View Full Version : Writing Prompts prompt 30
Write about someone who is a writer, Published or unpublished.
Less than 500 words
Speciai brownie points if you use these words:
Lost
Puppy
Drive
Garbage
Siren
MEL
Garbage
478 words
Nicky sat down with the envelope. She recognised the company’s logo, but knew most times the letter held a rejection note, why should mine be any different. She slipped it open and slowly flipped the letter open. Her eyes opened in amazement, her book was being accepted. She jumped up and down.
Who knew a story about a girl that lost her memory would strike such a chord with people. She had written it when she felt a little lost herself, the only difference she remember everything. She remembered every little thing that had gone on.
She remembered the little puppy she was going to give her son. She knew that she should have picked him up with a carrier, but she was so tiny, that she had put her in her lap. The puppy had slept and then woke up and started to whimper. Nicky had reached down to comfort it and took her eyes off the road.
Normally she would drive and there would be almost no one on the road. That day there was a car coming from the other direction. Nicky never imagined that taking the eyes off the road for a just a moment could cause such a problem.
She still remembered the way the siren had whined as the ambulance came to the accident. She was fine except for a few bruises. She couldn’t remember exactly what happened, but knew it was all her fault..
“Mum, Garbage is missing.” Lisa, Nicky’s daughter said, breaking into her thoughts.
“She’s up here.” She stroked the puppy that had jumped on her lap. Lisa had named her Garbage, when she had popped out of a bag full of newspaper. It had suited her.
Nicky thought of how lucky both herself and the young man had been when they had crashed 3 years ago. She saw Lisa come in followed by Sam. How could she had known Garbage whimpering had caused her to meet Sam?
Sam didn’t hold her to blame for the accident. He had broken his arm and for a few days had lost his memory. That was the inspiration for her first ever book. She had written the dedication months ago. “To God, who protected my life and to Sam who has changed my whole life.”
Sam came and sat down next to Nicky. “I just finished the painting the shed. I even gave Garbage’s kennel a new coat of paint. Now what does that letter say?”
“I got the book deal.” Nicky smiled and gave Sam a hug. “You are my inspiration, thankyou.”
“Just like you are my inspiration for me to be a good man.”
Nicky held on to Sam and felt so fortunate God had blessed her with such a wonderful man in such a wonderful way. A little bit of Garbage had turned an accident into a great event.
MEL
Annette Agenllo
12-02-2008, 08:50 PM
“Somerset, oh Somm-errr-set! Come on, now Somerset. Just where has that puppy gotten to.” Randy mumbled under his breath. It had been nearly two hours since Somerset ran from the yard.
The door was left open a second while Randy was taking out the garbage, and the new puppy had taken that moment to make a dash out the door. “I made my mistake playing with that dog in the yard,” was uttered in total disgust. As the fire alarm, from the station at the end of the street went off and the fire-truck went out with the siren blaring. Somerset took off after it barking and howling.
Randy ran back inside, “Where are those keys, I think I dropped them on the desk last night. Found them!” It seemed like no time before the car was started, at first it was a race where the fire truck and pup probably went. No truck, no dog, nothing to do but drive around, looking for the lost dog calling his name, “Somerset, Somm-errr-set! Where are you boy?”
Randy looked as long as he could than had to leave for work. He was a copywriter for a small advertising company. That gave him a fair amount of freedom but time had run out there was no choice except to go back to work.
The first thing he wrote was an add for Somerset:
Somerset: Lost Yokie Puppy
gray and tan mix
eight weeks old.
Reward offered!!!
This was followed by a picture of the adorable lost puppy. Randy got a hundred printed out. He held one in his hand and as he looked at it will I ever see Somerset again. “Ah well, it was a brief friendship!”
Randy still wanted Somerset back. The pup had won his heart with all the wonderful puppy antics. Somerset would play for hours with the paper grocery sack or the safety seal off the orange juice. A puppy was a lot like a child. Somerset had been named after his father’s dog. This Somerset and the one from his childhood memory were so much alike. Finally Randy searched his wallet for the phone number of the lady he had bought Somerset from. He called saying, “Mrs. Longhorn, I am calling to see if I can go on the waiting list to get another of your puppies the next time you have some up for sale.”
“Of course you can get another of Princesses’ puppies. Perhaps you should come get Somerset before buying another.”
“Somerset ran away about three weeks ago he left chasing a fire truck and I could never find him.”
“He showed up late last night, I had mislaid your number. I guess being so young Somerset came back to his mother. Why don’t you just come pick him up.”
“I don’t believe he made it to his birthplace.”
“Instinct.”
“I’m on my way!” and true to his word Randy rushed out to bring Somerset to his rightful home.
That was really good annette Well done!!
Tommie Lyn
12-03-2008, 08:01 PM
Blind Hogs and Acorns
Word Count: 499
I almost didn’t open it.
