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.

I Didn’t Want To Reminisce

  • by Kentghostly whistle of rushing air
  • gets a little too erotic about food for my delicate tastes
  • remind you that you have no free will
  • competitive breakdancing
  • “You are irresponsible!”

Tune in next time part 740      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I didn’t want to reminisce with Isolde about her loser husband. Being a fan of When You Punch A Comet was very on-brand for him. When he stood sideways in a breeze you could hear the ghostly whistle of rushing air passing through his ears. I didn’t want to reminisce with her about anything, actually. I wanted her to leave, and take Fleur with her. But the topic of horrible television shows was irresistible to my sister-in-law.

With a wistful expression, she said, “He also liked The Great Brutish Bake-off, but it gets a little too erotic about food for my delicate tastes.”

The last thing I wanted to do was laugh at her for that remark. Her tastes were about as delicate as a garbage truck, but her ego was a fragile and elaborate thing. Insulting her would guarantee a lengthy tirade. So naturally, a loud, coarse guffaw escaped my mouth in one of those events life throws at you to remind you that you have no free will.

Thinking fast, I blurted, “It really gets good in the fifth season when they introduce competitive breakdancing in place of the technical.”

Suddenly Fleur made me hold both babies. “Where’s the camembert?” she cried, searching frantically down the side of the tub. “It’s gone!” she whimpered, transfering her quest to the bubbles within the tub. She would discover Tessa any second.

“Yes,” I said in my most reasonable tone. “It’s gone because you ate all of it.”

My wife glared at me. She bellowed, “You are irresponsible!”

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“Surely Your Show Didn’t Do Worse”

  • by jenwhen you punch a comet
  • knitting at a fast and skilled pace
  • Perhaps it’s a signature talisman
  • “With an accent like that I’ll believe anything he tells me.”
  • filled with snow and lumps of ice

Tune in next time part 739      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Surely your show didn’t do worse than When You Punch a Comet,” I said. That was the worst performing program in Contrarian television history, which is saying a lot. Contraria’s space program was nowhere near ready to send boxers into orbit, and the whole thing had been a big snore. Just an endless succession of training montages interspersed with footage of old women knitting at a fast and skilled pace as they raced to complete the spacesuit prototypes. One of the boxers carried around a goat bone. Perhaps it’s a signature talisman for his family, I don’t know. But it was very off-putting. None of the trainers would work with him. Fleur and Isolde’s father, the Warlord of Contraria, was ready to fund a second season until the head of NASA talked him out of it. The Warlord said, “With an accent like that I’ll believe anything he tells me.” (He had a weird thing for Americans.) “And he tells me not to waste my money, so there you go.” In the finale, the boxers did not go to space, which was a good thing because they would undoubtedly have died in their knitwear spacesuits. Instead of a comet with its icy tail, they punched a giant plastic bag filled with snow and lumps of ice.

“That was Harry’s favorite show,” Isolde said with a shake of her head.

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Tessa Shot Me One Last Quick Glower

  • by Kentsqueeze 36 days of amiable game show hosting duties into my schedule
  • like biting into a water balloon
  • crocheting my own parasol
  • his pelvis, his wrist, or his ankle
  • even worse than some of the worst predictions

Tune in next time part 738      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa shot me one last quick glower before submerging again as Isolde swept back into the room with an armload of fluffy towels.

“The way you carry all those towels is very graceful,” I said. Buttering her up had worked out well for me before.

“Thanks,” she said. “I got a lot of practice recently, but trying to squeeze 36 days of amiable game show hosting duties into my schedule was like biting into a water balloon filled with mayonnaise while crocheting my own parasol. And my cohost was never happy unless I was biting his pelvis, his wrist, or his ankle. It was a foolish idea for a game show, too. Flower arranging or haberdashery alone could have worked, but the combination was just confusing. The show fared even worse than some of the worst predictions.”

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Being A Father Wasn’t My Life’s Dream

  • by jenbarreled into fatherhood
  • collecting the frog juices
  • slobbering over himself
  • good old-fashioned jealousy
  • got engaged two weeks after her sister

Tune in next time part 737      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Being a father wasn’t my life’s dream. I’d always had a take-it-or-leave-it attitude about kids, and yet I barreled into fatherhood with such reckless abandon I had no idea whether this baby in the adorable little gold booties was one of mine.

Fleur lifted the infant she held out of the water with one hand and patted its diaper with the other. “Good thing he’s got this collecting the frog juices.” She chuckled. She was more stoned than I’d ever seen her.

The baby in my lap was slobbering over himself, fist crammed in his mouth. “Better slow down on the cheese, Fleur, or soon you’ll be drooling like this little guy.”

As I expected, this made her immediately reach for the cheese. While she was distracted I signaled to Tessa that she could come up for air.

