Category: Writing Prompts

Prompts are short, fun exercises that can be used to get the creative juices flowing or break the ice at a critique meeting. They start as a brief list of ingredients, forming a challenge for the writer to incorporate all of them into one self-contained piece. There are many ways to come up with prompts and each author will find a unique way to express a given prompt.

Not Only Did the Answer Float Before Me

  • by jensuggesting its author is a liar
  • Chad’s such a dingus
  • but I’ll be ding-danged if I’ll let just anyone
  • hideous hellbirds
  • “Wow! Whoopee! A zeppelin!”

Tune in next time part 839      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Not only did the answer float before me, it floated all around me. I was in fact riding inside it as it floated through the sky. “The winner,” I proclaimed, “shall receive the title to this zeppelin.” That ought to teach Fleur not to put me on the spot.

Around me the mothers were chattering excitedly. “Wow! Whoopee! A zeppelin!”

Fleur’s face turned redder than the most hideous hellbirds in the mural painted on the auditorium’s ceiling. She muttered under her breath (but straight into the microphone, so I couldn’t help but hear), “He thinks he’s so funny, but I’ll be ding-danged if I’ll let just anyone have my airship.” She ground her teeth for a moment, then bellowed, “Chad!”

I groaned. Chad’s such a dingus. But he also happens to be the Royal Contrarian Airship’s pageant coordinator. He appeared from the wings and Fleur instructed him to read the bylaws governing airborne infant talent shows. Chad knew who signed his paychecks, so of course he had Fleur’s back. He read aloud the section on prizes, his wording suggesting I was its author, his tone suggesting its author is a liar.

Like I said, dingus.

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Fleur Might Have Genuinely Expected

  • by Kentand then BOOM. Kismet.
  • lined up like dolls
  • straight into my skull
  • Everything I know about sloths
  • a pervert’s omelet

Tune in next time part 838      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur might have genuinely expected me to have this prize. Her grasp of reality could at times be that tenuous. More likely she just wanted to humiliate me. I looked furtively at Jim and Tessa, wondering if I could get anything suitable from either of them. But no. The combined contents of their pockets would be a pervert’s omelet and utterly inappropriate as a victory token in this venue.

I usually find that whatever predicament I’m facing can be solved by decoding it via one of the multitudinous ciphers I learned at the Academy. This time I was stuck. If I went haring around the airship in search of a prize, Fleur would hear of it and mock me savagely. I had to calmly produce an answer from where I sat.

I receded into a trance, making my mind receptive to the vibrations of the universe. It was another Academy skill, one which I’d used infrequently but with great success. Everything I know about sloths was beamed straight into my skull during such an episode, the facts all lined up like dolls on a shelf in my parietal lobe. (Some of what I know about sloths is rather unusual.)

I was losing control. My trance became a spiral, and then a centrifuge. I feared I would be flung into perpetual madness all for the lack of a trophy for an infant talent show. I had to admit that there was a certain poetry in such a fate befalling me. All seemed lost, and then BOOM. Kismet. The answer floated before me.

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Susan Took Bruce by the Hand

  • by jenbecoming reacquainted with Fear
  • kickass title for a prog rock album
  • time is not on our side
  • hungry, sleepy, and cross
  • filled with white-hot rage

Tune in next time part 837      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Susan took Bruce by the hand and tugged him toward the exit. Bruce tried to pry his hand free, but Susan’s grip was iron. As he was dragged offstage, Bruce bellowed back over his shoulder at us, “When I return you will all be becoming reacquainted with Fear! Moon Fear!”

I didn’t want to say anything to Bruce about it, but “Becoming Reacquainted with Fear” would be a kickass title for a prog rock album. I made a mental note.

Fleur stepped up to the recently vacated microphone. “I’m afraid time is not on our side. The children are hungry, sleepy, and cross. Some are even filled with white-hot rage over missing snack time. We must conclude this infant talent show posthaste and declare a winner. I assume my husband has the prize prepared?”

As far as I knew, I was her only husband, and I did not in fact have a prize prepared. Shit.

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“Nay!”

