Daily Writer's prompts

[KillerMuffin]

I get the thing in my email from Writer's Digest. A list of prompts to help you write, one for each day. I thought of something that might be kinda cool. If there's any interest, of course. I'll go ahead and C'nP the Writer's Digest prompt here and you can respond to it. The trick is to keep your reply to 500 words or less. Discussing each other's work will make this really cool cause that way you can have a sort of spur of the moment writer's group going on.

If there's any takers:

1. This month is Native American Month. Write about your own ancestors and how they have affected your life.

from www.writersdigest.com

 

[medjay]

I would have loved to have been the first one to get started on this thread but, unfortunately, I don't know a damned thing about my ancestors.

My mom's adopted and my father doesn't really speak to his family because they are all a bunch of alcoholics. As far as I know, I'm a mix of black, Native American, and possibly Irish but this has been neither confirmed or denied.

I'm sure someone will post a better story than mine but I just wanted to get this thread rolling because I think it's a great idea. I will certainly be checking in to see how things are going.

 

[wildsweetone]

darn, that counts me out... or can i write about my own english ancestors? lol i wonder how many new zealanders have native american ancestors...

 

[Route66Girl]

I've got one

My ancestors, ethnically speaking, have affected my life in no way whatsoever. This story has nothing to do with being Cherokee, Irish, or Dutch or any one of the many groups that comprise my heritage. It's just an American story.

There are quite a few stories in my family history that are worthy of being told. But there is one that has always captured my imagination like no other. I've never written it down before- the details are locked safe in my memory. But, KM, for you... I'll jot it down here.



Wayne kept his eyes trained ahead, his brothers and father leading the way. He'd never been to this part of the North Fork before. Hunting hadn't been so good lately further down in the valley. This time of the year, all the game was up in the high country.

He tried not to lag behind, but found it hard not to stare at the Shoshone river far below. The edge of the ravine upon which they walked led straight down, hundreds of feet, to the glittering snake of water.

The boy didn't mind hunting. He'd been doing it for two years now. But he couldn't help looking at the Shoshone, wishing that he was standing along its banks with a fishing rod in hand. Trout was his favorite thing to eat, anyways. Far better than venison.

"Wayne! Get the lead out, boy!"

He snapped his head up and looked at his father, who had stopped walking to address his youngest son.

"C'mon. We gotta get one soon. Daylight's wastin'."

Nine year-old Wayne nodded and stepped forward, determined to do his best and spot a deer.

Rocks crumbled underneath his feet. Something was wrong. He dropped his rifle as he scrambled to catch his balance, but it was too late. Wayne's stomach fell, heart stopping as he realized there was nothing beneath his feet but air. The least thing he saw before blackness enveloped him was the blinding flash of sunlight glinting off the surface of the river, which was somehow getting closer...

The next day

"Ma'am, I'm very sorry, but there's no point in setting the bones. The best thing we can do is just give him some morphine, so his passing will be easy."

Wayne's mother looked down at her crushed son, who lay unconscious on the hospital bed. Not really a true hospital... but the ramshackle facility in Cody, Wyoming was the nearest thing available. It was a miracle they'd managed to get Wayne out of that ravine and make the forty miles to Cody before he died.

She nodded tearfully.

Four months later

Lionel stepped off the train close behind his parents. The trip out west had so far been uneventful.

He'd been, at first, unwilling to leave his comfortable, well-off Minnesota life behind. But his father, in entrepreneurial zeal, had decided that there were big opportunities for them out west. They were on their way to California.

As the trip progressed, 15-year old Lionel had become more and more entranced with the scenery that raced by, and the host of interesting characters that got on and off at each stop. Perhaps his father was right- there was something out here worth their time.

The wild west. He'd read all about it.

He straightened his tie and adjusted his coat as he descended to the platform. Cody, Wyoming. They were only stopping over for several hours.

He looked around the quiet station. It was very early in the morning- about 5 a.m. There didn't seem to be many people about.

"May I look around for a moment?"

