Writing Prompts

From time to time I'll post writing prompts in this thread. I hope you find them helpful. These are all made up in my little ole head, so if they are similiar to anything that is already out there, it's just a coincidence.

Writing Prompt #1

You are driving home early from work. It's been a stressful day and all you want to do is take an aspirin for your aching head and put your feet up. As you drive down your street, you notice your spouse in your driveway with an attractive member of the opposite sex you've never seen before. They embrace and this stranger gets into his/her car and leaves. Your spouse has an unusual skip to his/her step as he/she walks back to the house. What did you just miss?

Mmm. Interesting.

I probably just missed my spouse having encountered an old flame from high school, stranded on the highway with a flat tire. So he, being the gallant hero that he is, changed the tire. She, being single, followed him home, that old flame burning inside her, hoping to reestablish their former relationship. Again, our hero showed her pictures of his wife and children, told her it was great seeing her again and she still looked good, but he was happily married with a wonderful wife. His step was light and happy though because for a second, he felt like a teenager again.

Very good, Bev.

Writing Prompt #2


Eight-year-old Sandra enters the house after school. She drops her backpack by the front door, shrugs off her coat, and marches toward the kitchen to the claim the last piece of chocolate cake. Actually, she had called it before leaving this morning, telling her five-year-old brother, Jared, that he wasn't to touch it. As she turns the corner, she sees Jared sitting at the kitchen table. His face covered in chocolate. What does she do?

This writing prompt was posted today at the Post a Note forum through Long Ridge. I'm not trying to steal it or anything, but I wanted to share what I came up with, so here is the prompt:

You're walking in the park and you find a film cannister -- one of those plastic jobs that used to hold 35mm film. You pick it up and open it.

My response:

"If I'm walking in a local park--one I know well, since I've lived in town my entire life and have traversed these paths a million times--my eyes will focus on that canister right away, whether it's just laying there on the sidewalk or under a bush. I mean, I know these trails like the back of my hand, so I'm not busy taking in the trees and the birds. Let's just assume I pick it up alongside a bush. It's an azalea bush--my favorite. The black canister stands out against the red flowers because it's spring after all. The ground is still wet from the unusually harsh winter we've had, but the sun has been shining the past few days, it's around 60 degrees, and the gray cover catches the sunlight.

I probably shouldn't pick up that nasty, dirty thing. It looks like it's been there all winter--if not longer--but I'm curious, so I pop the cap, slide it into my pants pocket, pull out the roll, tuck the canister into my other pocket, and unroll the film. Lifiting it up to the sunlight, I see these whitish figures against the blackness, and it looks likes they are dancing; no wait, (I flip the film) they aren't dancing, they are fighting. A much larger figure is on top of a smaller one--either a girl or a tiny guy with long hair--and the larger one is laying on top of the smaller one. I slide the film through my fingers, checking out each frame, my eyes widening as I move down the strip of film, and my mouth open in a large "O" shape. Some frames the figures are on their sides, others have legs kicking in the air. The next to the last frame the smaller figure's mouth appears to be wide open in a scream, the grayish hole of an open mouth contrasting against the white of his or her teeth. But it's the final frame that makes me scream out loud. The larger figure now has control. The smaller person is flat on her (?) back and her arms are held over her head, flat on the ground by one of the man's (?) hands. In the other hand, high in the air, is a large knife.

Who are these people? What kind of person would photograph such an event? And why has this film canister been disgarded like an empty Coke bottle?"

What do you think?


http://longridgewritersgroup.net/index.php

Here's another idea I came up with:

I'm in New York City's Central Park. My family has come to vacation in the city. I don't know why. I hate the city. It's loud, there are too many people, and I can't even hear myself think at midnight, which is when the rest of the world at home is asleep. I say goodbye to the hubby and my two girls. They are going to explore the American Girl Place while I try to get closer to God and nature. I walk through a green meadow with the glass and grey buildings of the New York skyline reaching into the blue, cloudless sky. A large elm tree sits in the middle of the meadow. I sigh. A perfect spot to pray.

I stroll across the meadow and plunk my behind down underneath the elm. The ground is cool, but I immediately feel the tension leaving my body. I raise my chin, close my eyes, and breathe deeper, slower. Instead of folding my hands, I let them fall to the ground, and run my fingers through the grass. My right hand knocks something out of the way, so I open my eyes. I grab the film canister, you know, the kind that holds 35 MM film, reminding me of when Kodak still made film cameras. The cap makes a popping sound when I pull it off. I tilt the black canister and its contents fall into my open palm. A marble and two plastic rings--a pink one shaped like a heart and a purple one in the shape of a moon. I smile. On the dresser at home, my oldest daughter has a film canister with eerily similar contents. Her rings are yellow and blue, shaped like a flower and a star. She's had it for years--a treasure from when plastic rings and marbles were so important, and an old canister from her father's last film camera was a prized possession.

My eyes scan the meadow. A mother and father, holding tightly by the hands to the little girl between them, skip along the grass. She looked like a saver of rings and marbles. I put the cap back on and slip the canister into my pocket. I race across the meadow to catch up to the family. I tap the man on the shoulder and then pull the canister out of my pocket and hold it out to the girl. Her lips curl into a smile that reaches ear to ear and she takes the canister from me. I wink, and the girl throws herself against my body and encricles my waist in a tight hug, before taking her parents' hands again and skipping away.