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.

Tune in Next Week

Ever have one of those weeks?

We here at SkelleyCo Amalgamated Fiction Enterprises LLC know that you count on us for your twice-weekly dose of thrilling suspense, swoon-worthy romance, and uncomfortable sexual situations, and we know that you are disappointed in us for failing to deliver this week. But not half as disappointed as we are in ourselves!

Our chain story, ridiculous and sprawling as it is, is like family to us. It’s the third leg of the triangle that is our writing partnership. (Better than the third rail, amiright?) And this week our beloved chain story needed a vacation. It’s been trapped on that damned zeppelin for about 5 months now!

Rest assured that all (else) is well at SkelleyCo. We’re beavering away in the Writing Cave, adding scenes to As-Yet-Untitled Ghost Novel #2, and we’ve used our dog-walking time to talk through some minor snags. Apart from the chain story, it’s all going swimmingly.

So, tune in next week to see whether these writing partners get their act together. Same bat time, same bat channel.

no bonus points :(

My Wisest Option

  • by Kentbetrothed to the prophet
  • “Oh, that rhymed!”
  • Take my hand
  • viciously accurate shot
  • a fixed and unnatural grin

Tune in next time part 888      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My wisest option would have been to spit out the nog that had already gone into my mouth and then clamp my lips shut to protect myself from additional incursions of the creamy intoxicant. This was evident to me in the moment on some level, but it was not a level where decisions are made. Besides, Contrarian eggnog is delicious and I could rationalize that it offered far more nutritional merit than most strong drink. It’s also very fast-acting, especially on someone in my weakened condition, so by the time it might have dawned on me to expel the stuff, enough had been absorbed through my mucous membranes to render me officially stupid.

Fleur was aggressive with the nozzle, giving me the nog faster than I could swallow it. But she was also mindful of my wellbeing, at least enough so that she let up for a few seconds when I began spluttering.

“I’m on the eggnog train, and I don’t wanna get off it,” I mumbled.

“Slow down, or you’ll end up betrothed to the prophet,” she replied. “Oh, that rhymed!”

The business about betrothal was a Contrarian euphemism for alcohol poisoning.

“You’re driving, toots.” I opened wide for more, and she delivered. Apparently the prophet didn’t seem too infatuated with me yet. But after just a few seconds, she cut me off.

“Take my hand,” she said. When I ignored the command, she picked up the keg nozzle again and made a visciously accurate shot up my right nostril. That jolted me enough for her to get me on my feet.

“Who’s supposed to be tending this bar, anyway?” I wondered aloud. My speech was very sloppy, so Fleur’s shrug could have meant that she didn’t know, or didn’t care, or didn’t understand the question.

I peered behind the bar and saw a man lying there, his skin abnormally blue, and his face frozen in a fixed and unnatural grin.

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Fleur Straightened the Styrofoam Toilets

  • by jenideal winter drink for people
  • how to shave his back hair
  • Probably between sips
  • main delivery method: squirting
  • speak nicely to the elephant

Tune in next time part 887      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur straightened the styrofoam toilets, then said, “Come on. You look like you could use a drink.”

I wanted to protest that what I needed was food and a good night’s sleep, but I knew she wouldn’t listen.

My wife grabbed my elbow and tugged me over to the back wall of the bathroom. She rotated the toilet paper holder back and forth like the dial of a combination lock, and when she was done, a section of the wall swung open like a vault door. I hoped I’d memorized the combination correctly.

The room we entered was an ice bar. Every surface was carved from ice, and the lighting was all blue. I’d heard rumors that some Royal Contrarian Airships housed eggnog speakeasies, but I hadn’t believed it. Eggnog, despite being the ideal winter drink for people who enjoy nutmeg and warm alcoholic custard, was forbidden in Contraria. Legend had it that William Penn IV got so drunk on the stuff on the eve of his wedding that he forgot how to shave his back hair. Not only that but he proposed to three other women. (Probably between sips of his favorite boozy beverage.) The next day he was viciously hungover, and married all four women in a single ceremony. His new wives were very upset (more about his hairy back than the polygamy) the honeymoon was a disaster, and the beverage was banned in Contraria forever. At least officially.

Fleur plunked me down on a chunk of ice, reached behind the bar, and grabbed a keg nozzle. That’s the other thing about Contrarian eggnog. The main delivery method: squirting directly into one’s mouth.

I shook my head. The last thing I needed right now was alcohol. I needed to keep the few wits I had about me.

“Come on,” Fleur cajoled. “Open up and speak nicely to the elephant.” Which is what Contrarian’s say in place of ‘here comes the airplane’ when they’re trying to get a child to eat.

I opened my mouth to protest that I was not a toddler, and instantly had a mouthful of warm, boozy, eggy froth. My wife, it turns out, had a lot of experience with elephants.

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Tuning In This Time

We encourage people to read our “Tune In Next Time” chain story from the beginning all the time, and guess what we just started doing? What? No! But the fact that you think that of us means you must be familiar with our work.

