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.

Paradoxes Are Fun

  • by Kentwhatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it
  • may be inappropriate for children under 13
  • one weird trick
  • I do look mighty cute in riding boots
  • looking furtively at me

Tune in next time part 908      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Paradoxes are fun, until you’re caught inside of one. Such as: trying to remember who tampered with your memory. My only clues that it had even happened were “Ursula” and the fact that I couldn’t remember anyone by that name.

The pharma man gasped and lurched into a sitting position. I sent silent encouragement to the nanobots, thinking “whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it.” The pharma man’s return to consciousness was apparently rather unpleasant, and between coughing jags he muttered numerous words which may be inappropriate for children under 13, and a few that I considered inappropriate for myself. But the risk of him dying, and therefore the risk of his nanobot-infested remains falling into Colloquillian hands, seemed to have passed.

I hadn’t thought about my studies of digital mysticism in years. It was almost as if, until moments ago, they weren’t part of my backstory. Could that be another clue? A theory took shape in my mind. Whoever altered my memory had tried to suppress everything related to my being a digital mystic, which must mean Ursula was connected in some way to that part of my life. Had she stolen my jacket, or my memories? Or both? Or neither? I patted the phone in my pocket. Whoever messed with my brain, they must have used nanobots. If I could transfer the ones from the pharma man into myself, maybe they could reverse the damage. It would be one weird trick to pull off.

Fleur nudged me in the ribs, and I realized that I had — again — neglected my diplomatic duties whilst lost in speculation. The ambassador had just said something that I only caught the end of: “… but I do look mighty cute in riding boots.”

“Checks out,” I said. Then, turning back to my wife, “There is an urgent matter that I must attend to around the corner. Excuse me.” And I strode off before she had time to object.

Once out of view, I took the phone back out and ordered the nanobots to march the pharma man over to where I waited. And waited. It clearly shouldn’t take more than a few seconds, so I peeked out to see what was going on. No one but the pharma man spotted my sneaky peeking, but he wasn’t moving. The only sign that he was being influenced by the microscopic implants under my alleged control was the way he kept looking furtively at me.

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As Luck Would Have It

  • by jenI should have warned you.
  • their color-coded jackets
  • supple lilac leather
  • as fascinating as they are adorable
  • took off her crown and started beating him with it

Tune in next time part 907       Click Here for Earlier Installments

As luck would have it, I am a seventh-order digital mystic. I should have warned you. I’m sure you’re surprised because digital mystics are known for their color-coded jackets which make it easy to tell the orders apart, and I never wear mine. I’d loved the supple lilac leather moto jacket I was awarded upon ascending to the seventh order — those things are as fascinating as they are adorable! — but, it was stolen from me years ago. I was attending a family function at the White House when my parents got into a heated argument. My father (the president) arrived late, with one of his many mistresses on his arm. My mother (then vice-president) took off her crown and started beating him with it. The brawl escalated quickly and I stepped in to prevent it from becoming (another) international incident. When I returned to my seat, my resplendent purple jacket was gone. I always suspected Jason of the theft, but now that I knew my memory had been tampered with, my suspicions fell on the mysteriously unknown Ursula.

My thumbs danced across the phone screen, forcing the nanobots to do a hard restart. The pharma woman was distracted by the cheese plate, so I surreptitiously pocketed her phone.

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I Hissed at Fleur

  • by Kentone perilous bonding situation after another
  • singing it into a Playskool karaoke machine
  • A palindrome?
  • Yum.
  • arcane hieroglyphs which can be read only by

Tune in next time part 906      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I hissed at Fleur, “Why didn’t you brief me about this?”

“Because I know how much you love surprises,” she replied in an infuraitingly breezy tone. “And our marriage thrives as a series of one perilous bonding situation after another.”

