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 Tessabot Hauled Off One of Viscount Arlo’s Boots

  • by KentHow delightfully ugly you are
  • couldn’t hear any sounds inside
  • gave the metal pole a firm kick
  • cupped a hand over her mouth
  • “I’m being misquoted.”

Tune in next time part 540     Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Tessabot hauled off one of Viscount Arlo’s boots, which were in fact Henry’s boots, and flung it in our direction. He was apoplectic, but she calmly spoke as she focused on the second boot.

“How delightfully ugly you are with only one foot uncovered,” she lilted. Although her words were clear enough to me, Arlo thrashed and gibbered as if he couldn’t hear any sounds inside his crooked wig. He scrabbled for a handhold and managed to grab the leg of a swingset near the bungalow. Jason jogged out from the front porch and gave the metal pole a firm kick, jolting Arlo loose. In that same moment the Tessabot obtained the second boot, but rather than toss it over for Henry she dropped it and cupped a hand over her mouth.

“Jason, look!” she exclaimed. “The viscount has your lyrics tattooed on the sole of his foot.”

She held the squirming viscount’s ankle still in her unbreakable grip so Jason could study it. He huffed. “I’m being misquoted.”

“Untrue!” howled Arlo. “I was at that wedding! I was there when you rapped those words.”

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Henry Blinked at the Quarter in his Palm

  • by jen“I want you to know something.”
  • cheerfully retorted
  • stop looking at your hand
  • harken back to the bygone days
  • grotesque and uncomfortable

Tune in next time part 539     Click Here for Earlier Installments

Henry blinked at the quarter in his palm. Without looking at me he said, “I want you to know something.”

I waited, but he did not continue. “If that’s all, then get a move on,” I cheerfully retorted. But he stood still, eyes riveted to his palm. “Hey, Henry, stop looking at your hand. It’s getting a little weird.”

“I’m an accountant you know,” he said in hushed awe. “But everything is electronic now. Coins like this harken back to the bygone days of my youth, back when money was a promise, not the grotesque and uncomfortable thing it is now.”

“Speaking of grotesque and uncomfortable,” I said, pointing to the Viscount where he lay in the grass, red wig askew, bleating at Tessa not to take his fancy footwear.

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The Groom-To-Be Stood

  • by Kent— who the hell are you praying to?
  • red, very curly, chin length
  • STOP ASKING QUESTIONS, WIG-HATER!
  • thigh-high boots
  • pressing it into his palm and reminding him

Tune in next time part 538     Click Here for Earlier Installments

The groom-to-be stood in the damp grass several yards away, and at first I didn’t recognize him. But then he spoke, his nasal, sneering tone unmistakable as he hectored a kneeling attendant. “None of this looks right! Do it again — who the hell are you praying to? the god of non-suckitude? — on your feet and get to work!” That guy is such a dick.

I hadn’t immediately realized it was Viscount Arlo because of the lustrous hair, red, very curly, chin length, that covered his head. The attendant had yet to arise, stammering beseechingly for details about the problems. “STOP ASKING QUESTIONS, WIG-HATER!” Arlo bellowed, and the man scrambled away.

“That’s mine!” Tessa hissed, pointing to the wig.

“And those are mine!” Henry aimed an accusing finger at the thigh-high boots hugging Arlo’s legs.

“Shush!” I hissed at both of them.

“It’s okay,” Tessa said with a grin. “I got this.” She cleared her throat and strode toward the viscount. “How about a little bad luck, you dick.”

Arlo whirled her way, gasping. The red wig spun an extra quarter-revolution to obscure his face. “Why aren’t you dressed!” he screamed through the curls.

“I’ve had a reboot,” Tessa yelled back, “and now so! Will! YOU!” She lunged for his feet, hauling them aloft and dumping Arlo on his ass as she stood back up.

“Looks like the show’s going to be canceled,” I muttered to Henry. “But on the other hand, maybe you’ll get your boots back. You should call the rest of your crew and give them a heads up.” I took a quarter out of my pocket, pressing it into his palm and reminding him that there was a pay phone in the hedge maze.