We plan to do a read-thru of the thing in its entirety. (This will be the first time we’ve actually done that, at least since it grew beyond about a dozen installments.) As always, when Rune Skelley says “we are reading the thing” that means “Kent is reading the thing aloud for Jen’s edification and enjoyment.” And Kent has so far read aloud the first 60 episodes.

The chain story, for those who don’t know, is a long-running gonzo epic made up of writing prompts. Each unit is typically about 200-300 words, and we mainly rely on our state-of-the-art Stichomancy Writing Prompt Generator to provide the raw materials. Most of the time Jen and Kent take turns, with Jen’s posts going up on Mondays and Kent’s on Wednesdays. On special occasions, we team up to do super-size combo prompts. It’s something we mainly treat like a game, and a way to keep the writing muscles limber. We do not take any of it seriously, except that we do take great pride in screwing each other over with awkward cliffhangers and preposterous situations. And, we make an honest effort at continuity (but we also make an effort to spend the minimum amount of time on the episodes, so sometimes we skimp on research).

So, now that we’ve embarked on this journey, how does it make us feel? Amused, largely. We crack ourselves up. The tone is wacky. We’re amazed at how quickly certain tropes and running gags showed up. Secret organizations and outrageous cornball conspiracies, for example. The tone came into focus right away, but not necessarily the flavor. Very early episodes tend to have a pronounced noir feeling about them, which isn’t something that gets maintained. We expect to get a better idea of the continuity by binging it, but it’s too soon to really say much about that. (We’re only about 7% of the way into it!)

By the way, revisiting the chain story is not our only recent trip down memory lane. Not too long ago we reread our Divided Man trilogy. That material we did take seriously, and we remain extremely proud of it. There’s danger in spending too much time looking back, but there’s also value in being reminded of how far you’ve come.

A writing partner is someone who’ll sometimes help you tame the chaos, and sometimes join you in embracing it.

I Clenched My Teeth

  • by KentI clenched my teeth
  • puncture wound on his butt cheek
  • watch out for Ray and Fay
  • Never trust a man carrying produce!
  • what is a “power haircut” exactly?

Tune in next time part 886      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I clenched my teeth, and through them I growled, “Which operation would that be? The one you haven’t let me in on, or the other one you didn’t mention, or maybe it’s the one that I’m not supposed to know about?”

“You are so off your game,” Fleur said. “I bet you totally missed the shape of the puncture wound on his butt cheek, but I wonder if you’d have realized the significance anyway.”

I’d not noticed any puncture wounds of any shape anywhere on Small Dennis, and I could hardly have missed one on his butt cheek in particular during all that time in the horse costume. What was Fleur trying to pull? I decided to play dumb.

“Well, can I have a hint?” I demanded. “Should I watch out for Ray and Fay? Keep an eye on Jeff and Steff?”

“Who are these people?”

“You tell me. You’re the butt-phrenologist. Read mine, it says ‘Never trust a man carrying produce!’”

If Fleur was dismayed by my outburst she didn’t let it show. She calmly shook her head. “No it doesn’t.” She smiled. “Your butt sends a simple yet potent message.”

My wife and I had no better days for me to reminisce about, but I remembered some nice moments together. Some of those recollections did involve her studying my buttocks, and commenting about there being one thing it needed. And, ever since, I’d been meaning to ask her: what is a “power haircut” exactly?

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I Wanted Very Much to Believe Fleur

  • by jenmight easily be mistaken for the horse’s mouth
  • ensure even butter distribution
  • shoe size written plainly for everyone to see
  • my husband is just a little cranky sometimes
  • flapping behind him like a pair of coattails

Tune in next time part 885      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I wanted very much to believe Fleur meant it when she said she’d let me off the zeppelin, and her words might easily be mistaken for the horse’s mouth into which I had been warned many times never to look. Would it be so bad to just believe her? To not look for hidden meanings and duplicitous intent? My training said it would be unforgivable. Fleur might be my wife, but she was also the heir to a powerful foreign warlord, and while she might have a reputation as the sort of woman in whose mouth butter would not melt, I knew that her tongue was sharp enough to ensure even butter distribution no matter the temperature.

Why was I so fixated on mouths all the sudden?

Small Dennis looked aghast. He didn’t like the direction this conversation had taken. If I could remember it, I might agree with him. He stood there, looking utterly ridiculous, wearing nothing below the waist except for a pair of bowling shoes with the number 2 on the backs.

“How can you say you’re not so small, Small Dennis,” I barked, “When you’re standing there with your shoe size written plainly for everyone to see?”

Fleur laid a hand on my elbow. “Ignore him,” she said to Small Dennis. “My husband is just a little cranky sometimes when he’s tired. Be on your way.”

Instead of dressing in the horse costume again, Dennis draped it over his shoulder and stomped pantsless out of the faux bathroom with it flapping behind him like a pair of coattails.

“I can’t believe you almost blew the whole operation!” Fleur snapped once the door closed.

