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.

“Don’t Patronize Me”

  • k-avatarOr Jack Kerouac?
  • simulates the roar
  • so soft and so elegant
  • severe attack of vomiting
  • “Don’t patronize me.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Stacie glared up at Derek. “Just hold my hair.”

Derek’s few memories of the previous night included more than enough drinking to account for Stacie’s severe attack of vomiting. They both had way too many cocktails, something with a kooky name and blended with shaved ice to a creamy texture and topped with an orange-peel origami swan. The drinks were so soft and so elegant it had been hard to decline as the next one was offered. And then the next. And the next, until inside your head their cumulative effect simulates the roar of the ocean in a seashell, drowning any coherent thoughts and drowning out the voice of reason.

Derek liked to go to parties so he could feel like his heroes. Like Fitzgerald, or Hemmingway. Or Jack Kerouac? But his taste in drinks was more like Patricia Highsmith.

bonus points for using them in reverse order

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My Eyes Were Full of Sand

  • by jenSure, it’s iconic and colorful and mesmerizing
  • impelling the machine uphill
  • it had been about eels
  • she was lost in the city
  • expressing his feelings by serious pantomime

Tune In Next Time Part 23                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My eyes were full of sand when I opened them. I lay on the beach, blood still oozing from my leg wound. As I tried to get my bearings, I remembered the dream that haunted my childhood. I don’t know why, but it had been about eels, and I’d had it again just now, passed out on the shore by the pier. Sure, it’s iconic and colorful and mesmerizing to have a recurring dream, but those eels man, they haunt me.

I sat up in time to see John emerge from the crashing surf, still alive. Dammit. In his grip was my underwater digging apparatus. It seems that John escaped his sharky fate by impelling the machine uphill instead of down, and letting it drag him along behind it. Not for the first time I cursed my engineering prowess.

When John saw me laying there bleeding all over the empty metal box he began expressing his feelings by serious pantomime, his jutting middle fingers quivering in rage.

“Where is Tessa?” he bellowed, stomping up to where I was sprawled.

I knew Tessa was a terrible navigator. I knew she was lost in the city, hopelessly trying to find her way to whatever rendezvous she and John had arranged. My only chance was to send John the wrong way so that I could get some much-needed medical attention and then find her myself.

“They took her,” I lied through gritted teeth. “The ninjas took her.”

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“Hey!” I Shouted to Tessa

  • k-avatarI was thunderstruck
  • from a 72-year-old American woman
  • she was in love with him
  • looked first at the money
  • in an effort to stop the bleeding

Tune In Next Time Part 22                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hey!” I shouted to Tessa, “look what I found!”

I knew she’d sit in that inflatable boat and let the sharks get her as long as she thought John was due to surface with the treasure any second. He should have spotted the digging machine and my hasty excavations and known immediately what happened. He should have come back up already, which made me suspect he wasn’t going to.

I shouted for Tessa again, waving the box over my head so rusty seawater drizzled from it into my eyes. I heard her start the zodiac’s motor, and I heard it grow louder and climb in pitch. Whew! She was headed for shore. Wiping my eyes, I saw the boat barreling straight at me. I was thunderstruck that she apparently meant to ram me. I didn’t want to be zodiac-struck as well, so I jumped to the side and then ran up the beach.

I stopped and turned in time to see Tessa leap from the beached boat. She pulled out the snub-nosed revolver she stole from a 72-year-old American woman at the Oscars several years ago. That woman had stolen it from Joseph Gordon Levitt, because she was in love with him and didn’t want him to be near any guns. Tessa looked like she wanted me to be near some bullets.

“We can still be partners,” I said. “I know you have the combination for this. And I have, well, I have this.” I jiggled the box, watching her eyes wobble to follow its movements.

The pistol in her hand went off. The box sprang open. Her shot had struck it instead of me. Whew again! But then I slumped onto the sand, which was already soaked with my blood. The ricochet had sent the slug into my leg.

Tessa ran up as the people from the film set ran in all directions.

She stood over me and the open box. She looked first at the money in the box, wads of carefully shrink-wrapped bills in large denominations. Then she squeezed my thigh. It was probably in an effort to stop the bleeding. I wanted to make a flirty wisecrack, but despite the horrendous pain in my leg I was suddenly too sleepy to fight it. I laid my head back on the dry sand and let myself spiral down.

bonus points for using them in order

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As I Watched My Former Lover Face Near-Certain Death

  • by jenmazes of winding passageways
  • a bit of low-level xenophobia, right?
  • seizing the black bottle
  • the Lyudmila who was not his sister
  • her mother bought it in Germany

Tune In Next Time Part 21                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As I watched my former lover face near-certain death by shark attack, I turned the metal box over in my hands. Tessa alone knew the combination. Should I save her? Offer to share the treasure with her in exchange for her help? Demand the digits as the price for her life, keeping the box’s contents for myself?

