Tagged: demon

The Hidden Dangers of Fiction Writing

r-avatarEver hear of sleep paralysis? It’s a terrifying state between sleep and wakefulness where you are starting to become aware of your surroundings, but your muscles are frozen like they are when you’re dreaming. It often feels like there’s a menacing presence in the room, looming over you, or even pressing down on you.

Sleep paralysis is the origin of stories about ghosts and succubi and other nocturnal monsters, and can also probably be blamed for more modern tales of alien intruders.

In the past Jen suffered from sleep paralysis, so when it came time to write about one of our unlucky characters having an episode, she stepped in to provide the vivid details.

Which it turns out was not a good idea. After not having any sleep paralysis events for several years, she got hit with one after writing the scene.

Luckily for Jen, she sleeps in the same bed as her writing partner. After Jen’s total freakout, Kent got up and did a perimeter sweep, making sure there were no lurking bad guys in the bedroom. And then he came back to bed and let Jen cling to him for the rest of the night.

Drawing on real experiences is a way to add power to your prose, and getting the words out can even help put past pain behind you (e.g., therapeutic writing). But there can be a dark side to “writing what you know.” Sometimes when you look down into the depths, they look back up at you.

Frank Asked For a Moment

  • k-avatarstraddled the embalmed cadaver
  • borne upon the arms of demons
  • gymnastics for the monkeys
  • he buckled, confessing all
  • turned toward the Plexiglas window

Frank asked for a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he drew a deep breath and began speaking as he picked up his sword belt, which he buckled, confessing all that we had heard was true. He explained why he’d straddled the embalmed cadaver, that such contact with the remains was his only means of learning the killer’s identity. How his consciousness was borne upon the arms of demons to the nether realm to converse with the deceased’s spirit. That, knowing we wouldn’t understand his methods, he first arranged for us to attend an exposition of gymnastics for the monkeys that roamed the parking lots at night, hoping it would distract us long enough for him to complete the mission and return. But the monkeys hadn’t held our interest, and we returned too early, which is how we came to watch nonplussed as Frank turned toward the Plexiglas window and said, “I can explain.”

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Sheets of Flame Enveloped Every Surface

  1. k-avatarCharacter – pimp
  2. Setting – Hell
  3. Object – baseball card collection
  4. Situation – amnesia

Sheets of flame enveloped every surface, including the bubbling black tar of the river.

“I don’t remember how I got here,” I said to the tall, goat-headed person beside me.

“That’s normal,” the demon replied. “Which is too bad, because the dimensional transit vortex is really bitchin’.”

“The spinning tunnel of sulfurous lightning? Oh I remember that part,” I said. “I meant in a philosophical sense. As in, what did I do that was so terrible?”

“Ah!” Goat-Head brayed. “Tasty. Existential dread added to the other forms of torment! You’re gonna be a celebrity down here.”

“Maybe I can figure it out,” I said.

“Oh, I hope not.”

“Let’s see. I stole my sister’s baseball card collection…”

“That’s a first. But no, that’s not the reason.”

“I had a stable of skanky hos, sold their asses all up and down the north side. And I was looking to expand my territory, which come to think of it is probably what got me killed.”

“I’ve been a loyal customer for years. That’s not it.”

“Really? I was sure that would be the answer.”

“You were a businessman. The big guy doesn’t hold that against you.”

“Well, then what is it? Why did I get sent to Hell?”

Goat-Face grinned. “You’ll thank me someday for not telling you. Things get a bit monotonous after a century or two, and that question will be all that still interests you.”

I looked at him. His words made a kind of twisted sense, even if his breath was a roadkilled skunk in late July. “Thanks,” I said. “You’re okay in my book.”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed. “If I get fired from this job, I’ll have to move back in with my mom.”

about 4 elements writing prompts

handy dandy writing prompt generator