My name and address on the envelope were in my handwriting, an SASE: it had to be another rejection slip. I started to throw it in the garbage, but something, I don’t know what, made me set it on the top of the television as I shuffled past on the way to my recliner. Another rejection. Almost more than I could handle.
Ma was right. I was wasting my time. I wasn’t meant to be a writer. I needed to forget about trying to get published.
Okay. No more writing for me. I decided I would vedge out in front of the tube tonight, lost in a flickering world of light and dark, ignoring the siren call of my computer keyboard.
Wonder how much I could get for that soul-eating piece of plastic and silicone with the humming fan, anyway. I could drive it to the pawn shop first thing in the morning, get it out of my apartment and out of my life. And I could return to sanity.
Yeah.
But my thoughts kept returning to the story I’d started writing yesterday.
The lives of Lily and Joel Strandt were already so much more interesting than the tired, formulaic, one hour so-called dramas played out in vivid phosphorescent images on the screen across the room from me. I hardly knew the Strandts yet, but some subtle link had already been established between us. And the images in my head were far more intriguing and entertaining than those in front of my eyes.
I sighed, set down the remote and dragged myself to the alcove I called an office. And retrieved the envelope as I passed the television.
I frowned as I lifted it. The envelope was a bit thicker than the one-page rejection slips I usually got. Maybe this agent had seen fit to include a few words of explanation as to why my novel wasn’t good enough . . . no, that was too much to hope for.
I ripped open the flap and pulled the sheet of stationery out.
Letterhead. From WTB (We’re the Best) Literary Agency. Oh, yeah. I remember. They requested the full, and I’d mailed that puppy to them with high hopes. Months ago. And heard nothing since.
I scanned the letter with disbelieving eyes, focused on a statement, couldn’t get past it: “We like your manuscript and are interested in representing you. Since you neglected to include your phone number, please call us at 1-555-555-1234 at your earliest convenience.”
I hyperventilated for a while, got control of my breathing but then lost control of my behavior. I danced. I shouted. I sang. I was accepted! I dialed.
“Hey, Ma, guess what! I’m finally going to be published. An agent wants to represent me. Isn’t that stupendous!”
The open line hummed and vibrated, as excited as me. And then Ma said, “Wal, I reckon it was about time. Even a blind hog finds an acorn ever’ now and agin.”
Laina
12-04-2008, 10:09 PM
Blind Hogs and Acorns
Word Count: 499
The open line hummed and vibrated, as excited as me. And then Ma said, “Wal, I reckon it was about time. Even a blind hog finds an acorn ever’ now and agin.”
haha! LOLOL :D Well done!
Good job Mel and Annette!!!
Laina
12-07-2008, 04:58 PM
Tomorrow
Word count: 500
Carrie punched the off button on her television’s remote. The police siren pricked her nerves. She preferred silence while writing. She rubbed her temples to massage away the beginnings of a headache.
She tapped her fingers to wait for inspiration hoping for a marathon of words. She wrote a couple sentences, stopped to allow her mind to travel to distant, unknown worlds. Her eyes caught the red lines and the few words on the screen. She played with editing and wrote a couple more sentences and then a couple of paragraphs. The words were beginning to flow.
The sound of the garbage truck roared, and interrupted her thoughts. Garbage day. She scooted, rushed through the garage and around to the side yard. She rolled the container just in time for the man to lift the trash, and drop the twisted plastic bags into the metal crushing compartment. The man nodded. Carried smiled and waved.
She grabbed the plastic handle, and rolled the empty bin back up her drive to it’s own special spot, and hurried back inside the house to her computer before she lost the idea for her story. She sat to type and her mind went blank.
Then, the phone rang. “Hello?” Carrie slammed the phone on the telemarketer after saying she wasn’t interested.
Now where was she? She drummed her fingertips on the keys. They wouldn’t move – not one. She waited, looked around the room. How well she knew every dirt spot on the walls, the spider web she kept forgetting in the corner, and yup, the dust she missed on the wall art. She raked her hair with both hands. Ok a break will help.
Carrie sauntered into the kitchen, refilled her mug and grabbed a vanilla almond biscotti. Still in her pj’s, her hair tousled, she padded back to the office.
She climbed into her chair. Rascal, her puppy came up to her and nudged her hand. She lifted from her seat, scampered down the hallway. The little guy followed her to the door. She swung the screen door open and Rascal scurried out to romp in the Bermuda grass and chase a blackbird.
Returning to the office, Carrie plopped into the chair. A shower might help. After dressing, and drying her hair, she heard her husband come through the front door.
As she prepared lunch, Carrie gazed out the window. She watched as Rascal flung a toy, and chased after it. She decided she’d give him a walk after lunch to jump-start the creative juices that were awaiting release.