The fins sliced through the waves, stalking her. It reminded me of when I first met her, years ago at a party. She strode in wearing nothing but a sharkskin minidress. I found out later her mother bought it in Germany. I was drawn to her immediately, and asked her to dance. That’s when John strode in with a couple of girls, both named Lyudmila. He kissed the Lyudmila who was not his sister, and then noticed me dancing with the delectable Tessa. He discarded Lyudmila rather rudely and tried to cut between me and Tessa, but she turned her back on him, seizing the black bottle of our host’s inky homebrew liquor in one hand and me in the other.

To John and his shabby treatment of his Russian date she said, “Nothing like a bit of low-level xenophobia, right?”

Before he could even formulate a reply she dragged me out of the party and through mazes of winding passageways to her own apartment where we spent the rest of the night downing the bitter black alcohol and screwing.

Could I let a girl like that be eaten by sharks? I could not.

 

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Edwina Has a Tendency

  • k-avatarI want to kiss you but I can’t
  • with the books and the plants
  • to curse and get nasty
  • I lit her cigarette
  • hid myself therein for many, many months

Edwina has a tendency to curse and get nasty when she hasn’t had a fix, so I lit her cigarette as quickly as possible. She took a long drag before muttering around the tube of putrid death pinched squarely in the center of her lips, “I want to kiss you but I can’t take this coffin nail out of my mouth.” Another lengthy drag and half of the cigarette was drooping ashes. “So you’ll have to wait,” she added, her words emerging in a gray plume that scattered flakes of ash into my face. I forgave her. Poor thing hadn’t had a smoke in almost a year. Her father kept her locked away in the conservatory with the books and the plants. Meanwhile, I nearly got caught sneaking around the grounds. I dashed to the cabana and hid myself therein for many, many months until the seasons turned and Edwina’s parents stopped using the pool so much and I could finally join her indoors.

 

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A Second Woman in Chef’s Whites

  • by jen“Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered.
  • my angry heart
  • the fire is slowly dying
  • vital, sunburnt, carefree
  • where social graces are never needed

Tune In Next Time Part 20                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

A second woman in chef’s whites approached the craft services table. The first woman elbowed her and pointed at the vital, sunburnt, carefree Tyler as he cavorted around the beach naked. “Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered. A movie set seems to be a place where social graces are never needed.

While the two of them ogled the actor, I cast my eyes back out to the zodiac bobbing in the waves near the pier. Tessa had double crossed me so many times in the past 24 hours I wasn’t sure I could ever trust her again. The woman was maddening, and for years I carried an inferno of passion for her in my angry heart.

“She’s cast her lot with John now,” I said to myself, “and in my heart the fire is slowly dying.”

I shook the metal box, hoping to divine its contents, but the sloshing rattle gave me nothing to go on. I stared at the lock, remembering that Tessa alone knew the combination.

Out on the sea, the ominous fins were circling ever closer to the zodiac and its lone passenger.

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Stichomancy Generator Update

r-avatarLongtime readers probably already know this, but for the benefit of our new fans (welcome!) here’s the lowdown on the writing prompts we post here at the Skelleyverse.

Most of them are stichomancy prompts, in which the author is challenged to write a short piece of fiction (or occasionally, verse) utilizing — verbatim — a list of phrases drawn from other sources. Stichomancy originated as a form of divination performed by flipping to a random page in a book and pointing to a random spot on that page to see what it says. We use it to compile the required ingredients for a writing prompt.

And, this being the twenty-first century, we’ve gone digital with the process to create our online stichomancy writing prompt generator. The snippets it returns are sourced from books, television shows, websites, and other places, including conversations we’ve actually had in real life. Wondering which of the bizarre phrases represent things we had some reason to say out loud is a torment we gladly infect you with. You’ll learn to love us for it.

This week we added another large batch of fodder to the infernal engine that cranks these things out. Jen did the harvesting, and she’s very pleased with the interplay of new flavors. Kent is insisting you’ll be interested to know that the generator’s code is very clever about not repeating results, so we’ll mention it even though we doubt anyone is as interested in that as he is. What it all means to you is a premium writing-prompt experience that keeps delivering new surprises. Give it a try! Share your results in the comments.

While Tessa Laughed

  • k-avatar— those Unicorn things you know, without horns —
  • at the sight of the nude young man
  • Because it’s the latter.
  • coquelicot malice in his face
  • very nervous about his voice being taped

Tune In Next Time Part 19                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

While Tessa laughed like a warped violin played by a demented jackrabbit and John checked the regulator on his diving suit, I started paddling toward shore, careful to keep the box out of sight beneath the surface of the water. The sharks might get me, but John and Tessa damn well weren’t getting the treasure. If the chum-vortex that attracted the sharks in the first place kept them distracted, I would be ashore and long gone before my former partner and my former paramour found the empty hole on the seabed. When the sandy bottom came up to meet my exhausted strokes, I knew my troubles were all behind me.

“Cut!” a shrill voice bellowed. I looked up from where I had crawled onto the beach and discovered a film crew in front of me. I stifled a laugh at the sight of the nude young man jogging in place. The director stormed down on me, coquelicot malice in his face and a piece of driftwood in his hand. I stood, tucking the metal box under my arm and scowling to match the director’s vicious mood.

“What are you doing here!” he screamed. “Can’t you see we’re filming! Beach closed!”