  • by Kentonce slashed at my stomach with a penknife
  • like a crafty red squirrel
  • every time a movie features punk rockers
  • sang three little boys together
  • smeared himself with Susan’s lipstick

Tune in next time part 836      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Nay!” roared Bruce Pamplemousse pretentiously. “It is Tycho whose claim is false!”

“Prove it!” I shouted. “Show us your own certificate.”

“I don’t have it with me,” Bruce whined.

“So, go get it,” I retorted.

Bruce fixed his gaze on Tessa. “No one is less entitled to rule the moon than your father. He once slashed at my stomach with a penknife, like a crafty red squirrel with a penknife. I was just a boy, and he attacked me. He’s so uncouth and unmannered, every time a movie features punk rockers I expect one of them to be him.”

Tessa leaned to me and whispered, “As far as I know, my father’s never met any of the Pamplemousses.”

Meanwhile, the talent show’s finale was trying to resume but devolving into chaos. The performers weren’t waiting for their cues. “Hey now, get your butt off the stage,” sang three little boys together. In the wings, Fleur demanded of another woman, “Susan, get this mess under control!”

Susan marched out to Bruce to tell him his time was up. Bruce winked at her and put his arms around her, and smeared himself with Susan’s lipstick in the process.

I yelled, “Get a room, you two!” Sending Susan off alone with Bruce Pamplemousse felt wrong, but she seemed to know what she was doing.

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Tessa Stood and Held Up the Paper

  • by jenheir to an ancient lineage
  • all just mumbo jumbo
  • (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate)
  • the length of his mustache
  • although his solid chin is clear of any hair

Tune in next time part 835      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa stood and held up the paper she’d pulled from a hidden compartment in the sole of her shoe. She spoke loudly and clearly. “Zeus Pamplemousse claims he is heir to an ancient lineage of lunar rulers, but that’s all just mumbo jumbo cooked up by him and his partner in chicanery and marriage, Blanchisseuse (later identified as his Dartmouth classmate) (in case you were wondering how they met). In reality, Zeus, (and therefore his sons, including Bruce), is heir to nothing. This certificate proves that it is actually my father, Tycho, who is heir to the lunar kingdom! You can tell by the length of his mustache, although his solid chin is clear of any hair. That’s a moon trait!”

This absurd claim was news to me, but it might explain why Zeus had forced marriage upon Tessa. He was trying to legitimize his claim to the lunar throne.

Whether or not it was true, it was an amazing distraction.

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Bruce Pamplemousse Sneered

  • by Kentrampant adulterer
  • try to keep a straight face.
  • sexy paparazzi death match
  • be perfect, of course
  • under her shoe

Tune in next time part 834      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Bruce Pamplemousse sneered away his confusion. “Sure,” he said to Jim. “You want me to share the stage with that rampant adulterer you call a brother, and you want me agree to it while I try to keep a straight face.” His face did look quite straight, despite the sarcasm overloading his voice. I had to assume that my carnal exploits were common knowledge among everybody on this airship, but moral censure from the likes of the Pamplemousse clan was a rather bitter pill to swallow. And he wasn’t done. “Give me time to alert the media,” he crowed, “so our pageant can feature a sexy paparazzi death match.”

It would be perfect, of course, if Bruce Pamplemousse simply stormed off. But he showed no intention of leaving.

Jim laughed off Bruce’s hissy-fit. “It’ll be great,” he said, already on his feet and tugging me by the hand. “We’ll make a kick line. We’ll spin plates. Just wait’ll you see what our other friend here has under her shoe.”

Tessa wore a tight grin. What had those two cooked up?

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“Hey Bruce!”

  • by jenhis gooey chocolate center
  • giant ostrich egg
  • joke with us, his accent bizarre
  • trying to convince people of your awesomeness
  • probably not normal

Tune in next time part 833      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hey Bruce!” my brother Jim yelled. “It’s probably not normal for you as a grown-ass man to be entering baby talent shows as a way of trying to convince people of your awesomeness. But it’s working!”

