Lady Emily Walked Her Horse

  • by jenthey would be eating lunch
  • if they contain a fish tooth
  • felt slick and slippery
  • looked like an awkward-legged deer
  • walked her horse as slow as you please
  • the hideous creature roaming the woods

Lady Emily walked her horse as slow as you please on the path through the forest. Everyone at the manor house would be waiting for her. If not for her absence they would be eating lunch. But a lady never hurries.

Of course Lady Emily had heard the rumors of the hideous creature roaming the woods, but had paid them no heed. Why should she listen to the ramblings of peasants? As if they contain a fish tooth of wisdom!

Movement in the trees off to her left caught Lady Emily’s attention. It looked like an awkward-legged deer until it snarled and pounced.

The reins suddenly felt slick and slippery in Lady Emily’s grip as her mount whinnied in fright, and bolted.

Quick as you please, Lady Emily found herself unseated. She thumped gracelessly to the ground and turned to face the Beast.

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Together Time

Some couples spend their weekends antiquing together, others golf, go to clubs, attend concerts, garden, go to the movies, or watch TV. We write. Together. All the time.

For the solo author, writing is a solitary activity, and can be very lonely. Of course, some writers enjoy the solitude, but for others it can become tiresome. That’s why so many people write in coffee shops. We save a ton of money on frothy coffee drinks by writing at home, together.

A member of our critique group was recently talking about how hard it is for him to find time to write. His family obligations and job take up a lot of his time, which is the case for many writers. Our situation is a bit different though. Since we write together, couple time is one less thing to take away from writing time, because writing time is couple time. Every evening we sequester ourselves in a cozy room and tune out the rest of the world. Over hot beverages, or the occasional alcoholic concoction, we engage in deep and far-ranging conversation. While enjoying our favorite music, we engage in the primal act of creation.

This intense together time would not suit all couples, but it suits us very well. We both are introverts and homebodies. We honestly would not rather be at a party. Working toward a common goal is the perfect way for us to feel connected.

What do you think? Could you and your spouse write together?

Guillermo Whispered

  • surprisingly good British
  • had transformed the fox
  • across the blue waves
  • as always in ritual
  • the tickle of his mustache
  • it’s the city of victims now

Guillermo whispered in my ear, “It’s the city of victims now,” in a surprisingly good British accent. The tickle of his mustache awakened those shuddering desires that once before had transformed the fox into a tiger.

He spoke in gloom, of a distant perished land across the blue waves. But as always in ritual, the weight of feeling is kept askew and doesn’t become a burden.

He touched my shoulder and left me to shudder alone.

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Who Undergoes A Miraculous Transformation

  • by jen“My God!” Emilio Salvatore protested
  • wiped his hands on a towel
  • undergoes a miraculous transformation
  • first sensible thing you’ve said today
  • some submarine convulsion
  • electrical engineers, artists, orthopedic surgeons

“Who undergoes a miraculous transformation every week, anyway? Not electrical engineers, artists, orthopedic surgeons…”

“My God!” Emilio Salvatore protested loudly. “My God does!”

Emily’s face underwent some submarine convulsion as she stared at Emilio.

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said today,” spat Emilio as he wiped his hands on a towel.

“I didn’t say anything!” Emily said.

“Exactly.”

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Stop the Presses!

Time for another potential downside of having a writing partner: interruptions.

If you don’t have a fortress of solitude to write in, then you’re probably familiar with being interrupted. You’re thinking that it affects us all, with or without a collaborator. True, but with a writing partner there’s an added wrinkle.

 Soloist author's spouse: "Did you see that thing in the news?"
 Soloist author: "Sorry, Honey. I'm working right now."
 Soloist's spouse: "Oh, sorry. I'll tell you about it later."
Collaborative author's partner: "Did you see that thing in the news?"
 Fellow author: "Which thing?"
 Partner: "The missing dog. It got me thinking about that scene in chapter six..."

Notice a difference? It’s easier to give your spouse the old brush-off than it is to stay on task with a chatty partner. Sure, conversational overtures about irrelevant topics can distract you, but the special problem with your partner’s interruptions is precisely that they’re on-topic.

It’s no good to say, “Sure, sure chapter six. Whatever. Tell me when it’s finished.”

It’s also no good to heave a sigh and roll your eyes before saying, “Missing dog for chapter six? Do tell.”

Obviously, there’s no guarantee that your partner will always have something important or relevant to say. Sometimes people just talk a bit too much. But that’s an easy problem to fix: “I’m sorry, but this is work time. We can discuss [current popular tv show] later.” If that doesn’t do the trick, then you might just have a bad partner.

The deeper challenge is with partnership per se. You have to talk to each other, and once in a while that need conflicts with other noble aims. Which is to say, even if you have the ideal partner and you’ve found the optimal fiction project to collaborate on, you’ll run into this problem from time to time. (Voice of experience! Hey, partner!)

The final thing to say on this subject: embrace the interruptions, as long as they’re pertinent. If you try to curb your partner’s tendency to break your concentration, you’ll curb his or her enthusiasm for working with you. To be successful at writing in collaboration, you must adapt to a bit more interruption. It’s worth it.