“I’m here to inspect the set,” I improvised. “Your permits better all be in proper order, too!”

The director dropped his driftwood club. “Oh, of course. It’ll only take a moment. Help yourself to some hot coffee.” And he scurried off.

I glanced back out over the water to see Tessa alone in the zodiac, eyeing the circling fins uneasily. I tried not to laugh, in case the film crew started doubting my story. Never wonder if it’s a good or bad idea to laugh out loud among your enemies. Because it’s the latter.

At the craft services table, I got a hot beverage. The nude young man jogged up to me and said, “In my scene, in the finished movie, I’ll be riding animals — those Unicorn things you know, without horns — but it’s all digital. So I have to move like I’m riding.” His eyes fell on the corroded metal box I still carried. “You’re not recording this are you?” And he ran away.

The caterer shrugged. After I stared openmouthed for a few seconds, she said, “Tyler’s going to do fine in this business. He’s very nervous about his voice being taped, but he’s okay going full-frontal.”

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My Time in the Sewer

  • by jenyou are a murderess or something
  • “Rouse yourself, my dear girl.”
  • I’m afraid that our hunt’s over
  • cudgeling his brain for some pretext
  • captured by a group of angry citizens

Tune In Next Time Part 18                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My time in the sewer does not bear speaking of. Suffice it to say that I made my way through the filthy pipe all the way to its outlet into the sea. I then spent a few minutes scrubbing myself clean with saltwater. Or as clean as one can get that close to raw sewage.

As luck would have it, my flume ride of effluent deposited me only a mile down the beach from the pier I’d been trying to reach anyway. I swam along parallel to the shore, dragging the submersible digging machine along. I arrived at the pier as the sun peeked over the horizon. I’d have to work fast if I wanted to claim my prize without being captured by a group of angry citizens.

The roar of an outboard motor cut through the crashing of the waves and there they were, John and Tessa, in a new zodiac, closing in on the pier. The engine cut out and I heard John say, “Rouse yourself, my dear girl.”

Tessa stretched and yawned as she sat up. With their attention on the pilings and the waves, neither had noticed me yet. I had one chance.

I took a huge breath and dove down to the bottom, the weight of the digging machine making my descent dangerously fast. I embedded its nose into the sandy bottom in the spot where I thought the treasure was most likely to be buried, and turned it on.

Sand and seashells and little bits of pulverized fish flew up in a gory tornado behind the machine, chumming the water and cutting visibility to zero. My lungs ached for air like a man cudgeling his brain for some pretext to explain away his Ashley Madison account.

The light on my underwater digging machine turned from green to red, the signal that it had found something. I shoved it aside and stuck my hands down into the hole it had made. They closed around a metal box. I yanked it free from the seabed and kicked for the surface.

When my head broke through to the air, I took a very noisy breath. Tessa, mere yards away, spotted me immediately and said to John, “I’m afraid that our hunt’s over.” Looking back at me she said, “Is this close enough to the East River for you, you bastard? You should know by now that I’m nobody’s poodle.”

“No Tessa, you’re no poodle. You are a murderess, or something even worse.”

I stared her down as I treaded water, holding the metal box just below the surface of the rolling waves. And then I spotted the dorsal fins. Sharks, attracted, no doubt, by the fresh fish smoothie my digging machine had blended up.

Damn.

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Now I Remembered

  • k-avatarPossibly NSFW
  • sitting in the bathtub sucking her thumb
  • plopping into the sewer below
  • versus when I don’t
  • running with scissors wasn’t smart

Tune In Next Time Part 17                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Now I remembered. The 7 train ran under Tessa’s old neighborhood. I couldn’t help picturing her sitting in the bathtub sucking her thumb, batting her lashes and beckoning for me to join her. But she had moved to a nicer place out in the suburbs years ago. Her lashes were batting again as we rode the subway. We were alone in this train car. What was she up to now?

“Tessa,” I started, but I didn’t say more. Something was amiss. I felt we weren’t alone after all. The train’s motion caused a discarded newspaper to rustle. I looked more closely at the heaps of garbage arrayed throughout the compartment. My natural suspicious nature is keener when I have people actively trying to kill me versus when I don’t, and right now I was suspecting everyone. Especially Tessa.

Just as I feared, the detritus in the subway car concealed yet more ninjas. These were not from Ninja-Vision. They were one of the mercenary dojos. Possibly NSFW. The Ninja Society of Furtive Warfare wouldn’t ask why Tessa wanted to hire them. But I did.

“Why?”

“How did you know it was — hic — me?”

“You can drop the act. You really were scared back there, with ninjas you hadn’t hired about to pounce on us. Yet your hiccups didn’t go away — because they were fake all along!”

“Ninjas! Attack!” she screamed. If running with scissors wasn’t smart, then running with a submersible digging machine on a moving train was something there’s no word for. But it’s what I did. I turned on the machine and brandished it at the ninjas whenever their camouflage faltered.

The train braked hard and I lost my balance, falling onto the digging machine. It sliced through the floor and plunged straight through the tracks of the subway tunnel, boring downward with me still hanging on, eventually plopping into the sewer below.

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