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.

The Sudden Lurch of the Zeppelin

  • by jenShut the fuck up, my dude!
  • (or, as he called it, “feesh”)
  • hide from him in the dark
  • flammable urine
  • Plus, we have tiaras

Tune in next time part 689      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The sudden lurch of the zeppelin could spell disaster for my rapidly spinning brother and his wife, or — if we were all very, very lucky — it might jolt them back to stability. I crossed my fingers and ran for the down escalator. Mr Carousel kept pace with me, dangling ever-more-exotic perks to entice me to sign an Icecapades contract.

“Shut the fuck up, my dude!” I barked, but he took no heed, explaining how, if I wanted, I could have a practice rink constructed over an aquarium so that my pet fish (or, as he called it, “feesh”) would never be left alone. I couldn’t help thinking that if I was Mr Carousel’s pet fish I would hide from him in the dark recesses of the sunken pirate ship decorating my tank.

“You want flammable urine?” Mr Carousel improbably said. “I can talk to the team bioengineer about getting you flammable urine. Plus, we have tiaras for all of our star skaters!”

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I Tamped Down My Temptation

  • by Kentinvolving a talking toilet
  • classic millennial sex pickle
  • wrinkled from being waterlogged
  • time thinking about my underwear
  • As balloons do.

Tune in next time part 688      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tamped down my temptation over the Icecapades deal and ran off to help Jim and Esmerelda. But Mr Carousel followed doggedly and kept talking about all the perks that would be written into my contract, more than one of them involving a talking toilet. He also promised there’d be “only top-shelf gourd, none of the flimsy gratifications you usually see today.” That piqued my curiosity enough to make me pause for an explanation. He told me there’d be a rider that my dressing room must always be equipped with a classic millennial sex pickle, good and wrinkled from being waterlogged for a thousand years. He winked at me. “Just like the golden age, eh sport? Course if you plan to wear it during the show you’ll need to switch from boxers to something with a more secure fit.”

Mr Carousel had already spent too much time thinking about my underwear and I’d only known him for 43 seconds.

Before I could express my distaste over this breach of protocol, the airship heaved sideways. We’d flown into a storm, and the vessel was going where the wind would take it. As balloons do.

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As Many of You Probably Know

  • by jenOh honey, *yes.*
  • They call me Mr Carousel
  • an almost imperceptible click
  • only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
  • large enough for a man to pass through

Tune in next time part 687      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As many of you probably know, ice is slippery. What you, like me, may not know is that Contrarian military dress footwear is polished with excretions from icicle slugs. Soles included. I whizzed and twirled across the hockey rink, pinwheeling my arms to keep my balance.

A man in the stands leapt to his feet and yelled, “Oh honey, yes.”

I spun into the wall and grabbed on to prevent myself from taking another slapstick lap. The frost-encrusted fork nearly went flying. My newest fan clambered over the seats and opened a door not far from me. He held out a hockey stick, and I used it as a lifeline to reach him and exit the rink.

“That was some amazing ice action,” he enthused. Then he stuck out his hand for me to shake. “They call me Mr Carousel. I’m a talent scout of the Royal Contrarian Icecapades. I would love to take you to the big leagues, baby.”

I gestured at my uniform. “I already have a job. And a mission.” I saluted him with my frozen cutlery and headed toward the exit. Here on dry land my shoes were only a little bit slippery, nothing I couldn’t handle. I made an almost imperceptible click with each step.

Mr Carousel wasn’t going to let me go so easily, though. “If you sign on with the ‘Capades, I can get you anything you want. You want a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle? I can get you a vending machine that only dispenses Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups large enough for a man to pass through once he eats the middle. You want chilled silverware? I can get it for you, chilled by professionals.”

His offer was tempting, but it would certainly take too long. By the time the lawyers hammered out all the details in the contract Jim and Esmerelda would be beyond help. And yet, I had always dreamt of a career in skates…

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The Plastic Spoon

  • by KentI’d suggest finding a different doctor
  • co-stars a chimp
  • a creature of infinite melancholy
  • suggested that we wear each other’s shirts
  • new moccasins and snow-shoes

Tune in next time part 686      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The plastic spoon wasn’t having much effect on the ice entombing the only fork available to me on this airship. I needed to get back to the petting zoo quickly! So, I pried the whole frost-caked shelf out of the dessert case and dumped the pies onto the counter. The circus people’s eyes lit up when so many pastries landed before them, so I left them the spoon as well.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” I heard one of them say.

I ran out of the bistro, muttering, “I’d suggest finding a different doctor.”

Contrarian airships do not all have petting zoos. That’s a myth perpetuated by a classic TV series that co-stars a chimp astrologer and a creature of infinite melancholy resembling a flightless parrot. They solve mysteries together, visiting a different airship’s petting zoo in each episode.