“You call this bonding? You think watching me tap-dance my way through a potential international conflagration is a way to strengthen our marriage?” I whisper-shouted that question right into her face, but I might as well have been singing it into a Playskool karaoke machine with dead batteries. This whole scenario was playing out exactly as she wanted it to.

The head Contrarian pharma rep was waving her phone at us from the velvet couch and making a strange pouty face. I rolled my eyes and snatched the phone to see what she wanted to show us. The nanobot control app was flashing a red icon, and the pharma man with the microscopic implants in his body was slumped motionless on the couch.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

Pharma lady bit her nail. “He needs something, oh what did they call it… A palindrome? No, that’s not right. Oh well. It’ll come to me. Oh, they brought us more cheese. Yum.”

I wondered what it would mean for Fleur’s scheme if the man died. I wondered if the ambassador had noticed yet what was going on. I wondered how many of the slumped man’s basic biological processes were still working. Even a Contrarian pharmaceutical representative didn’t deserve to just rot on a couch at a diplomatic function, so I tried to troubleshoot his nanobots via the app. I quickly discovered that all the screens were filled with arcane hieroglyphs which can be read only by seventh-order digital mystics, or seventh-graders.

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It All Clicked into Place

  • by jenon a golden velvet couch
  • I could both smell the cheese and hear
  • but his movements are robotic
  • chewing gum in public
  • I know you are but what am I?

Tune in next time part 905      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It all clicked into place. The medical fellows Fleur mentioned were representatives of a Contrarian pharmaceutical company looking for countries with lax drug testing laws. Three of them had been carried from the zeppelin into the summit facility on a golden velvet couch so that they could legally say they’d never set foot in Colloquillia. Contrarian pharmaceutical reps are disgusting. All three were scarfing down hors d’oeuvers. As we approached, I could both smell the cheese and hear their smacking lips.

Once the formal introduction ceremony had been completed, the woman who was the head pharmaceutical rep said, “Ambassador, you may have noticed that my colleague eats hors d’oeuvers just as smoothly as I and my assistant do, but his movements are robotically controlled! Impressive, no?”

The ambassador said, “As impressive as chewing gum in public,” which is a quite a Colloquillian compliment.

The pharma woman held out her phone for the ambassador to see. The screen showed an app for controlling the nanobots in the pharma man’s body.

I whispered to my wife, “You can’t let technology like that fall into foreign hands! That’s crazy!”

Fleur smiled. “I know you are but what am I?”

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“In That Case”

  • by Kentalone with the complimentary body lotion
  • naked butt jutted out
  • one I like to call “Catfish
  • subtly impressive aquatic flourishes
  • to meet the medical fellows

Tune in next time part 904      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“In that case,” the ambassador said, “you’ll be pleased to hear that tonight’s event has been catered by a Swiss company. Dessert will be working timepieces built entirely out of chocolate.”

Seeing that the potential faux pas had passed without dooming us, my mind returned to the question of Ursula. I was more sure than ever that my inability to recall anyone of that name was a sign that my memory had been tampered with. I wanted to be able to focus on this problem, wanted it the way I always wanted to be alone with the complimentary body lotion upon checking into a swanky hotel. But I had to keep alert and perform my interpretive duties.

A ruckus broke out on the other side of the spacious lobby, where one of the silly armadillo modesty appliqués had dropped from a statue in a fountain. Now its naked butt jutted out, and from it water jetted out. Dignitaries in wilting finery scrambled to escape the spray.

The ambassador nudged me and dropped me a wink. He revealed a small pushbutton device in his hand, then whispered, “Gotta liven these snoozefests up somehow. I have lots of fun tricks up my sleeve. This one I like to call ‘Catfish in Espadrilles,’ for obvious reasons.” He did something else with the remote control, and the stream from the statue’s patootie took on subtly impressive aquatic flourishes, spelling out various Colloquillian profanities in elaborate cursive letters. The sopping attendees near ground zero broke into applause.