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I’d Learned to Tune Out Exhaustion

  • by Kentweird cotton candy grapes
  • how many dollars a live yeti could be sold for
  • “Oo, yeah. Robots.”
  • find you a new cloak
  • dark and sexy

Tune in next time part 884      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I’d learned to tune out exhaustion over the years, so it took a moment of deliberate reflection to assess my current state. Yeah, I was borderline delirious with lack of sleep. And, I was ravenously hungry. Functioning without nourishment is another skill one develops in the spy biz, but the key is to focus on the task at hand and deny your body’s basic physical imperatives, so now that I’d considered food I could think of nothing else. Alarmingly, the thing I craved was the weird cotton candy grapes they had in the commissary at Enigma Fortress. But perhaps that wasn’t so strange. My memories of my time in the Paradoxica Mountains were fond ones. That frozen landscape  seemed a place where I could be happy, especially if I didn’t have to be in command of the garrison. I might find out how many dollars a live yeti could be sold for. I might find a place to settle down with Tessa and/or her many robot duplicates.

Small Dennis said, “Oo, yeah. Robots.”

I had no idea how much I’d said out loud. If I couldn’t keep my shit together better than that, leaving the spy game wasn’t going to be optional. I chanced a look at Fleur. She was smiling. That always makes me nervous, but it looked like a kind smile.

“I could tell the captain to change course,” she said. “Drop you off at Enigma Fortress in a day or two, which gives us time to find you a new cloak, something dark and sexy.”

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If I Recalled Correctly

  • by jenan ostrich almost killed Johnny
  • “Ineffable!”
  • used only for hand-to-hand combat
  • circled his thumbs
  • part of me is starting to think maybe I might be kind of ready to think about

Tune in next time part 883      Click Here for Earlier Installments

If I recalled correctly, it was also William Penn XII who started a stampede of the Academy’s livestock that time when an ostrich almost killed Johnny (as John was known in his youth). Was Small Dennis trying to warn me that William was planning an ostrich stampede in the petting zoo? I hadn’t spent much time with my brother-in-law, but it didn’t seem like the sort of thing he would do.

Perhaps I should incorporate the 12 from William’s name into my BareCheeks deciphering? If I did that the message became “Ineffable!”

That’s the sort of word we at the Academy used only for hand-to-hand combat. Surely Small Dennis would not be so bold as to throw a word such as Ineffable around willynilly. I straightened up to my full height and studied Small Dennis’s hands. My eyes circled his thumbs several times before I concluded I had nothing to fear from him. His thumbs were as small as the rest of him.

Was I reading too much into this? Was the BareCheeks cipher a red herring?

Part of me is starting to think maybe I might be kind of ready to think about maybe getting out of the spy business. It does a real number on my head sometimes.

When was the last time I’d slept? Or eaten?

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As My Classmate

  • by Kentstraw hat bonfires were started
  • I once tried to change a light bulb
  • sexual misadventure
  • stuck an electrified prod up there
  • always wore the craziest shorts

Tune in next time part 882      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As my classmate from The Academy, Small Dennis couldn’t expect me to believe his sorry story. He was probably just counting on me to play along, but I wondered if perhaps there was a message for me embedded in what he was saying to Fleur.

I thought about the numbers he’d mentioned. Six, five, and “almost six”… Wasn’t much to go on, but in light of how he was (un)dressed I thought it might make sense to try the BareCheeks cipher. Which would make the message “straw hat,” which seemed like nonsense until I remembered what happened in my junior year, how the gym got burned down. Fleur wouldn’t know how the straw hat bonfires were started because she wasn’t there. She might have heard the rumor that her half-brother William Penn XII once tried to change a light bulb during a sexual misadventure, maybe even the part when his coital partner stuck an electrified prod up there, but it seemed unlikely she knew all the details.

I was now convinced that Small Dennis wanted me to know something without letting Fleur hear it, probably something about the so-called mission that he was babbling about a few minutes ago. Now I just needed to suss out the rest of the message. Would it have something to do with William Penn XII? I struggled to remember other things about him from back in the day. He always wore the craziest shorts. I wished he was here to lend a pair to Small Dennis.

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It’s Standard Practice on Contrarian Airships

  • by jen“That’s a cute name.”
  • ghostly fingerprint
  • is nearly six foot five and describes himself as a “fairy from outer space”
  • almost six years in prison
  • wish not to be stabbed

Tune in next time part 881      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It’s standard practice on Contrarian airships to have bathroom fixtures made of styrofoam — it saves a lot of weight. What was unusual about these styrofoam potties is that they weren’t attached to the floor, the plumbing, or anything else. What could Fleur be up to with a room full of decoy commodes?

“Put down the toilet, Small Dennis,” I muttered.

“Small Dennis?” Fleur chuckled. “That’s a cute name.”

“I’m not actually all that small,” Small Dennis huffed. He’d been gripping the faux porcelain so hard that when he let go, he left behind ghostly fingerprints in the styrofoam. “Is it my fault my mom married a guy with his own son named Dennis who is nearly six foot five and describes himself as a ‘fairy from outer space’ and who had spent almost six years in prison for assault? He claimed the moniker Big Dennis, and as I wish not to be stabbed, I grudgingly accepted Small Dennis as mine.”

I’d never heard Small Dennis say so much, and I doubted the truth of almost all of what he’d said. If he was trying to prey on Fleur’s tender feminine nature, I wished him luck.

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