As they roamed the eight-acre park, Rascal darted over to the ducks. Carrie, lost in thought, sat near the pond and allowed the sun’s rays to warm her. After awhile, she glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet. Where’d the time go?
Carrie prepared supper. Another day shot. I’ll write tonight, she thought. After supper, the doorbell rang. The neighbors next door stopped in for a visit. Tomorrow. . . there’s always tomorrow.
i loved that laina, it was so good and i think we all have those kind of days.
MEL
Laina
12-07-2008, 09:06 PM
Thanks, Mel. hahahah!!! Yeah, we all have days like that. Thought we all could relate to the story.
Tommie Lyn
12-08-2008, 10:52 AM
Good job, Mel, Annette and Laina. Cute stories.
Laina
12-08-2008, 05:46 PM
Thanks, Tommie! Hey, I like your new hairdo! Want to share who your new stylist is? hee hee hee
Tommie Lyn
12-08-2008, 06:51 PM
Sorry, Laina, I wish I could share it....but, it's too exclusive....
Laina
12-08-2008, 10:08 PM
ROTFLOL!!! Tommie, you are one of a kind!!!
Hey, Jacks. Where are you? I don't see your prompt here! =)
(499) Words
“The wine list sir?”
“No thanks, a bottle of your Cakebread Chardonnay please.”
“Excellent choice sir.”
“Hunny,” Beth said, “you drive us to my favorite restaurant, order my favorite wine… What’s the news…?”
“News? Can’t I take my beautiful wife out to dinner because she’s the best wife a man could have?”
“If this is what you want me to believe...”
Ben’s face lit up. “After twelve re-writes, the manuscript ‘Lost Siren’ has been submitted and finally accepted.”
“Congratulations Hunny! See… you can do anything you put your mind to. I’m happy for you--”
“For us—”
“Yes, as long as we have our Sundays--”
The server brought their wine, poured a little in the glass for Ben’s approval… “Our Sundays…” Ben said as he swirled the wine, sniffed and tasted. “It smells and tastes great.”
The server proceeded to pour their glasses. The aromas tickled Beth’s nose with sweet sensations. Wanting to grab the glass, she didn’t, of course, she wanted to do everything right.
“Yes, our Sundays for church. Remember?”
“Hun… let’s toast. I told you before we married… I’m not a church kind of guy.”
Beth slowly put her glass up to Ben’s. And with razor sharp knives in her eyes, stared into his. “You also said you would try. Did you feed me a bunch of garbage or what?”
Ben pulled his glass away and drank. Without taking the slightest sip, Beth put her glass down, accidentally knocking over her ice water. Cubes of ice and water poured into her lap. Servers rushed over as Beth gasped at the coldness of her soaked cream satin dress clinging to her legs. Ben jumped up with a smile on his face, patting Beth off with his napkin. Beth slapped his hand and he gently grabbed her arm, looking into her eyes he said, “I will try. Be patient, I’m just now getting used to praying at dinner.”
Beth eased up her tension. Ben finishing his second glass looked at Beth’s glass.
“You’ve barely touched your wine. You alright?”
Clearing her throat. “Oh yes, for some reason the water goes better.”
“We’re out having your favorite dinner and wine in this high end restaurant and you’re telling me the water goes better. You must be sick.”
Dipping a chunk of lobster tail into the butter, she looked up and saw Ben’s discontented face. “Well… this is your evening and I want you to enjoy the wine.”
“Beth, we’re celebrating. If I wanted to drink alone we could have stayed at home with our oversized puppy.”
“Well then… celebrate the fact that your child is in my belly.” A moment of silence went by…
Ben jumped up spilling his ice water. The servers rushed over. “Whew hoo! What— are you...?” Sitting down. “Why didn’t you say—?”
“Hello, this celebration was about you. Besides… I was hoping to get two dinners instead of one.” They laughed uncontrollably. Looking into each other’s eyes they said, “I love you”.
Tommie Lyn
12-18-2008, 08:55 PM
Cute story, TL. Glad you participated.
TL
MisterChris
12-19-2008, 07:29 PM
Looking For Trouble
------------------------------
She was late. She was ALWAYS late. The Writer's Conference had not gone well. Her manuscript sat in the box beside her, taunting her.
Something had been missing from the work, the editor had said. An element of human interest, a frame of reference to which the reader could relate.
The tears came easily again, blinding her temporarily on this dismal drive through unfamiliar territory. She angrily wiped her eyes with a sleeve, and as her vision cleared she realized that it was raining, and she needed to turn on the wipers.
Fine, she thought in fury, as she slammed the lever up and the wipers slung the gray water across her fogging windshield. Just fine. Another rejection. She could handle it. Where were the road signs around here? Apparently some joker had stolen them, knocked over by some errant driver.