His parents, fussing over the luggage, gave their consent and Lionel began meandering around the station.

It was then that he noticed a young boy standing by a stack of newspapers he was evidently there to sell. The boy wore shabby, dirty garments very unlike the finery Lionel was dressed in. More noticeable, the boy also slumped tiredly over crutches, one of his legs clearly twisted and deformed.

A wash of both pity and admiration overcame Lionel at the sight.

"Would you like to buy a paper, sir?" Wayne asked him.

Wayne couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he looked at the well-heeled young man who stared at him so. Such nice clothes, such nice-looking folks he'd wandered away from. He also noticed the young man wore a pin on his lapel with the initials L.M.P. It looked like it was made of pure gold.

Lionel pulled some change out his pocket and approached the boy, trying to smile as if he didn't notice his crippled state. He saw the boy looking at the golden pin that bore his initials.

"What's in the news today?" he asked brightly.

Wayne reached down and pulled up a paper and showed him the big headline on the front page.

TITANIC SINKS!

Lionel picked up the paper in amazement. Just one week before, his father had taken him on a walk around Duluth that went for two city blocks. At the end of it, he'd looked at Lionel and said, "You see how far we just walked? That's the same distance it would take to walk from one end of the Titanic to the other."

He could hardly imagine what it would be like for a ship that size to sink... all those people...

Lionel handed the boy some change, tearing his attention away from the disastrous news.

"That's too much money, sir," Wayne said.

"It's alright."

Lionel looked down at the little crippled boy one last time, wondering what had happened to him. It would probably be rude to ask. He smiled instead.

"Thanks for the paper."

"You're welcome, sir, and thank you. Have a good journey."

Lionel walked away with his newspaper, anxious to show it to his father.

Sixty years later

Two old men sat by a fireplace, talking together as they rarely had a chance to. Their children and grandchildren were gone to bed.

Lionel asked Wayne about his bum leg, and how he got it.

Wayne told the story of how he fell into a ravine when he was nine years old. The doctor thought he would die, and so didn't set the bones in his leg. By the time they realized young Wayne would make it after all, the bones had already knit together, deformedly.

It was a long time before he could really walk without crutches, but one of his legs never bent at the knee again.

In order to "earn his keep" while he was crippled, he'd sold newspapers at the Cody, Wyoming train station.

Lionel relaxed posture suddenly went rigid as a long-lost memory flashed through his mind.

He fished into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, searching through the folds for an old photograph. When he found the right one, he handed it to Wayne, the father of the woman who'd married Lionel's son.

"Do you remember me?"

Wayne looked at the old, black and white photo of two well-dressed, unsmiling people and the young man who stood between them. Lionel and his parents... and Lionel was wearing a gold pin. LMP

Wayne smiled.

"Well... isn't that something?"



"Wayne" and "Lionel," as I've called them here, were my grandfathers.

I'm pretty sure I went over 500 words. Sorry

Hope you like the story anyways. It's true

I left this story for this thread as an answer to how my ancestors have affected my life. Culturally, I'm a product of the American West. My grandparents and their parents lived their lives well. I'll never forget them. And it's stories like this that have taught me never to discount anyone you meet as random.

We're all a family.

 

[shyybabe]

Great idea KM. I use Musings, a program which prompts you each day with either a quote on writing or a creative writing exercise. I think they also have other writer's tools on their website.

If you want to check it out its at: http://www.grimsoft.com/

Now I have to think up a story about my ancestors. My Dad is French, so that's the romantic side and my Mom was Scottish so that's the tragic and frugal side. A cheap romance?

 

[Whispersecret]

I liked that story a lot, R66girl.

 

[The_old_man]

My paternal great grandfather owned a cigar factory.

All the workers were union members. One day the union local called a strike in sympathy with other locals that had struck. When the union boss admited that there were no complaints against my great grandfather he fired all of the union members and replaced them with women. Production went up and spoilage went down.

Both of my grandmothers worked for him, one on the production floor, the other in the office.

