Living the Writing Life: My prompt, your 100 words…win a prize!
What’s in a prompt?
Could be a prize for you: A free download of my book: Write it Rich! Tips for Reluctant Writers.
All you have to do is answer my prompt in the Comment section of this blog post. Keep it to 100 words. Every submission will be moderated, so let’s keep it to a PG-rating. No erotica, hate or foul language will be accepted. Ever.
Here it comes:
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
Writers, start your keyboards…
But wait! There’s more!
Let’s add a challenge to the gig:
If you’re an author, at some point you need to write marketing copy to sell your book. And if you’re a copywriter, (editor, publisher, pundit, etc) – you’re soaked in fact-based writing.
Y’all need a change-up, and here it comes:
Fiction writers: Write your prompt as a piece of sales copy — think book jacket promo, an ad for your next signing.
Copywriters: Turn your journalistic prowess into something make-believe.
Do you have to? Nope.
You can win the prize either way. But writing is about learning, and I want to create a forum where we can all try something new, week after week, and then share with other writers.
Share your 100 words. Get published. Maybe win a prize.
Winners will be announced on a future show.
My hand was sore, thumb joint tender from all the cutting. The scissors lay on top of the pile of photos. A paper shredder couldn’t have done it any better.
In my hand, the last image: Cathy, sitting on a fence, squinting into the sunlight. Even so, I could see her eyes: Green, with gold flecks and a pupil so dark it always seemed to swallow time. Her lips a full pink, lower lip pinched between white teeth.
She looked so young, so free – unfettered. All the world before her.
The door slammed, the thud of books on the floor. A few quick steps: Cathy, in the kitchen: Looking at the pile, the scissors, me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
[...] Blog ← Living the Writing Life: My prompt, your 100 words…win a prize! [...]
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“Wait let me explain.
“It all started last Thursday when I was stuck in my lab inventing. You know, ‘science stuff.’ So there I was, up to my ribs in monkey’s kidneys, when suddenly I realized what day it was.
“‘Oh, no!’ I yelled, pulling the plug on the phrazmatron and dashing to the door.
“But ‘no’ it was. I had completely missed the end of the world, announced thousands of years ago by the Mayans and ignored ever since.
“Everyone had left without me. Oh, I’m sure they told me and called and such, but I was so near to perfecting my newest invention, I just hadn’t wanted to stop.
“Well, there wasn’t anything for it – I just had to use it. An automatic printing press for Mayan calendars, updated to today. I flipped it on and out popped new calendars, and everyone else, too.”
“I’m just sayin’,” she remarked sourly, “it wasn’t such a good world, anyway.”
“You didn’t have to do that” she said. “Yes,I did. Not for you, but for me-for my own peace of mind. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing all these wonderful pictures of all of us being so carefree before all this started. It seems like a hundred years ago now. I know someday I’ll regret it, but for now it seemed like the right thing to do.”
She looked at me with those green eyes of hers and I could see a trace of sadness somewhere in their depths that she was trying so hard to hide.
Katherine – a prompt from a prompt! I love it. Thanks for sharing.
For months you were childlike, poking at the object you wished to understand, and the naiveté on your face endeared you to many. Piece by piece, you saw things as they were. But when it came time to share your insights, you found that your elders saw only a crude doodle representing your world. Such scribbles couldn’t explain what you knew. They spoke only gobbledegook.
…mostly. But something clicked. You got responses.
“You didn’t have to do that,” one elder said. “Just use SPR or ITC or something.”
That enlightening commentary made you a better scientist and student. Good job!
A harried woman, business suit askew, staggering through the door after a long day at work.
Daddy is newly unemployed, comfortable in his sweats. The house is OCD clean. Kids too.
Mom drops her briefcase in shock.
“Oh, don’t put that there. Briefcases in the closet.” He carefully places it in. Closet is a marvel of organization.
For dinner, Daddy made Beef Wellington.
“Daddy cooks better than you do, Mommy!”
“Well,” he says jovially, “we got a little tired of casserole, didn’t we?”
Through gritted teeth: “You didn’t have to do that, dear.” She fondles her knife. “Really.”
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Within the doorway of her room approached a familiar shadow with the overpowering stench of the local corner hangout. Jimmy had come in a little later than his normal 1:00 a.m., slurring words to never again call his cell when he’s out. His loudness caused little James to whimper in the next room. As she fidgeted with the phone in her hand, Dorothy backed up against the dresser and suddenly, Jimmy threw back his arm impounding his physical strength across her face as she felt the stinging pain she knew so often. Jimmy, you didn’t have to do that, she said.
Wow, what a powerful scene. Thanks for sharing.