“Enough culture,” Fleur said. “On to business.” She nodded at me, then quickly rolled her eyes in exasperation. I realized that she’d wanted me to handle the explanation, but she hadn’t told me what she had in mind. At least, I had no *memory* of it.

Rather than pull me aside to confer, she plowed ahead. She told the ambassador, “It’s time I took you to meet the medical fellows, if you know what I mean.”

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While My Fellow Triangular Deathmates Laughed

  • by jenpresident of Poland for only one day
  • almost deserted landscapes
  • unmarried rodents
  • Maybe I’m a food snob
  • like American Ding Dongs

Tune in next time part 903     Click Here for Earlier Installments

While my fellow triangular deathmates laughed, I wracked my brain for any clue as to who the mysterious Ursula could be. It felt important to know who the ambassador loved enough to mention during an important summit such as this. Was Ursula a fellow ambassador? Was she the leader of some diabolical new Guild of, say, Stiltwalkers? Did she win a contest that allowed her to be president of Poland for only one day instead of the usual five years?

It seemed impossible that I did not already know numerous Ursulas, but that seemed to be the case. The parts of my mind where I would expect to find Ursula-related facts were almost deserted landscapes, populated by nothing but a few murky ideas that skittered through the shadows like unmarried rodents at the lab picnic.

The utter lack of anything about “Ursula” was so remarkable that I suspected my memory had been altered. While I tried to work out who my mind-tailor had been, and what their nefarious purpose might be, I heard Fleur say, “Maybe I’m a food snob, but I find Harmonious desserts to be cloying, like American Ding Dongs and the American ding-dongs who eat them.”

Was she *trying* to get us killed?

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I Hastened To Smooth Things Over

  • by KentWhen I was in high school, the term was “Triangle of Death”
  • also played the clarinet
  • “You don’t understand – I love Ursula.”
  • Hadn’t I told Arlo that?
  • wonderfully weird Japanese game show

Tune in next time part 902      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I hastened to smooth things over. “What the Warlord-Apparent means to say is, you’ve really brought the very notion of a summit facility to new heights here.” The ambassador’s smile relaxed only a fraction.

Next came my oh-shit moment as I realized where I actually stood. Not on the Colloquillian mountaintop, but at one corner of a diabolical shape. When I was in high school, the term was “Triangle of Death” although the official jargon in the syllabus was “Diplomatic Fulcrum,” not that I was ever, technically, in high school. At the Academy I took a few esoteric poli-sci classes, and I recognized what I was caught in. It was a classic construct involving two dignitaries and the hapless interpreter (me) stuck in the middle. Those esoteric classes might have given me the insights I would need in this scenario, but I had also played the clarinet in the school’s jazz band but could no longer remember how to even hold the instrument. So my prospects felt bleak.

Unfortunately, I’d been lost in reminiscence so long that I’d missed several beats as the conversation had progressed. The ambassador shook his head vehemently, saying, “You don’t understand — I love Ursula.”

Fleur glanced my way, and I tried to look confident. When in doubt, always act like you know who Ursula is. Hadn’t I told Arlo that? But wouldn’t any advice I’d given to him be of questionable merit? I hate that dick.

They were both staring at me now, the other two points on the Triangle of Death. So I blurted the first Colloquialism that popped into my head.

“Some days we all feel like we’re winning a wonderfully weird Japanese game show.”

Fleur and the ambassador’s icy stares went on for another five terrifying seconds. Then they both erupted in laughter.

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Fleur Elbowed Me

  • by jenthe funniest women alive
  • for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip
  • highly absorbent pants
  • not enough room for a person underneath
  • built like a municipal building

Tune in next time part 901      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur elbowed me in the ribs and I blurted out an introduction. “Ambassador, I’d like you to meet one of the funniest women alive: Warlord-Apparent Fleur of Contraria.” Normally I would not describe my wife as funny, except for ever suggesting such a ridiculous trip with no preparation, but this was Colloquillia, and it was as traditional as the ambassador’s highly absorbent pants.