 

[alltherage]

I recently stood on the quay in Ireland where my grandmother left to come to this country. It is odd how moving that was for me. I was in Cork. Staying at the Best Western located on Anderson Quay. When I walked to the end of the hall where my room was located i could look out on the quay and look out at the open sea which lay beyond the harbor. From my rooms window I could look down on a city shelter which seemed to house the drunks of the city. Some unlucky souls were sleeping on the sidewalk outside the shelter.

I come from a long line of drunks. From my nice clean room i could see both worlds which produced me. The hope of an immigrant grandmother and the dispair of a culture nearly distroyed by colonialism. One fed the other and ultimately put me in the place I am now.

 

[Route66Girl]

Hey everybody

Thanks, Whisper

I always thought those events had dramatic appeal in a warm, fuzzy, Hallmark TV movie kind of way.

I'd like to someday build a much longer story around it. I'm saving it for when my writing has reached more accomplished levels.

Say, KM, was there a new writer's prompt today? I'm interested! Or do you think I should go to writersdigest.com and subscribe to the list outside this thread?

the_old_man, that tale about the union strike, cigar factory and your grandparents is classic! So many angles to explore. You should write it down as a full-fledged story. Perhaps a screenplay?

alltherage, exploring your roots is a moving experience. I've paid homage to the stomping grounds of my grandparents as well. It's a singular feeling... vicarious nostalgia...

 

[Ulyssa]

My paternal great grandfather owned a cigar factory.

All the workers were union members. One day the union local called a strike in sympathy with other locals that had struck. When the union boss admited that there were no complaints against my great grandfather he fired all of the union members and replaced them with women. Production went up and spoilage went down.

Both of my grandmothers worked for him, one on the production floor, the other in the office.

It's a shame they outlawed child labor. I'll bet he really could have kept his costs under control.

 

[Coolville]

My grandfather, as a young man, we're talking the mid 1920's here, saved up for ages in order to emigrate to the States. From Denmark.

He succeeded and boarded a steamer to NYC. He quickly found a job as a jewellry delivery man, carrying precious gems from one dealer to another. He was thrilled. Making money. Renting a room. It was splendid.

After being in NYC for a month or so, he was walking down the street one day when he heard a group of men speaking Danish. He hadn't spoken Danish since arriving so he started talking to these guys. They were sailors on shore leave and they all hit it off.

They went drinking and promptly got outrageously drunk.

When my grandfather woke up, he was on board a ship, far out to sea, with the American coastline in the distant background.

He had been shanghai'd. He was pissed off about this and tried to get them to turn around, but they roughed him up, handed him a mop and told him to get to work.

He was headed back to Copenhagen. Where he stayed, after all that shit.

 

[medjay]

I've been waiting for the next prompt topic but since KM seems to be busy I'll do it myself.

From the Writers Digest:

Writing Prompt for 9/4/2002
Pick a book or movie that you like but wish would have ended differently. Draft the ending as you would have written it.

This is a good one. Most movies that lose me in the end do so because they just go on too long. Two movies that infuriated me were Minority Report and The Game. Minority Report was excellent until it ran out of steam and fell back on that tired Hollywood-esque happy ending. Speilberg should have taken some lessons from Kubrik and ended the picture with Tom Cruise imprisoned in the cryo chamber.

The Game was dark and disturbing up until Michael Douglas jumps off the building only to land in an air bag. Then he gets up and proceeds to shake his booty at the birthday party! Judging from David Fincher's other work, this had to be a last minute rewrite demanded by the studio. Michael Douglas dead from a twenty story fall would have ended the film perfectly.

As for a movie that should have ended differently, I vote for Dead Presidents. For those who haven't seen it, a brief synopsis. Larenz Tate plays a young man named Anthony who goes off to fight in the Vietnam war. After several nauseating battle sequences he returns home to New York to find no one gives a shit about his service to the country. His family looks at him as a killer. He finds it impossible to get a job. He discovers that while he was away his wife has taken up with a low life pimp.