Just Great. Now she was lost. Sirens in the distance reminded her that this part of town was dangerous. She locked the doors, hunching over the steering wheel to see better.
Suddenly, ahead, she could see a trashcan spilled over in the street, and a puppy there in the road, digging through the garbage for food. She slammed on the brakes and slid into the curb, skidding to a stop against, of all things, a street sign. Upon reading the sign through the bleary rain-streaked windshield, she realized where she was.
With a relieved sigh, she put the car in park. There was no one around to whom this little puppy might belong. He seemed thin, weak, and miserable in the pouring rain. She jumped out, and retrieved the puppy. Once inside again, she locked the doors back.
The smell of the wet dog was somehow comforting, as the little life snuggled up to her for warmth. Her heart went out to the stray. "Digger," she said with a sigh, and held him close. "You'll be my little Digger. Thanks for helping me find where I am. You can come stay with me, and perhaps together we can dig the gold out of this book you're sitting on."
She put the car in drive and headed for home, hopeful that her life was going to change for the better.
Laina
12-19-2008, 07:35 PM
Nice stories, TL11 and Mister Chris. It's good to see you here and hope you'll continue with the word prompts.
Tommie Lyn
12-19-2008, 08:29 PM
Good job, Mr Chris. I look forward to more word prompt participation from you. :)
VLSmith
12-20-2008, 01:19 PM
500 words
One of a Kind
“Jess, the books are flying off the shelves. Flying. I might have a best-seller on my hands. And all because of Omar. What I wouldn’t give if he were real.”
Caroline leaned on the counter next to Jessie and stared out the window. “Tall, lean, muscular, dark, wavy hair.”
Jessie laughed, her hands submerged in dishwater. “’With the slightest accent to flavor the words that flowed out of his perfect mouth.’ Isn’t that what you wrote?”
Caroline shook her head and pointed out the window. “I’m not talking about Omar anymore. I’m talking about him.”
Jessie’s eyes followed Caroline’s finger to the stranger loping up her sidewalk. “Oh, my.”
“That’s all you can say? The most amazing specimen of a male human is in your yard and all you can say is ‘oh, my?’ Well, at least one us has a way with words.”
The doorbell chimed.
Caroline’s face lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. “I’ll get it.”
She raced to the foyer with Jessie on her heels, both of them giggling and trying to push the other one out of the way. Caroline reached the door first and flung it open, startling the young man.
She clutched her chest and appraised the young man from head to toe. “Oh, my, my…my.”
Jessie elbowed her sister and stepped in front of her prying eyes to address her guest.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to fix the garbage disposal.”
Never before had the words ‘garbage disposal’ sounded so beautiful to Jessie.
“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“It is my accent, no?” He pointed toward a van in the driveway stenciled with Pete’s Plumbing. “Are you Mrs. Haverstock?”
Disappointed, Jessie gestured to the left. “Two doors down. There’s a “Lost Puppy” sign on the front lawn.”
Jessie and Caroline watched the man drive away. Then they plopped down at the kitchen table and picked at the leftover coffee cake.
“Bummer.”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you stick a fork in the disposal and I’ll run down and get him?”
“Caroline!”
“But he was perfect. He didn’t even have plumber’s crack.”
“What?”
“You know, that thing handymen have where their pants ride so low that-”
Jessie closed her eyes and held up her hands. “Never mind. Never mind.”
They sat in silence nibbling their cake until they heard the garage door open.
“Sounds like your husband’s home.”
Roberto sauntered into the kitchen carrying Toby who wore a fireman’s hat that swallowed his head.
Jessie moved a lock of dark hair out of Toby’s eyes. “Did you have fun?”
“Yep, Daddy let me make the siren go woooooo. Some day I’m gonna be a fireman, too.”
Roberto’s bronze skin glowed with pride.
“That’s my boy.”
Jessie squeezed Toby’s leg. “He’s so much like you, isn’t he?”
Roberto grinned. “Yep, tall, dark and handsome. Come on, buddy, let’s go play.”
After he left Caroline sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hmm.”
“The plumber?”
“It’s just a shame he got away. He’s one of a kind.”
Tommie Lyn
12-20-2008, 02:18 PM
Good story, Valerie. Glad you decided to jump in.
TL
VLSmith
12-20-2008, 02:35 PM
Thanks. It's been a while so I'm rusty. You guys are polished though.
That was great. We aren't all polished least of all me. But this is fun to see where you can go and sometimes challenge yourself.
MEL
Tommie Lyn
12-22-2008, 09:10 AM
Valerie, you're too modest...your story was good. And the object in doing the writing prompts is to keep the "writing muscles" exercised, not to produce a polished piece of writing.
What a lucky puppy MisterChris. Good story.
Fun happening interaction. I think the plumber missed out! Good story VLSmith.