“What is Isolde doing here?” she demanded in a whisper. If I didn’t know better I’d think my sweetie was suffering from good old-fashioned jealousy. Strange that it wasn’t my wife that brought it out in her, but my sister-in-law. But then I remembered that Tessa and John got engaged two weeks after her sister Tallulah married my brother Thor, which made her my sister-in-law. Was my sister-in-law’s sister also my sister-in-law?

I shook my head to clear it. I hadn’t even eaten any of the camembert and I was still getting fucked up just being near it.

I heard Isolde returning, presumably with towels.

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Isolde Shifted The Infants On Her Hips

  • by Kentpoetic fantasies about snowbound mountains
  • hostile, feathered invaders
  • “Would you like some fresh towels?”
  • but the same can not be said of murderers
  • stylish gold shoes covering his feet

Tune in next time part 736      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Isolde shifted the infants on her hips, and I knew they were getting heavy. Any second she was going to just dump them in the tub with the rest of us.

Fleur used her hands to make mounds of soap suds. She shoved them my way, and soon I could barely see out from my foamy cocoon. She sing-songed, “The summit wears a crown of ice, its weather isn’t very nice, but we can sip hot wine with spice, and if you behave I’ll kiss you twice. Before the vultures come.”

With my stoned wife spouting poetic fantasies about snowbound mountains and hostile, feathered invaders, and my sister-in-law looming over us with a pair of children of uncertain provenance, and Tessa still hiding under the bubbles, I couldn’t clear my mind to determine a next move. Isolde impatiently shifted the babies again. “Would you like some fresh towels?” she asked. “Seems like there’s only one.” And with that, she plunked one child each — diapers and all — into my and Fleur’s laps, and left the bathroom.

“They are cute little things,” I said, lifting the baby up.

“Yes,” Fleur said distantly. “These tiny people are rather cute, but the same can not be said of murderers. Except, they must have been babies once too…”

I wasn’t really paying much attention to Fleur’s ramblings by then, because I’d discovered that the baby I held had stylish gold shoes covering his feet.

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The Last Time I Saw Isolde

  • by jenlantern-jawed hero
  • vinyl purse full of Jell-O
  • brought these two miscreants aboard
  • leprechauns are land-based organisms
  • make him look and sound positively ridiculous and dainty beyond belief

Tune in next time part 735      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The last time I saw Isolde was at Enigma Fortress, right after she’d given birth to a large number of babies. I never did manage to get an accurate count before I had to leave my post to venture into the caves beneath it. If she didn’t know who these children’s father was, they must not be from that magnificent brood we’d somehow created together. But she was right, they were probably mine. I wondered who their mother was.

Isolde sighed in frustration. “Act like the lantern-jawed hero and answer me! Don’t just sit there like a vinyl purse full of Jell-O. Time is of the essence. I didn’t see who brought these two miscreants aboard the zeppelin. I think they might be spies.”

“Spies?” I cried. “That’s ridiculous. They look barely old enough to walk.”

“I’ll just put them in the tub and we’ll see. If they float, then they must be leprechauns, and are therefore spies disguised as babies.”

“Hang on, hang on!” I said. This bathtub was crowded enough already. “First of all, leprechauns are land-based organisms. And second, what if they don’t float? I can’t let you try to drown innocent babies.”

Isolde shook her head and addressed her sister. “Fleur, I can’t believe your husband. His bizarre opinions and all the bubbles make him look and sound positively ridiculous and dainty beyond belief.”

Fleur just chuckled and licked the cheese.

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There Was Something Odd

  • by Kentit was *very* purple
  • the cylindrical shape is the central theme
  • where no New Yorker has gone before
  • glass eyes and hand-implanted yak hair
  • arrived with two children

Tune in next time part 734      Click Here for Earlier Installments

There was something odd about the wedge of camembert on the side of the bathtub. For one thing, it was *very* purple. For another thing, I could see several half-inch tall minotaurs prancing about on it. The THC content promised to be monumental.

As Fleur settled herself into the suds with me (and with Tessa, although she didn’t know it) she said, “When you’re dealing with a wheel of cheese, the cylindrical shape is the central theme. But then, when you cut into it, you open up a pizza-slice shape that will take you where no New Yorker has gone before.” Her pupils were dilated and her words slowed, just from touching the dosed camembert.

“Darling,” I said, “why don’t you take the first nibble.”

She happily took me up on my chivalry, and consumed half of the edible in a single bite. As she chewed, her expression grew so vacant she seemed like a doll. A very expensive, anatomically correct doll, with glass eyes and hand-implanted yak hair, lounging in a bubble bath with me.

I gently raised Tessa by the shoulder so she would know it was safe to surface. “Fleur won’t remember any of this,” I said.

We heard the outer door of my quarters bang shut. Tessa grabbed a deep breath and hid under the bubbles once again just as the bathroom door banged open and Isolde arrived with two children in her arms.

“Are these some of yours?” she asked. “That seems to be the safe bet, but I wondered if you could tell.”

