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 Whispered to the Alchemist

  • by jenwherever he’s hiding
  • “To be continued,” she said
  • lizard person in a human suit
  • It sure was memorable
  • smell anything out of the ordinary?

Tune in next time part 669      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I whispered to the Alchemist, “I’m sure we’ll find him, wherever he’s hiding.” Whichever of my brothers the Alchemist was horny for, I wouldn’t be making introductions. But he didn’t know that, and I might be able to use him to make my escape before he figured that out.

The Alchemist jerked into action. “I have to get this man to a hospital!”

“What’s the problem?” Valentina’s husband asked from the ceiling.

The Alchemist dropped me a creepy wink, and said, “Acute slug poisoning.”

Valentina leaned down and squeezed my junk. “To be continued,” she said. “As soon as you get medically cleared.”

The Alchemist pulled a collapsable gurney from his kit and assembled it with a few flicks of his bony wrists. As he settled me on it and strapped me down, he gave another laborious wink, and quickly swiped his lips with his tongue like he was a lizard person in a human suit. It sure was memorable, much to my dismay.

He started wheeling me toward the door. Before we made our exit into the snow, though, Valentina said, “Hang on. Does anyone else smell anything out of the ordinary?”

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The Passion of Valentina’s Kiss

  • by Kentthe stroke that a dog uses when swimming
  • which we call the Alchemist
  • bring his microphone and a recording device
  • Tall, pale, and lanky
  • “You know, the sexy one.”

Tune in next time part 668      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The passion of Valentina’s kiss was impressive, and it would have been quite enjoyable if her tongue action weren’t cramming a big wad of nylon down my throat. As my oxygen levels dropped, I tried to fight her off with motions that must have resembled the stroke that a dog uses when swimming.

I blacked out momentarily, and came to in the middle of a mob of EMTs. As my head cleared I realized that they were just the same ninja production assistants from before, except one guy with a stethoscope.

“This is our on-set medical coordinator,” Valentina informed me from somewhere nearby but outside my peripheral vision. “A job which we call the Alchemist because of some silly union thing. Whenever he comes in on a call, he has to bring his microphone and a recording device as well as his first-aid stuff. It’s in the bylaws.”

The Alchemist was a distinctive person. Tall, pale, and lanky, with long braids like a macrame plant hanger. He leaned down to apply the stethoscope, but that was just a cover for his true goal of whispering in my ear. “Do you think you could introduce me to your brother?” he asked breathily. “You know, the sexy one.”

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“And What Sort of Uniqueness Do You Bring to the Festivities?”

  • by jen“Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”
  • biggest snake ever
  • under the covers late into the night
  • you’re supposed to throw the first pancake away
  • I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek

Tune in next time part 667      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“And what sort of uniqueness do you bring to the festivities?” I asked.

“I’m double-jointed!” Dr Ferguson demonstrated, flexing and contorting her fingers into many unnatural positions.

The speaker in the ceiling crackled. “Valentina, your hands are a distraction.”

Valentina Ferguson’s digits all snapped back into human-like shape and she glared up at one of the cameras. “I realize he doesn’t have the biggest snake ever seen on this show, but there’s no way my hands were obscuring it completely.”

Had she just insulted my genitals?

“Valentina, please,” the ceiling voice griped. “Get on with it.”

Valentina turned back to me. “He never complains about my fingers when we’re naked together under the covers late into the night.”

“For the show?”

“Of course not! He’s my second husband.” She wiggled her left ring finger in front of my face like an eel. “I don’t have a wedding ring because it just wouldn’t stay on.”

I eyed her hypnotic digits. “What happened to your first husband?”

“Husbands are a lot like pancakes.” She laughed at my confusion. “You’re supposed to throw the first pancake away.”

“Get on with it!” shrieked the ceiling.

Valentina shrugged and planted an openmouthed kiss on me. She tasted vaguely of my toes, but that was an improvement over the slug from earlier.

From the speaker in the ceiling, her husband gave direction. “I appreciate the tongue being so firmly in the cheek. Keep it there as the slugs are applied.”