A handful of his fellow veterans are also having a hard time handling post war adjustment. Anthony gets a job at a meat packing store but still can't raise enough money to support his wife and young daughter. His wife has become a terrible nag and drives him to drink with her constant bashing of his manhood. Plus, Cutty the pimp keeps coming around making matters worse.

Here is where the movie takes a wrong turn. Anthony talks the local gangster (played by Keith David) into helping him plan a robbery. He enlists a couple of his war buddies to help them knock over an armored car filled with old money scheduled to be burned by the treasury. The robbery attempt goes horribly wrong, cops and robbers die, and Anthony is sent to the slammer.

I, for one wasn't buying the whole robbery ending. Up until that point the film had worked well as a psychological study of the effects of the Vietnam war on inner city blacks. It became just another shoot-em-up (although the scene was cool).

In my version, the film would have maintained its dark, brooding tone, following Anthony in a downward spiral of depression, anxiety, and personal self-destruction. The armored car robbery is too big. Too easy. Instead, Anthony's drinking gets worse. Memories of the war lead to night terrors. He awakes one night in a paniced fit and attacks his wife who is sleeping next to him. He beats her severely and, terrified, she takes their daughter and flees. To his horror, she runs back to Cutty the Pimp. He continues to drink and starts to contemplate the murder of Cutty. He gets a gun and stalks him, eventually killing him. The murder leaves him cold and unfeeling. His wife is gone. He loses his job.

Broke, out of work and desperate, Anthony entertains the idea of a simple liquor store stick up. He enlists the aid of a couple of his army buddies and they attempt to do the job. Things go wrong though because Anthony is drunk and not thinking clearly. Innocent people are killed and a prompt police response leads to a shootout which ends with his friends dead and Anthony on his way to the clink. This ending is still gritty yet less grandiose than the armored car hiest and it still keeps with the original theme of war vet displacement. Not as flashy but I think it works.

 

[karmadog]

Yeah. I agree, that movie went way over the top. Your version is much better although it's even more depressing. I thought it was strange that they dressed up like mimes for an armored car heist, then leave the two most distinctive looking members of the gang with no disguises.

 

[medjay]

Yeah. I agree, that movie went way over the top. Your version is much better although it's even more depressing. I thought it was strange that they dressed up like mimes for an armored car heist, then leave the two most distinctive looking members of the gang with no disguises.

Right. The whole robbery sequence was excellently filmed and the mime look was different and kind of surreal. The only problem is the whole scene belonged in another movie! It wasn't a logical conclusion to the plotline that preceeded it.

 

[medjay]

Hope I'm not the only one interested in keeping this thread going. I'll continue to post here; anyone else can feel free to join me.

Writing Prompt for 9/6/2002

What fairy-tale character resonates the most deeply with you? Explore why in a journal entry.

I'm not sure if it's technically a fairy tale but Alice in Wonderland has always resonated the most deeply with me (and not because it was originally an opium fueled love letter from a pedophile to a ten year old girl ).

Why? Alice's curiosity and pragmatism mirrors my own behavior both now and when I was a kid. I also have dreams just as vivid and nonsensical.

Also, I am an Aquarius, as was Lewis Carroll, and you can definatly sense that Aquarian sensibility prominently throughout the story.

Another thing is that Alice doesn't behave like the typical child or little girl; her behavior is very logical and adult at times. I was the same way. If I were the one going through those adventures I would have reacted in many of the same ways.

I saw the original Disney movie when I was young and, to this day, I still watch it at least once a year. I read the book even though it was tough going and hard to get through. No other "fairy tale" has had that kind of impact on me.

 

[peachykeen]

fairy tale character

ok in the 70's there was this thing called Free to Be You and Me, if you had big hippie parents like mine you probably know what that is. The main character in one of the stories was a girl named Atalanta, whose father was a king and he set up this contest for the fastest man in the kingdom to win her hand in marriage. She agrees on the condition that she be allowed to compete and if she wins she gets not to marry anyone. She trains and in the end she ties with this one guy. Thing is he doesn't want to mary her because he wants to go travel the world, he just thought she was hot and wanted a chance to hang out with her. So they spend some time together and then go their seperate ways, and the last line of the story goes something like "..and the old king sat in his throne and thought about how the world was changing."