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“We’ll Eat the Cheese Together in the Bath”

  • by jenanother few weeks of gliding
  • starting to look a little naked
  • It was a gorgeous day and the birds were chirping
  • and a middle finger
  • a ninety percent chance of success!

Tune in next time part 733      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We’ll eat the cheese together in the bath, Lady and the Tramp-style,” Fleur declared. “It’ll be messy, but there will be plenty of time to clean up. It will take another few weeks of gliding through the skies before we arrive in Contraria.”

The little bell beside the dumbwaiter dinged. Fleur opened it and pulled out a very runny wedge of creamy, stinky Camembert. She balanced it on the edge of the tub and slipped her robe off. “I’m starting to look a little naked,” she said as she stepped in beside me.

It was a gorgeous day and the birds were chirping in the zeppelin’s aviary, and a middle finger was lifted by fate in my direction. Luckily the bathtubs on Contrarian Royal Airships are quite large. I managed to keep myself in the middle, between the two women, and so far Fleur had not noticed Tessa’s presence. If the THC content of the cheese was high enough and I got Fleur to eat enough of it quickly enough, my plan to protect Tessa stood a ninety percent chance of success!

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I Knew Tessa Could Hold Her Breath

  • by Kentsex involves two people
  • in the middle of the Tate modern
  • all the edibles I can eat
  • jazz appreciation class
  • the elderly cheese inspector

Tune in next time part 732      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I knew Tessa could hold her breath for several minutes, and presumably her cybernetic doppelgangers didn’t need air at all. There was no need to panic provided I talked Fleur out of getting into the tub.

“Darling,” I said with a flutter of my eyelids, “wouldn’t the bed be more suitable? I’ll join you as soon as I’m clean.”

She gave me a cockeyed grin and began to strip. I realized I had miscalculated. For most people, the notion of sex involves two people somewhere cozy and private. But for Fleur, it might involve multiple rugby teams in the middle of the Tate modern. While I spluttered helplessly and continued holding Tessa’s head underwater, Fleur finished undressing and put a toe into the suds.

“Nice and warm,” she cooed.

“Hang on,” I said. “My contract as commander of the comedy garrisons entitles me to all the edibles I can eat. And yet, there are none. I couldn’t share a bath with someone who’s in breach of contract.”

My wife narrowed her eyes at me. “Why didn’t you bring this up sooner? Where do you expect me to get them while we’re in flight?”

“Probably on the bridge,” I said with a smirk. “Oh, also, I need you to get yourself signed up for a jazz appreciation class before you come back. That’s in my contract, too.”

It wasn’t, though, and she knew it. I had overstepped. I held my breath even though mine wasn’t the head below the surface. But she drew her foot back and wrapped herself up in my robe and left the bathroom.

I lifted my hand so Tessa could sit up. She glared at me through the curtain of sudsy water draining from her hair. Then we heard Fleur’s voice, and Tessa ducked back down.

“Actually,” Fleur was saying as she came back into the bathroom, tucking her phone into a pocket of the robe, “seems like the galley has the best hookup for your… contractual fulfillments. Thing is, they have multiple kinds. How are you with fermented dairy? My connection is recommending a Camembert-based infusion. He can’t say how far out of code it is, but assures me it got a passing grade from the elderly cheese inspector.”

“Maybe you should sample it,” I enthused. “Take your time.”

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“Tessa!”

  • by jenSome bidets come with
  • something tells me that I shall soon know
  • make that face every time you fart
  • both pickles and beer
  • my wife is on the prowl

Tune in next time part 731      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Tessa!” I cried. She was dripping wet and slippery with soap suds. “I haven’t seen you since… I don’t even know anymore.” I hoped it was the real Tessa, and not one of her robot doubles.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” she said. “But please put me down now. You smell quite peculiar.”

The fact that she could smell me didn’t prove she was human. Some bidets come with perfume dispensers, and some robots come with olfactory sensors.

I stepped into the tub and beckoned her to join me. The water was quite hot and the bubbles were fresh. She couldn’t have had time to finish her ablutions before I walked in.

“Something tells me that I shall soon know what you’re doing here, and I doubt I’ll like it. But until that moment comes, let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

“Okay,” my auburn-haired beauty said. “But only if you promise to make that face every time you fart so I can hold my nose.” She smiled coyly. “You know the face I mean.”

I did know which face she meant. And I wondered why she was trying so awfully hard to convince me both that she knew our shared history and had a sense of smell.

“Why do your armpits smell like both pickles and beer?” She handed me a washcloth.

“I was just in a wedding.” Which didn’t really answer her question.

The door to my suite banged open and I heard Fleur grumbling as she entered the room. I barely had time to whisper, “My wife is on the prowl,” and submerge Tessa under the bubbles before Fleur appeared in the bathroom doorway.

“A bath? How decadent. Perhaps I’ll join you.”

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