Fleur nodded once in acknowledgement, and the ambassador curtsied so low there was not enough room for a person underneath his outsplayed elbows. “I enjoy,” Fleur said, “how this summit facility is built like a municipal building.”

Oh dear. Her Colloquillian was very rusty. I hoped she hadn’t just created an international incident with her silly faux pas.

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We’ve Done How Many?

This week we published episode 900 of Tune In Next Time, and we commemorated the milestone in our usual fashion by writing a tag-team prompt. When we do those joint installments, we like to come up with a theme and draw the prompt materials from someplace relevant, rather than just using our Stichomancy Prompt Generator like we do for the regular chapters.

Coming up with an appropriate theme this time was harder than writing the actual prompt. On the one hand, we should be getting used to this now that we’ve notched so many milestones, but on the other hand it’s getting harder to avoid repeating ourselves. The next one we hit will be the 1,000th, a milestone among milestones. We don’t want to find ourselves scrambling when we get there, so we’ve already made notes about possible themes. You’ll have to keep tuning in to find out what we choose!

A writing partner is someone who’ll stay with you, no matter how long and strange the journey becomes.

Over 900!!! aka I Recognized the Colloquillian Ambassador

In honor of this milestone, we pulled our stichomancy ingredients from cat-related sources. Why cats? Because cats have nine lives, and this is number nine-hundred in the chain story. Also, we happen to like kitty cats, despite having puppy dogs as assistants. They like cats too. Lady Marzipan in particular loooves them so much that she gets too excited and the kitties get too scared. So she’s really never actually gotten to meet one. It’s tragic, really.

Anyway, enjoy this team-up installment constructed with snippets from the official site of the Cat Fanciers Association as well as an assortment of Wikipedia entries purr-taining to all things feline.

As usual, Jen goes first and only relinquishes her grip on the keyboard once the first prompt phrase has been incorporated. Then Kent takes his turn, and so on, alternating until the deed is done.

  • the same as 15 years ago, but in a different order
  • baffles everyone
  • pretty heavy for a youngster to pick up and carry around
  • has a malevolent attitude toward Stuart
  • earned the right to bear a name
  • inflicting harm on his roommates for perceived injustices
  • who ran for mayor
  • regularly post photos of him climbing into rental cars
  • napping in unusual places
  • notorious for being an expert night cat burglar

Tune in next time parts 899 & 900      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I recognized the Colloquillian ambassador from a scandal more than a decade ago. To save face, he’d changed his name, but he hadn’t done a very good job of it. All the letters were the same as 15 years ago, but in a different order. The details of the scandal make even less sense, a story that baffles everyone while actually scandalizing very few. I hoped the ambassador didn’t have any children, though, because speaking from experience, any sort of scandal involving one’s parent is pretty heavy for a youngster to pick up and carry around in their mind.

Fleur stepped back to my side and helped me get the chaos inside my clothes under control. While stabilizing the final few persistent bells and whistles, she covertly whispered to me, “Our intelligence reports that the ambassador has a malevolent attitude toward Stuart, so don’t bring him up. Whoever he is.”

According to my Colloquillian former lover (the one who taught me what I know of the language), her countrymen had very, very strong opinions about how a person earned the right to bear a name as grand and revered as Stuart. One of their folk heroes was the main figure in a legend about a lonely plumber inflicting harm on his roommates for perceived injustices, which was how he earned that right. The only other man deemed worthy of the Stuart sobriquet was my lover’s brother, who ran for mayor of the capital and was elected at age 14. His term in office was defined by scandals of his own, as the press would regularly post photos of him climbing into rental cars when the whole populace knew he wasn’t old enough to drive.

Both Stuarts were known for napping in unusual places, but it wasn’t clear to me if that was a requirement of the “job” or a perk. A final detail popped up from deep in my memory, that one of the Stuarts was notorious for being an expert night cat burglar. But which one?

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