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.

Brady’s Use of the Glassblower’s Code

  • by jencroak out a honking little cry
  • his subtle middle finger
  • “Get him!”
  • Were they plotting against me?
  • “Go! GO!”

Tune in next time part 511      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brady’s use of the Glassblower’s Code startled me so thoroughly that all I could do was croak out a honking little cry of surprise. I tried to pass it off as a reaction to the nurse’s not-so-tender ministrations. Brady signaled me further with his subtle middle finger (not in the way you’re imagining). The message he conveyed was that there were enemies all around and their orders were merely “Get him!” — meaning me. I looked at the nurse, who was busy undoing the many buttons of my mountaineering uniform’s vest, and the bear. Were they plotting against me? Was the bear not really a bear?

“I only have a moderate understanding of weather control devices, from tinkering with my brother’s,” I said, warily watching the nurse and the bear. “I’ll be fine for casual bluffing, but if Scrim asks any detailed questions, I’ll be out of my depth.”

Brady merely shrugged. Perhaps he wasn’t passing signals after all. Perhaps he was just weird.

“No weather control devices that I’m aware of use etching paste,” I added.

Brady twitched his right ring finger, which if he was using the Shadow Puppeteer’s Cypher would mean, “Go! GO!” But nothing about his demeanor suggested urgency.

Should I let the nurse continue to undress me, or make a break for it?

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I Expected The Fountain to be Bracingly Cold

  • by Kentrule the world with his weather control device
  • His knees don’t bend
  • and, of course, a “heavily sedated but alert grizzly bear.”
  • recount all sorts of salacious tales
  • Glass etching requires etching paste

Tune in next time part 510      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I expected the fountain to be bracingly cold, an unpleasant but sensible measure to aid in reviving me. But it was warm like tropical waves, and I didn’t in the least bit mind sitting in it. The nurse prodded and shoved at my shoulders and back, seeming dissatisfied with my posture.

“Listen,” Brady said. “The League of Tap Dancers is led by Kabbadan Scrim, a madman who wants to rule the world with his weather control device. The fact that he doesn’t have one, and that he spends his days overseeing nefarious tap dancers, makes him grouchy. Bitter, really. See, dancing is something he can never do. His knees don’t bend, like, at all.”

I spread my arms in a dramatic shrug, splashing the pretty nurse. She poked me between the ribs with her knuckle. “Youch! But, really. What does all this have to do with me?”

Brady made one of those smug faces he was reviled for. “He’s expecting to haggle with me over a weather control device. You’re playing the part of my head engineer. When he asks how it works, start to answer and I’ll interrupt after a few seconds.”

The nurse stepped back quickly, and I looked over my shoulder into the fountain. It was filled with salmon, which accounted for the splashing. And then I noticed that I was not the only one seated in there. An enormous animal lounged against the opposite rim, watching me blearily.

Brady chortled. “My head engineer, you see, has an eccentric taste in pets. So,” he summed up, “at the meeting it will be you, and me…” He trailed off, but I knew he meant it would be the two of us and, of course, a “heavily sedated but alert grizzly bear.” At least I hoped it was sedated.

“Kabbadan’s a boor,” Brady declared, “and will recount all sorts of salacious tales about tap. Your true job is to detect any coded messages he works into his soliloquy. He might try to test me, and I’ll need you to feed me the proper responses.”

I shrugged again, this time splashing the bear. “How am I supposed to do that? I’m taking a bath with a bear over here.”

“You know that old expression,” Brady said with a wink. “Glass etching requires etching paste.”

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Brady Snapped his Fingers

  • by jenled from the room by a pretty nurse
  • “Still?”
  • another great splash
  • it tickles
  • time is not on our side

Tune in next time part 509      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Brady snapped his fingers and I was led from the room by a pretty nurse who entered through the stone door. On the other side of that gaping entry was a lush garden with a fountain full of splashing fish in the center. I recognized it and my legs wobbled. “Slow down, Brady,” I said. “I’m woozy.”

“Still?” he sneered.

Something in the fountain gave another great splash. Maybe it wasn’t a fish at all…

“I took a lot of darts,” I said, playing up my disorientation. “And I spent a long time in the thin air of the Paradoxica Mountains. Down here there’s so much oxygen it tickles my lungs and brain.”

“Well get your shit together,” Brady said as he directed the nurse to seat me in the fountain. “The mimes have signed a treaty with the League of Tap Dancers, and time is not on our side.”

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The Tattoo Was Quite Unmistakable

  • by Kentwearing a diamond wedding band
  • seeing it swing upon its huge hinges
  • casually raised his wrist to his mouth
  • recognized from my childhood
  • “I’ll show you, you silly ass!”