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Jason had Completed his Soundcheck

  • by jenalso share a strange connection
  • “That would be *dangerous*,” she pointed out
  • how effective his tongue is
  • escorted her down the aisle
  • see the tracks in the dew

Tune in next time part 537      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jason had completed his soundcheck, and was relaxing on the porch swing with a refreshing beverage. As identical twins, he and I share our DNA, and also share a strange connection. I can often taste things that Jason is tasting, and he can often smell things I am smelling. The beverage he was enjoying haunted my tongue and made me realize how thirsty I was.

“I need a drink,” I whispered to Tessa.

“That would be dangerous,” she pointed out, tugging me toward the stairs. “We have to hurry.”

Jason stared straight at me and demonstrated how effective his tongue is at broadcasting flavors. My mouth went dry and I yearned for a swig of something cold and lemony. I unlinked my arm from Henry and reached for my brother’s glass.

“Are you actually kidnapping the bride?” Jason asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m helping her escape.”

“Escape?” he lisped. “That’s a funny word for it. This morning, at the rehearsal, when I escorted her down the aisle she was all smiles. Look, you can still see the tracks in the dew.”

And like a moron, I looked where Jason was pointing.

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Fancy Some Stichomancy?

Our stichomancy prompt generator got updated last week, and now contains 38,595 unique phrases.

Like everything in the Writing Cave, this is a collaborative effort. Jen collects and curates the raw materials, and Kent maintains the generator’s data files. We also use it to create the prompts that form our epic chain story.

The source material runs quite a gamut, and includes things that Kent said out loud. See if you can guess which ones those are!

The way we use the generator is to provide us with a fun, quick writing challenge: tie all the phrases together. We’ve been doing it so long now it’s evolved a set of “rules” that we hold each other to, but the goal is to have fun so do what feels right.

Something we don’t use it for is divination, although that is in fact the original purpose of stichomancy itself. Any future foretold by our generator would be absurd in the extreme. (And fairly lighthearted, which means it couldn’t have predicted what’s going on right now in the world.)

Have fun, and feel free to share! We’d love to see what you do with it.

I Still Didn’t Know How

  • by Kentobsessed with the idea that people or restaurants were going to “trick” him
  • the team is now missing
  • “In other words, what you’re telling me is
  • I put a hand on his shoulder
  • linking arms and striding triumphantly

Tune in next time part 536      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I still didn’t know how we were going to get off the island, but the first order of business was to save Tessa — even if she was a bot — from a forced marriage to someone obsessed with the idea that people or restaurants were going to “trick” him.

“Oh, I forgot you were there,” I said to Henry. “Thanks for the tacos, but shouldn’t you be getting back to the PSLM²? Without you, the team is now missing its cowboy.”

“So eager to get rid of me?” Henry shot back. “In other words, what you’re telling me is that you don’t want competition for Tessa’s affections!”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “First of all, fuck you. You were going to run away and let her self-destruct. And second, dude, there’s no contest. But if you want to stick around, maybe there are ways you could help. You don’t have a boat by any chance?”

“I do not. But I know who does! Let’s go!”

And we set out, the three of us linking arms and striding triumphantly out of the bugalow, although we had to pivot and do a sort of sideways kickline thing to make it through the doorway.

Our celebratory mood didn’t even last across the front porch.

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“We Need to Get Out of Here”

  • by jenIt’s a Rolex
  • silver-haired thief
  • what I get for respecting vocations
  • small jar of nutmeg in the nightstand
  • looked like steak tartar

Tune in next time part 535      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We need to get out of here,” I said. “Change into something less conspicuous than that wedding dress.”

I crossed to the closet and opened it, but it was empty. Likewise the dresser drawers. The only thing I found in the whole room was a long filmy scarf with a gaudy gold men’s watch wrapped up inside.

“It’s a Rolex,” Tessa explained. “I stole it from a silver-haired thief who in turn stole it from my husband-to-be. The thief was very cross with me. He said that he would never dream of stealing from another thief, but, quote, that’s what I get for respecting vocations, unquote.” She smiled. “I reminded him that there’s no honor among thieves, and bid him farewell. I want to sell it to finance my escape from from my fiancé.”

She unzipped her wedding dress and let it fall to the floor, then wrapped herself in the scarf. It was adequate to cover her undergarments, but not much more. She strapped the clunky watch to her wrist.

