365 Days of Writing Prompts
About a year ago I bought a book of writing prompts. It is quite pretty, with bees and greens and yellows and it is filled with prompts guaranteed to get me writing again. I thought it was perfect. Turns out the prompts are challenging. Like really hard. In an effort to ensure I am writing daily, I have decided that no matter how difficult the prompt, I will write something. Even if it is as simple as "I can't provide the title of the book as I conveniently left it on my desk at work." Or "I just told my sweet husband, who was listing all the glorious things he can make for dinner, that he just listed off a string of appetizers." Of course, it doesn't help that I started 3/4 of the way through. The author guarantees that the date is not symbiotic with the level of difficulty.
October 11, 2011
Prompt: Write about a Utopian society and an issue that is plaguing its existence.
Oct. 31 UPDATE:
Obviously I couldn't think of anything for this prompt. Mostly because I think that utopia is impossible. You can I thank my Catholic upbringing for that one.
Oct. 31 UPDATE:
Obviously I couldn't think of anything for this prompt. Mostly because I think that utopia is impossible. You can I thank my Catholic upbringing for that one.
October 12, 2011
Prompt: Write about an intimate interaction/exchange. (No, it doesn't have to be about sex.)
They were together in bed, naked with the exception of their underwear, between moments of passion but not yet in the turmoil of intercourse.
She was sitting up, staring at the shadows cast on the closet door by the streetlamp outside. The boy lounged to her right, his left leg dangling over the edge. Using his index finger he traced the curve of her spine, caressing her back. His lips planted soft kisses on her arms.
His eyes glazed over her skin, scrutinizing with admiration and wonderment, as if it were a piece of contemporary art that needed analysis.
"What're you looking at?" She asked, not turning her head, not meeting his gaze.
"Have you ever met someone and disbelieved that they had ever been rejected?"
They were together in bed, naked with the exception of their underwear, between moments of passion but not yet in the turmoil of intercourse.
She was sitting up, staring at the shadows cast on the closet door by the streetlamp outside. The boy lounged to her right, his left leg dangling over the edge. Using his index finger he traced the curve of her spine, caressing her back. His lips planted soft kisses on her arms.
His eyes glazed over her skin, scrutinizing with admiration and wonderment, as if it were a piece of contemporary art that needed analysis.
"What're you looking at?" She asked, not turning her head, not meeting his gaze.
"Have you ever met someone and disbelieved that they had ever been rejected?"
And how tacky that I haven't updated this site in a few weeks. SM Marketing 101 - if you can't keep up with the updates you'll lose followers (I promise I'll write something soon Mom!)