Tune in next time part 508      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The tattoo was quite unmistakable, but still I squinted twice at his face to be sure it was really the same man. The last time we met, he’d been wearing a diamond wedding band, but today his fingers were ringless.

A gigantic stone door at the other end of the chamber opened. It made no sound, but seeing it swing upon its huge hinges and smelling the warm spring breeze it admitted caused me to realize that I didn’t know where I was. This room had no plush yetis, no crib, and no Jason.

“Where have you taken me, Brady?”

Brady casually raised his wrist to his mouth to fog the crystal of his expensive watch before polishing it on his jeans. He said nothing, but wore a smug expression that made me mad enough to accelerate my recovery from the drugged darts. I wobbled to my feet, staring at his chest tattoo, at the three-by-three grid of faces I recognized from my childhood. When Brady flexed his pecs and rippled his abs, the family members winked and nodded lewdly. The effect was off-putting and I could see why his marriage hadn’t worked.

And then I noticed that the face in the center of the pattern was one that didn’t go with the show. It was a stranger’s face. Had Brady’s tattoo always been like that? Or was this some kind of recent revision? And what did it mean?

“Well?” I demanded. “Are you going to tell me where I am?”

“I’ll show you, you silly ass!”

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I Tried to ask Jason

  • by jenprobably through some false pretense
  • chocolate pudding
  • truly excessive amount of farting
  • depicted the Brady Bunch
  • two years, ten months, and fifteen days ago

Tune in next time part 507      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tried to ask Jason how he’d managed to get the dart-spitting toys installed in the nursery, but my mouth wouldn’t work. It was probably through some false pretense, and he would likely not tell me the details anyway.

When I came to, my muscles felt like chocolate pudding and I was farting a lot. A lot a lot. It was a truly excessive amount of farting. Those symptoms helped me identify the tranquilizer in the darts, which did me little good.

A shirtless man stood before me, his hairless chest covered with an elaborate tattoo that depicted the Brady Bunch on their Hawaiian vacation. The last time I saw this guy was two years, ten months, and fifteen days ago. He was not my biggest fan. I groaned. And farted.

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The Nunchuks Made Me Nervous

  • by Kenthas a kick on it like a mule
  • until the forklift was encased in ice
  • Boris has just given me a summary
  • you could lose a finger otherwise
  • for all of our reenactments

Tune in next time part 506      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The nunchuks made me nervous for a second, until I recognized them as the foam-rubber replicas we used for all of our reenactments of kung fu movie fights back when we were kids, before the Sacher Torte fiasco. It was crucial to use fake weapons, particularly swords; you could lose a finger otherwise.

Furry Boots announced, “Boris has just given me a summary of the auction’s expected outcome, and we’re falling behind schedule.”

“Call him back,” Jason said. “Tell him I have a plan.” She left.

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to be languishing in Oksana’s damp jail cell?” I demanded of my twin.

He sneered. “Everything was under control. You’re as confused as the Academy hockey coach. Remember when he substituted a forklift for a zamboni, and he refused to admit his mistake and forced the crew to use it until the forklift was encased in ice and the rink’s surface was too rutted and rough for skates and the visiting teams started bringing hobnail boots to wear instead?” He twirled the nunchuks faster, shaking his head. “Anyway, yeah. You’re like him.”

“Stay away from my kids,” I said, taking a step toward him.

I heard a faint ‘thwip’ noise and felt the sting of a dart in my neck. Then another. The plush yetis were spitting them. I staggered.

“Just lie down” Jason advised. “The trank in those things has a kick on it like a mule.”

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When Jason and I Were Young

  • by jenbask in the sugary afterglow
  • with bleach and everything
  • every fake-tanned, acrylic-nailed, selfie-taking woman
  • going to do “the fetish stuff”
  • near the twins, swinging

Tune in next time part 505      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When Jason and I were young, we once raided the White House pantry and ate an entire Sacher Torte that had been intended as the desert at an important State dinner. We had no time to bask in the sugary afterglow, though, because our mother discovered us and was enraged. She made us clean the entire kitchen, with bleach and everything, and then made us bake a replacement. Our skills were nothing compared to the staff bakers, but our cake was good enough to charm every fake-tanned, acrylic-nailed, selfie-taking woman at the party, so Mother was satisfied.

Furry Boots somehow knew this story. She whispered its details in my ear, thus proving she had a connection of some sort to my family. Perhaps she really was Jason’s lover. That didn’t mean I could trust her.

“Come with me,” she said, gripping me by the lapels of my climbing uniform. She explained that she was going to do “the fetish stuff” with me someplace private, which really didn’t narrow down her intentions much.

