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.

“Does It Really Matter How Dead He Is?”

  • by Kentknown to fancy folks as
  • superglue and duct tape
  • and (occasionally) laudanum
  • laser-focused idiot
  • eat Sour Patch Kids as cereal

Tune in next time part 858      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Does it really matter how dead he is?” asked BimBam. “I don’t see how that matters to our plans.”

“Not to our plans, perhaps, but I have plans that don’t concern you. So mind your own business and tell me what you’ve learned.”

BimBam growled, but then said, “The airship’s outer hull is made of a material known to fancy folks as Ballooninium, but it’s just superglue and duct tape. The maintenance crew has a nine-hour rotation, and when they’re not on duty they overindulge in marshmallow peeps, Pop-Rocks, and (occasionally) laudanum. The chief engineer is a laser-focused idiot who likes to eat Sour Patch Kids as cereal.”

“And the cargo?”

Now the Iron Clown made a rumbling chuckle that I could feel in my bones.

“It’s right where you said it would be.”

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“He Might be Mostly Dead”

  • by jena necromancer’s take
  • in a neon-lit lab
  • gauge the reactions of actual spiders
  • by the way he’s gesturing
  • wrap your lips over your teeth

Tune in next time part 857      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“He might be mostly dead, or all dead,” BimBam said sagely. “There’s really no way to be sure without a necromancer’s take.”

“Unfortunately,” Titania said, “our necromancer is in a neon-lit lab, trying to gauge the reactions of actual spiders to the fake plastic kind. Since he’s half-mime, his assistants have to interpret the results by the way he’s gesturing, so it’s going to take a while.”

The idea of a clown-mime necromancer made me feel like it feels when you bite into something so sweet you wrap your lips over your teeth and whimper — but, like, all over.

I hoped the colorfully lit lab they were referring to wasn’t on board the airship.

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Unnerving As Clowns Are

  • by Kentselling your blood
  • flutes of champagne
  • offset the terrifying symptoms of insanity
  • there are going to be some great parties
  • “Nah, he’s alive.”

Tune in next time part 856      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Unnerving as clowns are, generally, there is none more chilling than the notorious BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia. Let me explain why.

Circus traditions vary greatly by country. In Svenborgia, for example, you must pay for your ticket with a special currency obtainable only by selling your blood to the clown on gate duty, who shares it with the rest of them by adding it to flutes of champagne. During the actual show, you will partake of the cotton candy that is spun by a rare breed of caterpillar and flavored with exotic moth-wing dust that is said to offset the terrifying symptoms of insanity (and by the tenth minute of the performance, you’ll need it). As the spectacle unfolds, you’ll know that while you toss and turn in your bed that night there are going to be some great parties — with jugglers, acrobats, and especially clowns — raging on until the dawn.

The Iron Clown asked, “So did you kill him then? For double-bunning your spongy oven?”

Laughing again, the Crystal Clown replied, “Nah, he’s alive.” I felt her shrug. “I think.”

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The Crystal Clown Dug her Heels into My Ribs

  • by jendon’t know if this is a valid seduction tactic
  • for the sole purpose of rubbing one’s tingly parts against
  • silly knees-bent running about
  • put the sponge in the oven
  • pretty new pink dress

Tune in next time part 855      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Crystal Clown dug her heels into my ribs and said, “Tallyho, Dennises!” I don’t know if this is a valid seduction tactic where she comes from, but I figure it must be. I can think of no reason to ride naked atop a faux-horse, save for the sole purpose of rubbing one’s tingly parts against the corduroy saddle and, presumably, turning everyone on. Nigel and the Dennis brothers must be made of tougher stuff than me, though, for not only was I not turned on, I was getting quite a cramp in my back from all the silly knees-bent running about she was making us do. The fact that I hadn’t managed to dislodge Big Dennis from my rump made it that much worse.

We gallumphed through more corridors, and finally came to a stop when an unfamiliar male voice hailed Titania. The man approached and jiggled Big Dennis. He spoke in with a thick, unidentifiable accent. “This is the one who put the sponge in the oven of my beloved Crystal Clown?”

Titania laughed — the most menacing thing I’d ever heard. “Bun, darling. Put a bun in my oven.” Her chuckle would curdle milk. “Two buns, actually.”

“With all those clothes on him, I can see why he appealed to you.”

“And I like your pretty new pink dress. It matches your hair and your nose perfectly.” She leaned over and I heard a sharp honk.