“Hand me that small jar of nutmeg in the nightstand drawer,” she said.

I did, and she rubbed in on her cheeks like blush until they smelled like cookies and looked like steak tartar.

“No one will recognize me now!” she enthused.

“Be careful with that nutmeg,” I warned. “Too much can cause hallucinations.”

“I know!” she giggled. “Why do you think I keep it in the nightstand?”

If my suspicions were correct about who she was meant to marry, I couldn’t even blame her. That guy was such a dick.

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My Programming Won’t Permit Me

  • by KentNot only is he boring and bad at archery
  • dubiously at his schnitzel
  • far too spicy for their taste
  • record-breaking decibel level
  • my son just won the spelling bee

Tune in next time part 534      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“My programming won’t permit me to answer that question,” replied the Tessabot. “At least, not directly. But I can give you hints.”

This was totally on-brand for the villainess whose voice was on the self-destruct message.

“Not only is he boring and bad at archery, but he detests Teutonic cuisine. He once spent a whole state dinner staring dubiously at his schnitzel, because it might have contained traces of black pepper and his whole family find that ingredient far too spicy for their taste.”

“Wait, is it–”

My question was cut off when a new announcement blared from the Tessabot at a record-breaking decibel level.

“I interrupt this nefarious scheme,” the familiar voice tittered deafeningly, “to let everyone know that my son just won the spelling bee!”

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“Who Built You?”

  • by jenbehind which lurk
  • just an hour and a half later
  • resulting fist fight
  • bought the soundtrack on a cassette tape
  • barred from the theater for behaving inappropriately

Tune in next time part 533      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Who built you?” I asked the Tessabot. I wondered whether it was the owner of the all-too-familiar voice on the self-destruct message, or if she was merely the evil facade behind which lurked an even greater danger.

“All I know is that Tallulah built the first Tessabot, and just an hour and a half later I was created using the same plans.” She sucked the bean juice out of another taco. “Everything she is programmed to do, I do 90 minutes later. The resulting fist fights have taken many people by complete surprise. But who created me, and why, is a mystery.”

It was the same old song, one I’d heard many times. So many, in fact, that it was like I’d bought the soundtrack on a cassette tape and memorized it and later got myself barred from the theater for behaving inappropriately by trying to start up a Rocky Horror-style floorshow.

I sighed and asked, “And who are you supposed to be marrying today?”

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When the Tessabot Showed Me the Black Lingerie

  • by Kentfight the transient river hobos
  • one good, hard jerk
  • friend’s especially thoughtful taco choices
  • get my teeth dirty
  • Mmmm… bean juice.

Tune in next time part 532      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When the Tessabot showed me the black lingerie, the rest of the clue made sense. Her self-destruct mechanism was based on a grenade launcher. But time was running out, to judge by the accelerating beeping noises coming from her.

Henry stood and let the fancy white boot drop from his hands. He stumbled toward the door.

“Hey, we’re not done!” I shouted.

“Sorry!” he cried in reply. “But I’d rather fight the transient river hobos than get blown to bits here with you.” He tripped over the pile of undergarments he’d been trying to steal, then lay there on the floor sobbing in terror.

Tessa’s beeping merged into a single, piercing tone. I sprang up and seized her right arm. Hoping feverishly that my hunch was right about how the launcher was positioned within her, and praying it was a Mark VII model or earlier, I gave her arm one good, hard jerk.

The keening sound stopped, and we were all still there.

“Ow,” Tessa complained. “Are you trying to dislocate my shoulder?”

“Well, yes,” I said, pulling her to her feet. “I’ll make it up to you, once the live explosive device has been removed from your torso.”

We stood there staring into each other’s eyes for a long time. Quite a long time, apparently, because Henry had time to fetch us a celebratory meal. I wondered if the Tessabot was set up for eating as I surveyed my new friend’s especially thoughtful taco choices. I grabbed a hard-shell at random off the tray, ravenous and eager to get my teeth dirty. I chomped, and it leaked down my chin. The Tessabot intercepted the trickle of liquid before it reached my shirt, licking my face clean and murmuring, “Mmmm… bean juice.”

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