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Dr Ferguson Did Not Want

  • by Kentlike a tiny fireman
  • That’s a promise.
  • stone table near the fireplace
  • my fishmonger uncle
  • because you had a wedding ceremony

Tune in next time part 666      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Dr Ferguson did not want me to put my shoes back on. This was because she had designs on my pinkie toes, and soon I was struggling mightily not to kick her in the face while she treated my left little toe like a tiny fireman searching for a way into the inferno. My toes are extremely ticklish.

“Just one scene!” I grunted through clenched teeth and a layer of nylon mesh.

“Mmm hmmm,” she replied. Then, taking my digit from her mouth she added, “That’s a promise.” I was splayed by then on the stone table near the fireplace like some poor creature my fishmonger uncle would have hacked up for chum.

Before she could go after my toes again, I asked, “Why do you want me on your show so bad anyway?”

“You’re sort of a unicorn,” she replied, “because you had a wedding ceremony — a proxy wedding ceremony — with that golden tongue of yours. Such a rarity. Our viewers are a lot like birders, or trainspotters. They’re always on the lookout to check things off their lists. This episode will be a ratings bonanza!”

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You Know That Dream?

  • by jenbeside you in a bathing suit
  • sinister red mask with pointy ears
  • “Don’t be fooled by their cuddly appearance
  • fine silken tunics
  • “Should I put my shoes back on?”

Tune in next time part 665      Click Here for Earlier Installments

You know that dream? The one where there’s a beautiful woman beside you in a bathing suit and a sinister red mask with pointy ears, and she twists your fingers into impossible shapes to make grotesque shadow puppets, and growls in your ear, “Don’t be fooled by their cuddly appearance, sonny boy, they’re deadly even if they are just shadows!”? This felt a lot like that dream, only Dr Ferguson was dressed for skinny dipping, and I was the one in a mask (if pantyhose can be said to count as a mask). And instead of growling, Dr Ferguson purred into my ear, “Just shoot this one scene for us and we’ll dress you in fine silken tunics — as many as you want — and drive you to the airport.”

It was just one scene. How bad could it be. I murmured to her, “Should I put my shoes back on?”

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I Hadn’t Experienced

  • by KentRussian-born catsuit designer
  • do they hold your hands and look intensely into your eyes
  • little woogie-moogums
  • the name of your equipment is also objectively cool
  • made an actual hashtag with my fingers

Tune in next time part 664      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I hadn’t experienced anything like Dr Ferguson’s touch since my fling with a Russian-born catsuit designer named Orlova. What can we say of the world’s great lovers? When they’re with you on the set of a tawdry reality TV show, do they hold your hands and look intensely into your eyes? Sometimes. But sometimes one of their hands is busy elsewhere, and they can’t look into your eyes because of the pantyhose on your head, so they laugh and call you their little woogie-moogums, and that can be okay too. And they’ll do magical things to your equipment without even knowing your name, or its name, even when the name of your equipment is also objectively cool.

The voice in the ceiling said, “We can use this for a promo. To camera in three, two…”

Dr Ferguson darted behind me like a cat, hugging me and seizing my hands as she said “Hashtag Slimy Passions!” Too late I realized that she had made an actual hashtag with my fingers.

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I Could Still Taste the Slug

  • by jenhad sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers
  • a Grade IV erection
  • very diabolical piece of
  • pantyhose on his head
  • spitting with impunity

Tune in next time part 663      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I could still taste the slug, or perhaps it was the PA’s fingers. I turned my head and spat into the wastebasket. Twice.

“There is no spitting with impunity on my set,” the voice from the ceiling said. “Put the pantyhose on his head.”

I was so distracted by the idea that anyone these days would have pantyhose on demand that I failed to dodge Dr Ferguson. Before I knew what hit me, my face was smooshed inside the tube of sheer fabric held in place by a very diabolical piece of knot-tying artistry.

“I think you like that,” Dr Ferguson cooed, trailing her fingers down my torso. “This is a Grade IV erection at least.”

“We can’t proceed until he reaches Grade VII,” ceiling-voice said.

“Luckily,” Dr Ferguson breathed into my ear, “I had sex with the devil in exchange for magical powers of seduction.”

And then she did something astounding with her hand that I am at a loss to describe.