Oh no! I hoped I was wrong, but knew I probably wasn’t. The only clown I could think of who favored pink so heavily was the notorious BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia. What the hell was he doing on my wife’s airship?

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While I Was Working Some Pretty Rogue Moves

  • by Kentvery nonchalant about the whole thing
  • smells like Willy Wonka’s farts
  • between the second and third toes
  • quite empty, madam
  • so they can be ambassadors

Tune in next time part 854      Click Here for Earlier Installments

While I was working some pretty rogue moves in my attempts to shake off Big Dennis, I was also trying to be very nonchalant about the whole thing so that neither Titania nor Small Dennis would notice. And I was trying not to overexert, because the atmosphere inside the horse costume was stuffy. But it also held a strange, cloying note. “It smells like Willy Wonka’s farts in here,” I muttered, “if he’d been taste testing Brussels sprout gobstoppers.”

Small Dennis shushed me, which Titania must have heard because she growled, “Most horses never learn how painful it is to have a toothpick jammed between the second and third toes, probably because most horses know when to be quiet.”

“Well, that, and they don’t really have toes,” Small Dennis mumbled.

Titania tore the head off the costume. “What is in your head?” she hissed.

“My skull must be quite empty, madam,” he replied in a quavering voice.

She chuckled, suddenly sounding far less irked. “We usually ship people like that off to other countries, so they can be ambassadors. But, too bad for you, we ran out of countries.” She shoved the head back on over Small Dennis, and as she resumed the saddle she sighed. “Never had these issues with Nigel!”

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We Careened Through the Hallways of the Airship

  • by jenscreamed out loud the name of a specific fruit
  • a spectacularly alarming painting
  • dipped in poison
  • taste just like cotton candy at first
  • working that oddly lumpy, peculiar body

Tune in next time part 853      Click Here for Earlier Installments

We careened through the hallways of the airship, and each time we reached a corner, Titania screamed out loud the name of a specific fruit so that we would know which way to turn: mango for left, papaya for right. It was the old Fruitmonger’s Cipher, but with a tropical twist that had me wondering which organization she was working for.

“Lychee!” Titania cried, and we came to an abrupt stop. “That,” she continued as she dismounted, “is a spectacularly alarming painting.”

I knew which one she must mean: the coronation portrait of Fleur’s grandmother looked like it had been painted with a brush that was dipped in poison instead of paint. And that’s because, per Contrarian custom, it was. As a country they are overly concerned about enemies ingesting the Artwork of State, and so all coronation portraits are painted with poisons of various hues. To be sure of killing the rogue art-devourers, the poisons all taste just like cotton candy at first. Fleur’s grandmother’s portrait was especially ominous because of the toothmarks in the upper right corner.

While Titania contemplated the gruesome likeness of the equally gruesome warlord’s consort, I shimmied my rump in hopes of dislodging Big Dennis from my back. I was working that oddly lumpy, peculiar body of a horse costume like my life depended on it when I finally felt Big Dennis’s weight shift. I squatted halfway, hoping to drop him on his head hard enough to keep him unconscious, but not hard enough to draw the attention of the Crystal Clown.

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“How About Being The Front of the Horse?”

  • by KentI draw the line at butt cracks
  • never say it to your face
  • shook the appendage
  • wedded in a three-way ceremony
  • which feels sinister

Tune in next time part 852      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“How about being the front of the horse?” I asked Small Dennis. “Would that be something fun?” He simply stared at me, probably because I was frantically stripping off my clothes as I spoke and Titania’s angry sneezing was getting closer.

I had remembered that people often called me Dennis at the Academy, and looking at Big Dennis laid out on the floor I finally spotted the resemblance. In seconds I had swapped clothes with him, managing it despite the complexity of my own outfit. Small Dennis still seemed dazed, but he put on the horse’s head and lined up for me to join on behind him. Just in time, because Titania blundered out of the bathroom just then.

And only then, when it was too late, did I discover that Small Dennis wasn’t wearing pants. I’ll happily stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but usually I draw the line at butt cracks.

“What happened to him?” I heard the Crystal Clown inquire.

“It was so shocking, I could never say it to your face,” Small Dennis replied. I wanted to thank him for not blowing my cover, but couldn’t risk being heard. He seemed to understand, because he reached back inside the horse costume and I shook the appendage gratefully.

