Prompts

Prompt – France With No Pants

The prompt this week came from an article in the March/April 2017 issue of Writer’s Digest: 20 Prompts To Banish The Blank Page by Bonnie Neubauer.

The prompt chosen was #17, “France With No Pants”:

You have just won a free two-day trip to France, but there’s a catch: You must leave immediately. There’s no time to go home and pack. All you can bring is what you are wearing and carrying with you today. You are given 15 minutes and $55 to spend at the airport store. What do you buy, if anything?

Tell the story of your adventure to the person sitting next to you on the return flight home. Start with: What a whirlwind …

Now really, what more needs to be said? Write it!

Prompt – Use The Bodily Senses (Sight, Sound, Taste, Smell, Touch) To Contribute To Your Writing Purpose.

The prompt was to set a scene as a writer for a particular purpose and use at least four of the bodily senses to contribute towards that purpose.

The prompt came from “Fire Ice” by Clive Cussler, with Paul Kemprecos:

After several minutes, during which the city lights faded to a glow, the car whipped down a darkened, garbage-strewn street into an alley not much wider that the vehicle. Austin’s companions hustled him from the taxi and stood him against a brick wall while they bound his hands behind his back with duct tape. Then they pushed him through a doorway along a dim hall and into the lobby of an old office building. Grime covered the marble floor. On one wall was a brass floor directory black with the patina of age. The smell of onions and the muffled cry of a baby indicated that the office building was being used for human habitation. Probably squatters, Austin surmised.
His escorts nudged Austin into an elevator and stood behind him. They were hulking men, as big or brawnier than Austin, who had never considered himself to be a pigmy. The space was cramped and Austin stood with his face pressed against the cold wrought iron of the ornate gate. He guessed that the elevator must date back to the time of the sultans. He tried not to think of frayed and neglected cables as the elevator slowly jerked and rattled up to the third and last floor. The elevator was more nerve-wracking than the speeding car. The elevator cracked to a stop, and one his escorts growled in his ear.
“Out!”
He stepped into a dark hallway. One man grabbed the back of Austin’s shirt in a bunch, used it to steer him forward and brake him to an abrupt stop. A door opened, and he was maneuvered inside. There was the odor of old paper and oil from long-ago business machines. He felt pressure upon his shoulders, then the edge of a chair bumped against the back of his knees. He sat down and squinted into the darkness. A spotlight flashed on, and Austin saw sunspots as the glare hit him in the face. He blinked like a suspect being given the third degree in on old gangster movie.

Set a scene for a particular purpose and use at least four of the bodily senses to contribute to your purpose.

The Body In The Bathtub

The following submission is by Writers in the Grove member Ann Farley for a suggested one line prompt: The body in the bathtub was not one she recognized.

The body in the bathtub was not one she recognized. Doris inched closer, clasped her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t touch anything, and leaned forward.
He was naked, all right. All the way to his toes.

Not bad looking. Give him a shave and comb that wavy dark hair and he would be a fine looking specimen. Well, his color could be better.

Doris straightened and shuffled back from the claw-foot tub. Better make a call or two. She tottered into the kitchen, lifted the yellowed handset, pressed at the buttons.

“911 dispatch. What’s your location?”

Doris stepped back in surprise. Lordy, that woman was loud, startling. Down-right rude, actually.

“I’m in my kitchen,” she snapped.

“Your location, ma’am. Where is your emergency?”

“Well, you see, I’m not sure it’s quite an emergency, really. It’s just –” Oh, how she wished everything wasn’t so automated.

“Ma’am, what is your location? Your address?”

“Oh,” Doris stammered, “Why, I’m out Mercer Road, just about two miles down from the high school. It’s the yellow house. Can’t miss it.”

Doris was still annoyed at her oldest boy, Marty, for picking such a bright, garish yellow. She had asked for a soft buttery color.

“I repeat, what is your emergency?”

“You see, I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m not sure it’s quite an em –”

“Ma’am, do you have a medical emergency? A fire? An intruder? This is 911 emergency dispatch.”

Doris sighed. “Oh, never mind. It’s hardly an emergency. I’m pretty sure he’s dead already.”

She hung the handset back on the wall unit.

That, thought Doris, didn’t go especially well.

Hands on her hip, she studied the clock above the sink, the one that made bird calls on the hour, a silly thing, but she rather liked it. A couple minutes after 10:00. She had less than an hour to get to May’s bridge luncheon at 11:00, and she still had a cake to frost. The undertaker, Samuel Walters, that’s who would help her. He did just fine when Harold passed a couple of years ago. Let him come and get another one.

Prompt-a-Month: Happiness

Writers in the Grove Prompt-a-Month badge.The March prompt-a-month for our Writers in the Grove members is:

Happiness

The deadline for submissions is 4/1/2017. Submissions will be published during the next 30 days.

Writers in the Grove members may hand in their submissions during the workshops or use our members only submission form. Check out the guidelines and instructions for submissions in the announcement.

Prompt – Use Metaphors And Similes To Describe An Experience

The prompt was to write using metaphors and similes to describe an experience without telling us what it is.

The prompt came from “Jitterbug Perfume” by Tom Robins:

Thus, even though his back now was turned to the allure of the morning star, even though a stout breeze flattened his beard against his Adam’s apple, even though his damp clothing clung to him like frost, he whistled from stump to rock as if he was a tea kettle leading the pack in the annual pot-and-open cross-country marathon.

Write using metaphors and similes to describe an experience (as in this example that this is a man on a walk) without telling us what it is.

Sleep

The following submission is by Writers in the Grove member Carolyn Bradley for the prompt Sleeping and Dreaming.

With fury the snow came down, slanted sideways like angry eyebrows, shattering its color over icy ground. It covered fence posts and car tops. It dusted fir boughs and bare limbs. It buried children’s tricycles and sandboxes until they were indistinct mounds. It filled empty flower pots and wheelbarrows to overflowing.  Then, with diminished force, it fell straight down, smoothing rough pathways and alleys with a soft frosting of vanilla. The garden tucked the white blanket up around its neck. It still slumbered. Seeds lay dormant. Worms and bugs slept. Bulbs waited. The ground, seemingly lifeless, was perched on the brink of awakening, its alarm clock a warming of the earth and bright morning sunlight. At the signal, the garden would shake off its white blanket and stretch its limbs toward the blue sky. Until then, it slept, breathing in and out and dreaming of soft soil, new grass and the rising of spring.

A Little Dance

The following submission is by Writers in the Grove member Gretchen Keefer for the prompt Show Relationship.

While he collected the spices, she got out the meat. He reached for the chopping board and knife as she pulled vegetables from the refrigerator. “Do you want red and green peppers?” she asked.

”Let’s do both,” he answered.

She started heating the skillet and slipped behind him to reach for the plates. He ducked under her arm to pick up the celery, rinsed and draining by the sink. Planting a brief kiss on his neck as she passed, she stirred the meat sizzling in the pan. He reached over her to add the chopped vegetables. Arms around her waist he nuzzled her ear until she squealed. Giggling, she turned to face him. After a lengthy kiss she said, “Time for the wine. I’ll get the glasses.”

It was their regular Saturday night dinner dance.