Of course Fleur’s vessel had everything. Racing back with the chilled fork to help Jim, I took a shortcut across the ice rink. The referee of the in-progress hockey game tried to delay me and suggested that we wear each other’s shirts, a blatant ploy by the sports officials’ union to insinuate itself into military affairs. I laughed and kept moving. Because ice skates are the one sharp object that ever accidentally downed a Contrarian blimp, the hockey players weren’t allowed to wear them. At least they all had new moccasins and snow-shoes.

My shortcut proved to be a miscalculation, though.

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You’ve Probably Noticed

  • by jen(aka Slippery Eel)
  • eat all the candy yourself
  • said through giggles
  • we never were sentimental
  • I’ll bite down hard on a

Tune in next time part 685      Click Here for Earlier Installments

You’ve probably noticed my tendency to swear like a sailor. It’s an unfortunate habit I picked up during my time on the tramp steamer. While I usually have no compunctions about letting the profanities fly, I’ll bite down hard on a four letter word when there are children around. I’m not sure where my squeamishness comes from. In my family we never were sentimental about the innocence of childhood. I remember many, many times when the bluest language was said through giggles in the playroom. Any little thing would set my siblings off. All you had to do to be lambasted was change the channel on the TV while someone else was watching, or eat all the candy yourself on Halloween, or give someone a wet willie (aka Slippery Eel).

I mention all of this so that you’ll understand how difficult it was for me to not give voice to my frustrations with the ineffectual restaurant employee, the rude circus people, and the thick layer of frost keeping me from the frozen cutlery I needed to derail my rampaging brother and protect my myriad offspring.

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It Was Too Late

  • by Kenton Jason’s Nike sneakers
  • ice cream karaoke trucks
  • were the consorts of kings
  • my nose made bitter complaints
  • bankers and wankers, babe

Tune in next time part 684      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It was too late to avoid being spotted, so I tried to act casual without giving off the air of trying to act in a particular way. It wasn’t something I had ever specifically trained for. Numerous courses and special projects I’d done at The Academy touched on it, but this moment made me realize it was a deficiency in the curriculum.

The circus people showed surprisingly little interest in me. I furtively wiped the fresh spittle from my fingers, maddened not to know where it kept coming from. It was while doing so that I noticed the tots both had on Jason’s Nike sneakers, his signature model that had only ever been sold in Japan.

Suddenly the teenaged employee reappeared. “Sorry,” he wheezed, holding out a plastic spoon. “This is all they left me. The good stuff all goes out on the ice cream karaoke trucks, so you hafta get here early.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I growled. “My brother needs my help.”

“Our brothers were the consorts of kings,” muttered one of the circus people. “Now would it be alright for us to order something to eat? In this restaurant? If you’re all done with your weird utensil-themed psychodrama.”

“Maybe you should see to them first,” I shot back. It was obvious from the way my nose made bitter complaints that the infants’ diapers needed changing.

“Hey!” yelped the teen. “Good news! There’s a fork embedded in the frost inside the dessert case. They must’ve missed it. You want me to start chipping it out for you?”

“Let me do it!” I cried, lunging in with the spoon.

“Ugh, no manners at all!” exclaimed the other circus person.

The first one nodded knowingly. “Generals, bankers and wankers, babe. They think they run the world.”

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I Burst into the Bistro

  • by jenchanged the course of music history
  • spoiled his dachshunds
  • it’s weird that neither of them is a llama
  • some circus people
  • arrived with two children

Tune in next time part 683      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I burst into the bistro. “Give me a chilled fork immediately!”

“Oh, wow!” said the wispy teen behind the counter. “You’re Jason!” Before I could correct him he said, “Your sick rhymes about prenuptial agreements changed the course of music history, and my mom’s second marriage. She married this guy who spoiled his dachshunds something awful, but thanks to your song she was able to force him to buy her some pets of her own. It’s weird that neither of them is a llama, cos llamas have always been her favorite, but she seems happy.”

“A fork dammit,” I demanded. “Chilled. Now.”

“Sure, Jason. Anything for you.”

While he went to the cutlery freezer the bistro door opened and some circus people arrived with two children. Two identical children who looked an awful lot like all the others on board, which meant they were probably mine. Was their mother one of the Russian contortionist sisters? Or Titania, the Crystal Clown? Or some other circus-adjacent woman altogether?

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I Was Almost Positive

  • by Kentcall it “getting the twisties”
  • Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet.
  • one of the gents
  • Specifically, a chilled fork.
  • slanderous biography

Tune in next time part 682      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I was almost positive it hadn’t been an Underduchess who slobbered on my fingers, but I didn’t see any nearby lambs or other baby livestock to take the blame. I wiped my hand on my pantleg, resolved to track down the furtive licker at a later time.