At the pace the auction was going, it wouldn’t be over anytime soon. I could afford to step away for a bit. And in private I might be able to figure out who Furry Boots was and what she was after.

We traveled through several rocky passages before entering a cavern decorated with plush yetis. A single crib held my newborn children, and near the twins, swinging a pair of nunchucks lazily, was Jason.

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Furry Boots Could Have Learned About Jason’s Tongue Tattoo

  • by Kentchandelier hanging from a brass pole
  • the more exotic and outlandish the names
  • they believe that their teeth would fall out
  • except for their own wives
  • unlimited foot massages

Tune in next time part 504      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Furry Boots could have learned about Jason’s tongue tattoo in any number of ways, or just guessed. It proved nothing. But her use — well, misuse — of the bog-roll cipher showed that she did have some connection to the biz. I had to find out more about her.

“What’s your angle?” I asked her.

“Timmy and Mabel swung on the chandelier hanging from a brass pole,” she recited confidently. It was another code, of course, and again she was taking liberties with deploying it. According to protocol, there should be an actual chandelier present, with nametags dangling among the crystal beads. The message itself is conveyed in the tags, and the more exotic and outlandish the names the larger the squad of assassins targeting the recipient. Being in Timmy-and-Mabel danger didn’t worry me too much.

I opted to turn the tables. “Colloquillian men never cross their eyes, because they believe that their teeth would fall out if they did.” Would Furry Boots be able to decode my message?

She replied, “And they won’t look at anyone’s feet, except for their own wives‘, which they gaze at all night long.”

I looked her up and down. Her response was, at best, inconclusive. The proper countersign would have referenced toenails, but she had seemingly grasped that I was talking about the traditional Colloquillian wedding vow of unlimited foot massages.

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I Did Not Kiss the Yeti

  • by jendude deserves a crown
  • should have been written on toilet tissue
  • be a couple publicly
  • “I actually looked at it
  • , not just snow.

Tune in next time part 503      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I did not kiss the yeti.

I would have been willing to if it would make the damn auction move faster, but the yeti wasn’t into it. She recoiled. While she argued about propriety with the furry-boots woman, I ducked under the buffet table and retrieved her headband. She snapped it back in place and stomped off. The furry-boots woman said to me, “If she’s married, dude deserves a crown for putting up with her.”

I froze. It was a coded message that should have been written on toilet tissue and passed discreetly between dance partners. Hearing it spoken aloud I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was it just a coincidence, or was this woman really saying that she wanted to be a couple publicly with me? I’d never met her before, but perhaps she and Jason were engaged in a secret romance.

Furry Boots herded me into the corner. “I can tell by your tongue that you’re not Jason,” she murmured. “I actually looked at it really closely and saw the golden tattoos.”

I didn’t want to admit to not being Jason. “How do you presume to know so much about the tongues of my brother and myself?”

“I know so much about Jason’s tongue because he licks many things off of me, not just snow. Jason’s tongue has a blue tattoo, but none in gold.”

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I Moved Through the Crowd in the Cavern

  • by KentThe one thing I think I know about German
  • I’m not fucking Rembrandt.
  • enough sharp medals to slit my throat
  • did not have a telephone herself
  • “Go ahead, kiss her.”

Tune in next time part 502      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I moved through the crowd in the cavern, trying to look casual and avoid stepping on any toes either figuratively or literally. My climbing boots could do some real damage.

The reason for the lackadaisical bidding revealed itself as I mingled. The auction of my brother Jim was, for many attendees, merely a pretext under which to meet for other forms of business. I overheard arms deals, drug deals, and stolen-art deals. The one thing I think I know about Germany’s art scene, I learned by eavesdropping on two men who were both wearing eyepatches and monocles. And that thing is, German collectors will never give a fuck about my paintings because I’m not fucking Rembrandt.

Even in my uniform, wearing enough sharp medals to slit my throat if I sneezed wrong, I felt a bit underdressed in this crowd. But not compared to the next individual I bumped into, the yeti midwife who was no longer even wearing her rainbow headband. In fact, that was what she was looking for, somehow recognizing me from our chat in the break room even without my yeti costume. She didn’t seem too mad, maybe a bit embarrassed to be interrupting me about it, explaining that she would have called but she didn’t know my number and actually did not have a telephone herself. I stalled, trying to work out what was going to happen when she looked under the buffet table. Could I just flat-out tell her, since the discarded costume apparently wouldn’t matter to her? It felt risky.

So, my conversation with the yeti midwife continued awkwardly, each of us seeming equally flustered and unsure of ourselves, until a woman in a green satin gown and thigh-high furry boots leaned over to me and said, “Go ahead, kiss her.”

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