Bruce looked confused. I knew just how he felt. Growing up, my siblings and I never got used to Jim’s attempts to joke with us, his accent bizarre and obviously fake, the giant ostrich egg he named Egward and carried around in a bowling bag, his promises (threats?) to show us his gooey chocolate center. No one ever knew how seriously to take Jim, and that might work in my favor now. If he could keep Bruce Pamplemousse distracted, I might be able to get my children to safety.

“Let me and my brother join you on stage!” Jim added in an accent more mysterious than I had ever heard.

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Having My Numerous Offspring

  • by KentTalk about awkward…
  • long blond hair unbound and disastrously tangled
  • soda was the dominant aroma
  • — after the fly incident
  • a muffin pan is ideal

Tune in next time part 832      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Having my numerous offspring in the same room with Bruce Pamplemousse was unacceptable, that much I knew. The chaos in the auditorium was making it difficult to think, to come up with a plan of action to correct the problem. It would also make it all but impossible to wrangle all the children.

A flash of inspiration struck. Unlike my children, Bruce Pamplemousse was not numerous. So all I had to do was get him out of the room. Despite his reputation, he might have cooperated with a polite request. Only I’d shouted at him and spoiled his tacky performance. Talk about awkward…

Bruce tugged off the bald pate that was part of his baby costume, leaving his long blond hair unbound and disastrously tangled. Drops of sweat flew from the rubbery headpiece, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that orange soda was the dominant aroma thus released. He also shed the diaper, revealing the skimpiest cutoffs I had ever seen. It amazed me that Bruce would wear them — after the fly incident of a few years ago that trapped him for two days in a pair of jeans with a frozen zipper.

He was zeroing in on me as he advanced to the lip of the stage. I wished I had some implement with which I could deflect punches and accomplish nonlethal subdual (a muffin pan is ideal for close-quarters combat, FYI). But my sweat-soaked scientist costume did not include anything suitable.

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“Hey!” I Cried. “You’re Not a Baby!”

  • by jen“Ta-ta, love!”
  • zillionaire bedlam
  • especially if you keep it in its wrapper
  • Of all the underwear I’ve worn in my adult life,
  • bro-ier and more duplicitous

Tune in next time part 831      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hey!” I cried. “You’re not a baby! Get off the stage!”

“Ta-ta, love!” Tessa shouted at him, and that opened the floodgates. Tensions were high. Every mother there wanted their child to win the talent show, and every last one of us was on edge from sitting patiently through so many “adorable” acts. I’m not saying that everyone in the theater was filthy rich, but the place erupted into zillionaire bedlam. Women yelled, babies howled and filled their diapers with angry poops, someone threw a banana, which is very dangerous, especially if you keep it in its wrapper, because when the banana inevitably splits open, you’ve got twice as many slipping hazards.

Jim leaned close and whispered, “I bet you don’t recognize Bruce Pamplemousse in that crazy get-up, do you?”

Of all the underwear I’ve worn in my adult life, none were less sweat-absorbing than the ones that came as part of my scientist costume. At the news that Bruce Pamplemousse, the even bro-ier and more duplicitous brother of evil disco king Deuce Pamplemousse, was in the same room as my many children, I started to sweat profusely and my briefs did not perform well.

I had no idea what to do next.

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I Knew it Was Lazy and Cowardly

  • by Kentthe aforementioned vile little fish
  • technically speaking, you could share a hot dog
  • souvenir DVD for no extra charge
  • Sushi on a Shingle
  • constant flatulence

Tune in next time part 830      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I knew it was lazy and cowardly of me to say that my children were better off not knowing me, but that didn’t make it incorrect. Television shows are filled with sappy scenarios where the offspring love their decrepit father despite his constant flatulence, and respect him even though his “job” is serving up expired anchovies on stale saltines at a gas station where it’s listed as Sushi on a Shingle. And too often it’s the kind of show that does cheesy stuff to break the fourth wall, like giving the gas station’s customers a souvenir DVD for no extra charge — a DVD of its own previous season. And while, technically speaking, you could share a hot dog with such a dad on his lunch break, you wouldn’t because his fingers would perpetually stink of the aforementioned vile little fish.

Jim was nudging me in the ribs, calling me back from my introspection. I blinked at the stage, realizing I did not recognize the talent show’s next contestant.

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