy it. I visit when time allows. I read what interests me. I may or may not comment, so you won't always be aware of my presence. If you read my blog and you suspect I don't regularly read yours, don't take it personal. There are only so many hours in the day.
I think we might all be more content if the acts of writing and reading blogs were less closely entwined.
My attitude toward blogging is probably influenced by my age and my introvert personality. I suspect my age group is less accustomed to the interactive, give-and-take nature of the online world. My formative years were a more passive age, e.g. television and radio did not invite or expect a response. Whatever the reason, sometimes I just want to absorb without the need to respond.
For me, blogging is a source of enjoyment. I refuse to let it become a job, with a list of visits to be made, and a quota of comments to be left. That would zap all the fun out of it.
I'd love to hear from you if you have any thoughts you'd like to share on this issue. But, please, only if you feel like it. :)
How it works: Write an entry of any length or style using five assigned words. Bold the five words. Tag your post with 5wordchallenge and any other tags you wish to add.
This week's challenge is hosted by Ancora Impara.
The words: midnight, sorrow, eyes, stillness, floor
Here's my entry:
Shattered keepsakes on the floor
Mood black as a moonless midnight
Eyes rage-rimmed and dripping sorrow
Deafened by stillness
In the wake of your departure
How it works: Write an entry of any length or style using five assigned words. Bold the five words. Tag your post with 5wordchallenge and any other tags you wish to add.
This week's challenge is hosted by Wavecritter.
The words: beautiful, adventurous, willow, brilliant, question
Here's my entry:
My beautiful, unpredictable little sister was sitting cross-legged near the edge of the garden when a pressing question popped into her five-year-old head.
"I wonder what it would feel like if I put this pussy willow bud in my nose?"
"Kara. No. It's not a good..."
"Ooooooh, it's soft. It tickles!" she giggled. "Uh oh."
Nanny extracted Kara's "bloody brilliant idea" with an eyebrow tweezer then shooed us back outside, annoyed at having to tend to our "foolishness" while her favorite soap opera was on.
Kara was always the more adventurous of the two of us, although I like to believe I was better at foreseeing consequences.