I've even thought of naming my daughter Atalanta, if ever I have one.

 

[wildsweetone]

bumped the prompt thread, because:

Writer's Digest prompt today says:

Writing Prompt for
9/25/2002
Think outside the box. What would life be like if money did not exist?

 

[Quasimodem]

What would life be like if money did not exist?

Then everybody would be living my life.


It's all the fault of those damn Phoenicians

 

[wildsweetone]

Writing Prompt for
10/1/2002
Open a random drawer and list the items inside. Write a short story in which all these items appear.

Pocket knife, fork, pliers, scissors, whisk, measuring cups, twist ties, small sieve, ruler, rubber bands – various sizes. (It’s not my drawer eh… my kitchen, but it’s the family dumping drawer… and that’s only half the contents).

***

Sharon sat looking forlornly at the empty drawer. Its contents strewn at her feet over the grey and white tiles. She couldn’t really believe it was the third thing she’d handled clumsily that morning.

The first thing she’d dropped had been her coffee mug. Lucky for her, it was empty; she had just finished her drink and was placing the cup on the bench. The cat had leapt off the couch at the noise as the cup shattered, then headed for the door at a full speed run. Two hours later and he still hadn’t returned. She suspected he’d gone to sit on the neighbour’s patio table.

The second item had been the bathroom pot plant. The ceramic pot had somehow slipped from her grip sending the green fern and it’s potting mix flying all over the bathroom floor. The tile the pot had landed on now had the added feature of a stunning crack right through its centre.

As she sat on her knees on the floor in the kitchen she realised there was something wrong. She didn’t feel ill, but she knew that she had felt tingling in her fingertips of her right hand for a couple of months. Now, this morning, it had felt a little numb at times. She guessed it was time to visit the old Doctor.

She carefully picked up the pocket-knife, fork and pliers, dropping them into the basket in the deep drawer. The whisk and measuring cup fit snugly into their corner of the drawer, as did the small sieve. She couldn’t work out why she bothered keeping the twist ties, as she never used them. Mostly the kids used them for homework or projects. Still, she put them into the drawer too. Rubber bands! She’d been looking for rubber bands two days ago. She put them into the front corner of the drawer willing them to memory for next time. The ruler she didn’t bother to put back in the drawer, that went straight onto the study desk. The kids were always wanting a ruler and were never able to find one, resorting to using book edges or CD covers to rule straight lines for their homework.

The doctor saw her an hour after she phoned. She went into his office and the kindly man guided her to sit in the uncomfortable straight-backed brown chair that was opposite his old well-worn leather armchair. When he told her the results of her x-ray he did so in a quiet calm voice.

That her thoughts were raging through her head deafening her to his continued chatter didn’t really matter. What mattered was his diagnosis. RSI, repetitive strain injury, in advanced stages. She needed to rest her hand fully, strap it up if she couldn’t stop herself from doing things about the house. Certainly, no typing was allowed, and she was to manage as much as she could with her left hand.

Sharon relaxed back in her deck chair, and enjoyed the sunshine as it warmed her body. She smiled as she listened to her children making dinner and her husband guiding them. It wouldn’t be for long that she’d need the rest. But she had decided she would follow the doctor’s orders and make the most of the new free time.

The new left handed skills she'd have to learn would keep her entertained for a long time, she wondered how her husband would react.

 

[wildsweetone]

warm up the blood...

Writing Prompt for
10/1/2002
Open a random drawer and list the items inside. Write a short story in which all these items appear.


Top drawer in chest of drawers:
panties, various sorts, red, blue, black, white, - bikini, hip high mostly, couple of g-strings,
bras, white - lace only, blue - lace and satin, white - lace and satin, black - lace only, cream - lace and satin.
camisole, white lace, lavendar lace.
handkerchiefs - plain white, flower patterned, lace.
stockings - black, tan
suspender belts - black, white.
Lavendar ceramic pomander.