For now, there was the immediate concern of how to deal with my panda-suited brother. We huddled together on the sofa, expecting Jim to dance his way over. Dance he did, but on a chaotic, spiraling course. The impaired visibility and limited oxygen offered by the panda head combined with the sheer bulk of the costume were creating a syndrome. Mascots call it “getting the twisties” and speak of it in hushed tones. Legend has it that the Jousting Emu of Soiux Falls succumbed so totally that he’s twisting to this day, somewhere in the wilderness, and travelers who encounter him always give the same account: “Big, beefy, never takes off the helmet. Spinning around in a crazy circles and knocking shit over everywhere.”

We realized that Jim might be putting the children in danger. None of the gents employed at the petting zoo were on the scene, so it was up to Cleopatra, Esmerelda, and me.

Esmerelda, being married to him, thought she had the best chance of bringing Jim’s gyrations under control. But you can’t simply seize someone with the twisties to halt them — you’ll be drawn into the madness yourself. I was too slow imparting my warning, and Esmerelda found herself clinging for dear life to the whirligigging blue beast.

“I know what we need,” Cleopatra announced. “Cold silver. Specifically, a chilled fork. Run to the bistro above the print shop and hurry back with one!”

With a nod, I raced off on my mission. The only tricks I knew for dealing with Jim’s predicament had come from the slanderous biography of a mascot from a cricket team in far-northern Canada, so I had little faith in their efficacy.

As I ran, I had to wipe my hand on my pants again. The salivary sniper had struck a second time.

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So Far Nobody had Noticed the Three of Us on the Sofa

  • by jenmesmerizing fiddle music
  • he moved in a kind of circle
  • graced by his peacocking presence
  • upgrade your underwear
  • But who had licked them?

Tune in next time part 681      Click Here for Earlier Installments

So far nobody had noticed the three of us on the sofa, which was surprising given the garishness of my new uniform. But my sartorial crimes paled in comparison to those of the individual who strutted in behind the children, dressed in a blue panda costume. The panda went to the record player and managed, even with his big furry paws, to turn it on. From speakers all around the petting zoo came mesmerizing fiddle music, the sort often played at haunted carnivals. The panda clapped his paws four times to the beat while he moved in a kind of circle around the lambs. I knew immediately who was inside the costume. He’d been wearing one not unlike it on a blimp not unlike this one in the not-too-distant past. Plus, I’d recognize that dancing anywhere.

“It’s Jim!” Esmerelda whispered frantically.

That was the conclusion I’d come to, too. Jim. Her husband, my brother. The way he moved showed that he expected us all to feel graced by his peacocking presence.

Esmerelda tried to climb over the back of the sofa to hide, but Cleopatra stopped her. “It’s time to upgrade your underwear to big girl panties and talk to him.”

Panda Jim was still dancing his shamanic dance with the livestock. From the tilt of his head I thought perhaps he was eavesdropping on us.

Suddenly I noticed that my fingers were wet. I was so intent on reading my brother’s body language that I didn’t notice how it happened, but they were certainly wet, and it was certainly saliva that made them so. But who had licked them? One of the Svenborgian Underduchesses? One of my children? One of the animals? Or something worse?

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I Stepped Out From Between

  • by Kentcan’t play water polo like everybody else
  • Thank god for vinyl upholstery.
  • creepy carnival music
  • a plaster model of the Eiffel Tower
  • I’ve got the waders on

Tune in next time part 680      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stepped out from between the sisters so I could keep an eye on them both. “Look, you’re not getting me onto that couch, not even getting me into the petting zoo, until you tell me what you want.” I left “and probably not even then” unsaid.

Cleopatra tsked. “Jack lamented that his son can’t play water polo like everybody else. That you have to be the big-time spy.”

Esmerelda said, “Oh, that makes more sense now. I thought he meant that his son rode a horse into the pool.”

I didn’t think my father even knew about that incident, but maybe not all of my nosy spy genes had come from Mother.

“This is a very important matter,” Cleopatra said. “And if you join us on that couch we promise we’ll explain the whole thing.” Esmerelda nodded.

Promises from these two were probably worthless, but they looked sincere. I let them lead me through the turnstile and past the ducklings to the strangest sofa I’d ever seen.

Esmerelda said, “It’s a challenge to find suitable furniture for what is basically a preschool barnyard. Thank god for vinyl upholstery.”

The sofa was indeed covered in vinyl — old LPs and 45s overlapping like fish scales. The records were all creepy carnival music, and they’d been heat-treated to warp them into shape. A turntable rested in the shelf halfway up a plaster model of the Eiffel Tower, waiting for someone to pull apart the seat cushions.

It was a surprisingly comfortable couch.

“Okay,” began Cleopatra. “Here’s the situation…”

She stopped speaking because we suddenly were not alone. The entire brood and all their mothers were trooping into the petting zoo. The infants seemed to recognize the place, from the way they looked all around and reached their chubby arms toward the animals. I heard Isolde’s voice saying, “I can be in charge of the goat pit today. I’ve got the waders on already.”

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