Archibald Raised Each One

  • each one of his middle fingers
  • between that and the black pearls
  • She does not want a husband
  • I want to examine them
  • you have been honored twice
  • squared his shoulders
  • as hungry as wolves

Archibald raised each one of his middle fingers at Hubert, and said, “You have been honored twice. Now move aside.”

Hubert squared his shoulders, displaying the fine beadwork of his dickie. Between that and the black pearls in his earlobes, Hubert cut quite a figure. He said, “I know this is about Consuela, but it’s all for sham. She does not want a husband who wears lacy petticoats any more than she wants one adorned with beads and pearls.”

At this, Archibald canted his hips self-consciously.

“Wait,” Hubert added. “Your fingernails, I want to examine them.” He studied Archibald’s still upraised fingertips with eyes as hungry as wolves.

“It was Consuela’s idea. Each one shows a different wonder of the ancient world. I think you’re wrong about her, and if you shift your prissy ass I’m off to prove it!”

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

from the comments, Kent has another take on the same prompt:

Roderick squared his shoulders and drove each one of his middle fingers, as hungry as wolves, at his opponent’s eyes. But her helm’s full visor protected her, its obsidian inlay inimical and depthless. Between that and the black pearls adorning her breastplate, she struck a mysterious and sinister figure, but a fetching one.

She does not want a husband, Roderick mused, but she possesses undeniable feminine charms and I want to examine them.

The dark lady slashed at him with her broadsword, and Roderick rolled away, his own blade still embedded in a tree trunk some paces to his left. From this low vantage he spotted the tattoos on the female warrior’s ankles.

“You have been honored twice!” he exclaimed.

Richard Took Off His T-Shirt

  • by jenlike you’ve poured ink on your head
  • his eyes were pure chocolate
  • tried to cut his own hands off?
  • in the car with the baby wipes
  • Richard took off his t-shirt
  • flashed a self-deprecating smile

Richard took off his t-shirt and flashed a self-deprecating smile as he flexed his impressive pecs in time to the pulsating dance music. His hair was the distinctive blue-black that looks like you’ve poured ink on your head in an attempt to look like Elvis. His eyes were pure chocolate chip cookies of lust. Sally decided right then and there that she wanted to screw him, out in the parking lot in the car with the baby wipes and juice boxes, and all the other symbols of her suburbanized domesticity. Sally knew it was sinful to do what she was thinking of doing with Richard while her husband Cliff was in the hospital, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be married to Cliff anymore. Who would want to be married to a man who, when asked to help with the dishes, tried to cut his own hands off?

Sally smiled and took Richard’s intact hand, leading him out of the club.

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Tag! You’re It!

The Rune Skelley approach to collaboration is normally a very planned-out and measured type of experience. As we’ve said in earlier posts, we like to keep things structured.

Well, this week has been interesting, in that we’re operating in a decidedly more seat-of-the-pants mode. We do have an outline for what we’re doing, but as the words are falling out it’s become kind of a relay race. The chapter is a highly kinetic sequence made of short scenes and alternating points of view, so during a work session there has been a lot more “tag! you’re it!” than usual.

What it reminds me of is something I would normally not recommend as a way to write with a partner. We call them chain stories, and they’re a sort of game where the object is to build from where the other player just left off and throw the tale in an unexpected direction for the next player. As a game it’s a lot of fun, but the results are seldom coherent. So far though, we’re really getting good stuff and we’ve been very productive. It’s probably made easier because this is the last chapter of the third book in a series. We know these characters like they’re real people, and we know our target.

The lesson is, there’s no single correct way for writers to work together. If you get into a flow, if the “jazz” approach is working, then go with it!

Happy writing!

Oedipus Giggled

  • sometimes I get overzealous
  • bouncing a diapered kangaroo on my knee
  • the bird in the paper bag
  • Oedipus giggled all the way home
  • make an asparagus omelet
  • sleep-taught toilet training
  • me and my herniated module

Oedipus giggled all the way home from his therapy session, smitten by the idea that all of his troubles were the result of sleep-taught toilet training.

The bird in the paper bag said, “Sometimes I get overzealous,” and it was true. The bag had nearly filled up with eggs by the time Oedipus reached his house. He planned to make an asparagus omelet, but thought it prudent not to inform the bird.

When he opened the door, his jaw and the bag of eggs both hit the floor. There I sat, bouncing a diapered kangaroo on my knee.

“Should you be doing that?” Oedipus asked.

He always worries about me and my herniated module.

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Lord Bolliet’s Alcoholic Haze

  • by jena still-damp, raw-boned gelding
  • had not seen any “girls” at the house
  • in London or Kent he could have obtained
  • French breeding — but
  • Lord Bolliet’s alcoholic haze

Lord Bolliet’s alcoholic haze made it difficult for him to disguise his aristocratic French breeding — but his very life depended on it this dangerous evening. The revolutionaries were on the hunt tonight. In London or Kent he could have obtained forged travel papers, but here in Canterbury he had no allies, no one to turn to in his time of desperation. All the ale he’d imbibed made him feel like a still-damp, raw-boned gelding on the way to the glue factory. Bolliet shook his head, not for the first time, and returned to his solitary vigil. He hoped to find a safe place to hide for a few days and  had set his sights upon the rundown inn across the lane. So far he had not seen any “girls” at the house, but did not fully trust his ale-sozzled faculties and, so, determined to crouch in the hedgerow a while longer.

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!