Hmm, Jennifer wondered. What colours would the gentleman prefer tonight?

She picked up the red panties in one hand and blue in the other. Looking at both, she dismissed them as being too loud for her mood. Black perhaps? She looked closely at the lace front with its tiny black satin ribbon. No, not black. That's not right either. She shook her main of brunette waves as she threw the black panties to the carpeted floor.

White! Yes white! Her eyes sparkled as she slipped the white lace and satin bikini panties on. She glanced in the mirror, grimaced and returned to choose her bra.

The blue, black and cream bras all hit the floor without further thought. She held up the two white bras. One was made totally of lace, it sat perfectly against her skin and held her breasts most comfortably. The other was lace and satin, it matched her panties, and it matched her current mood. Carefully she slipped her arms into the straps, bent forward a little, repositioned her breasts into the cups, then hooked up the back fastening of the bra.

Standing straight, she critically checked herself in the full length mirror. Yes, that's good, she thought.

Camisole. She pulled out the two cami tops. The white one would be her preference for the night. Slipping her arms and head into the cami, she pulled gently on its hem, sliding it down over her full breasts. She smoothed the lacy material, then reached for the suspender belts.

Tossing the black one at the increasing pile of clothes on the floor, she hooked the white suspender belt around her hips. She attached a new pair of black stockings to the ribboned clips then gathering the left stocking carefully, Jennifer sat on the edge of her four poster bed and slipped her pale pink foot into the stocking.

She allowed her foot to sink right into the stocking then she lifted the gossamer material up her svelt skin, over her knee and up her firm thigh. She ran her fingertips lightly around the top edge of the stocking, ensuring it sat smoothly against her skin. Then she gathered the right stocking, slipped her foot into the dark material and slowly lifted it up to her thigh. She checked it in the same way, with her fingertips, ensuring the material sat smoothly against her body.

She slipped her feet into the black high heels as she stood. The white crepe blouse with long sleeves had a top button just low enough for the lace of the camisole to peep over. Jennifer tucked the blouse into her short black skirt as she zipped it up.

She stood in front of the mirror, one last critical eye checking over her ensemble. Lifting her arms tightened the blouse a little, she held her long hair, twisting it neatly into a chignon whe she held in place with one simple clip.

Glancing at the time, she chose a white lace hanky from the neatly ironed pile, throwing the rest to the floor. She chose her black leather handbag, then placed the hanky inside.

She frowned at the mess on the floor, noting the only content of the drawer was the lavendar ceramic pomander. She bent, gathered all the clothes and pushed them haphazardly back into the drawer.

Jennifer then walked to the window, winked at the landscaper and left him gaping as she drove to work.

 

[wildsweetone]

hmm they were fun

 

[wildsweetone]

Writing Prompt for
10/2/2002
Time to develop some of those query ideas you've been sitting on and send them out the door.

 

[wildsweetone]

Writing Prompt for
10/3/2002
Invite some writer friends over for a feedback session. Let your writing fall on new ears and see what advice, direction or aid a fresh audience can offer you.


isn't it odd that a big web site can suggest a writer meet up...?

feel free to come to my place, the muffins are in the oven, the kettle is on to boil. rofl

 

[deliciously_naughty]

Writing Prompt for
10/3/2002
Invite some writer friends over for a feedback session. Let your writing fall on new ears and see what advice, direction or aid a fresh audience can offer you.


isn't it odd that a big web site can suggest a writer meet up...?

feel free to come to my place, the muffins are in the oven, the kettle is on to boil. rofl

I'll bring brownies!!!

I've favorite placed that website what a great resource...maybe one day I'll even learn how to properly use a ";"

 

[wildsweetone]

Writing Prompt for
10/4/2002
Create a pseudonym and revel in the freedom of writing with a new identity.



*wildsweetone is sitting tapping fingers on chin wondering about a new pseudonym*