“We’ll just have to bring him along,” she said. Suddenly a weight fell across my back as she hefted Big Dennis onto the space behind our saddle. Then she mounted up, and I had to wonder if she’d put any clothes on first or if she was pulling a full-on Godiva routine aboard an airship. We cantered out into the hallway, beast and rider wedded in a three-way ceremony and carrying excess baggage that might wake up at any moment and give me away.

It was not the first three-way wedding ceremony I’d taken part in, which feels sinister to think about, but fortunately my mind was busy thinking about how to accidentally on purpose let Big Dennis slide off this horse’s rump.

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Accidentally on Purpose

  • by jenI don’t like nose stuff
  • leave her in the darkness
  • much-ballyhooed
  • swung my good right fist full upon the point of his jaw
  • Small Dennis was left extremely disappointed

Tune in next time part 851      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Accidentally on purpose I turned the knob on the soap dispenser instead of the shower. A river of lavender suds spurted out, and Titania and I both sneezed.

“Ugh” she cried. “I don’t like nose stuff! It’s a total turnoff!”

While she continued sneezing, I lurched toward the exit and flipped off the lights, intending to leave her in the darkness — the flowery darkness — while I found a place to write down the much-ballyhooed sauce recipe. Or as much of it as I could remember.

On my way through the bedroom I encountered two men attempting to don a horse costume. (Nigel’s replacement, presumably.) I remembered them from the Academy. They were step-brothers, and both were named Dennis. They bickered constantly over their shared name, and everything else. Why Titania thought it would be a good idea for them to share a single horse costume was beyond me. Right now they were bickering over who would be the creature’s head. I thought Big Dennis would be the better choice, but when he turned to me and snarled, I swung my good right fist full upon the point of his jaw and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Small Dennis was left extremely disappointed. “I wanted to punch him,” he pouted. “I never get to do anything fun.”

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Tuning In Next Time Just Got Easier

We’re happy to unveil the new and improved reading experience for our writing prompt chain story. It can now be viewed in chronological order!

Just go to the updated Tune In Next Time page to get started.

How did this long-overdue enhancement come about? Well, Kent has been enjoying retirement, but sometimes he misses slinging a little code. So, a few days ago he applied himself to the question: “Why does our blog make it so freakin’ awkward to just read a set of posts in order?” And if we let him, he’ll go into all the nerdy details about how he fixed it. So we won’t let him.

[Kent wrests the keyboard away] “It involved a custom plug-in, plus some theme edits…” [The keyboard is wrested back]

So there you have it! Settle in and bask in the goony glory that is our neverending series of interconnected tag-team writing prompts, from the beginning.

A writing partner is (sometimes) someone who can fix your website.

As Far As I Knew, Titania Was Not A Cook

  • by Kenther suggestion of “Deep Fried Ice Cream Tacos”
  • I am the fucking law
  • To call it ‘rummaging’ would cheapen the encounter
  • the dilating-pipes entered the main apparatus
  • I’m hearing a lot of excuses

Tune in next time part 850      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As far as I knew, Titania was not a cook. But was the infamous pasta sauce recipe of her invention? The ingredients list contained hints that this recipe’s author might not be much of a cook in any case. Household cleaning products featured prominently. If she had created it, her suggestion of “Deep Fried Ice Cream Tacos” to be stirred in before serving was a stroke of genius.

Memorizing the recipe would not be easy even if I didn’t have to worry about the Crystal Clown becoming offended by my inattentiveness, but that was a major worry. “Obey me!” she barked. “I am the fucking law. I am the beat cop of coitus. Now spread ’em!”

All the excess clothing — which she’d insisted that I wear — seemed to frustrate her greatly. She frisked and prodded and kneaded through the layers of fabric. To call it ‘rummaging’ would cheapen the encounter, so… it was rummaging.

“Into the shower!” she suddenly commanded. “Turn it on. Use the most erotic nozzle setting!”

This being a Contrarian airship, it had Contrarian plumbing. At one time I’d been fairly adept at using such fixtures, but now I strained to recall where the dilating-pipes entered the main apparatus, because that would dictate whether we got scalded or ice-blasted. Plus I was still surreptitiously perusing the pasta sauce recipe. To play for time I said, “These controls are a bit confusing, and I’m going to soak up all the water anyway.”

“I’m hearing a lot of excuses,” Titania growled. The nanobots inhabiting my innermost garments signaled her impatience.

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