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Now That I Was No Longer

  • by Kentsounded like you were smothering a dolphin
  • during my ska phase
  • how to correctly poop in the woods
  • most magnetic tragedy
  • stoned to the bone

Tune in next time part 662      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Now that I was no longer stoned to the bone on icicle slugs, I wanted to take action and make my escape from these horrid islands as quickly as possible. Forging Jason’s signature was meant to expedite this, but now that they had a signed release the reality show people were less concerned than ever with my demands.

“Get some fresh slugs,” said the annoying overhead voice, “and we’ll pick things up when they come through the door.” The crew scampered to their places of concealment and Dr Ferguson beckoned me to take position. I folded my arms and shook my head.

“They need to reshoot,” she said with a shrug. “The data from the first take was lost due a freak power surge, which didn’t damage anything else but was probably the most magnetic tragedy that’s ever happened to their equipment.”

“Second most magnetic,” chimed in the disembodied voice. “Right behind losing the whole sequence when that Svenborgian royal demonstrated how to correctly poop in the woods.”

“How is it a reality show if you do stuff over?” I demanded. Numerous hidden production assistants failed to fully stifle their laughter. I rolled my eyes and stood my ground.

Dr Ferguson proposed that I might maintain my integrity — and help keep the production moving — by giving them a performance to use in place of the lost footage. She suggested I use the material I had developed during my ska phase, by which of course she meant Jason’s ska phase. Was she toying with me? I had no choice but to plunge into song.

“Cut! Stop!” yelled the voice in the ceiling. “We can’t use that. It sounded like you were smothering a dolphin with a bagpipe full of toads. Listen, if you want that plane ticket you’re going to have to do better than that.”

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“I Never Signed a Release”

  • “Is that typically what your family does?”
  • don’t worry about appearing déclassé
  • the entire point of having identical twins
  • allergic to paprika
  • the nine interlocking triangles

Tune in next time part 661      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I never signed a release,” I said. “And I never will. You can’t put me on your sordid reality show.” I duck-walked closer to the fire to warm myself. “My family’s lawyers would eat you alive.”

“Is that typically what your family does?” Dr Ferguson asked. “Sic cannibalistic lawyers on people?”

“Yes,” I said. The more lucid I became, the more convinced I was that the “blanket” I had been draped in actually belonged to moose I rode in on. After telling myself “Don’t worry about appearing déclassé — these people have already seen everything,” I tossed it aside and moved still closer to the fire.

As my buns toasted, a devious thought occurred to me. “On second thought, I will sign that release.” Or at least Jason would. If my family proved anything, it was that the entire point of having identical twins is so they can impersonate and incriminate each other. When even our own mother couldn’t remember which of us was allergic to paprika, there was no way Jason could prove it wasn’t him on the video. “And after I sign, you’ll take me to the airport. I need to get off this island.”

One of the many production assistants suddenly milling around handed me a clipboard, and I drew the nine interlocking triangles that were Jason’s signature. I chuckled to myself and thought, “Enjoy the notoriety, brother!”

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The Shock of Regaining

  • by Kentcreepy little buddy
  • his “wild” state
  • the friendlier moniker Buttons
  • ominous, nameless narrator
  • to, in the common parlance, knock it the fuck off

Tune in next time part 660      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The shock of regaining my senses set me shivering, my skin clammy and raw. “Get him a blanket,” said the voice of the creepy little buddy in the ceiling. “But stay alert. We have scant data about how he behaves in his ‘wild’ state, and those slugs are wearing off fast.”

Another random person who had no business being here dressed like a crime-scene technician draped an itchy blanket over my shoulders. Gratitude vied with resentment in my battered pyche. “What is going on here?” I demanded hoarsely.

The tinny voice started never-you-minding at me. What an assclown, I thought, but then Dr Ferguson addressed it via the friendlier moniker Buttons.

“Pipe down, Buttons. Let me handle this.” She had put on a robe. She knelt beside me, where I was still crouching and shivering under the blanket that felt like an old piece of carpet. She laid her hand on my shoulder. “We’re shooting an episode of Slimy Passions, the most popular reality show in Contraria. The whole apartment is rigged with cameras and–”

A deeper voice cut in dramatically, booming, “We don’t just explore the seamy underside of love, we probe where we really don’t belong.”

Dr Ferguson shouted words I didn’t quite understand, but it was clear enough that she was telling the ominous, nameless narrator to, in the common parlance, knock it the fuck off.

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