‘Prompt this Biiitch’ Tuesday

TUESDAY

If you are wondering, as per this Tuesday’s blog title, if I am referring to the prompt as a bitch or am referring to you as the bitch, please direct your questions to Rox Alvarado. The suggestion came to me without a comma and I am partial to either option.

For instance, I appreciate both:

“It’s time to eat, grandma.”

and

“It’s time to eat grandma.”

Now.

Balance.

No, not as in a tightrope. (That would be fun.) No, not as in the scale thing that you see on all the lawyer-law-law-Imma-sue-you-with-fine-print signs. (That wouldn’t be fun.) No, not as in the Van Halen album. (That would be fantastic.)

Balance as in life balance.

Yes.

Life balance.

Oh.

What?

You were hoping I’d give you some advice on how to achieve said balance?

No.

Nope.

Why?

Because it doesn’t exist.

It doesn’t fucking exist.

You will always be on a never-ending roller coaster either above or below sea-level at all times. Get fucking used to it.

So climb steadily up that clank-y part that leads the the fall-y part. It’s exciting and the anticipation is will kill you.

And it’s slow enough for you to write while riding.

Fasten your seat belts,

and go appreciate that ride.

Prompt away, Tuesday Warriors.

Love,

Evelyn


Tuesday Writing Prompt Rules:

– The prompt must be done in 500 words or less. No whining. Learn how to get it done.

– Have fun. Because if you don’t, why the hell are you doing it?

Oh, and post the damn thing so I can read it, okay? Comments or blog it. DO IT. DOOOO ITTTTT.

Peace, monkey.


You decide to go with a friend to visit an old underground mine. Once deep inside the dark, wet mine, the tour guide seems to become flustered and forget their lines. You exchange glances with the other patrons but no one else seems to be worried. The lights that keep the mine lit for guests flicker and go out. (It’s still not Castiel.) Once they do, fluorescent lights nestled in the floor turn on and illuminate the rock walls, turning the minerals around you fluorescent greens and reds and blues. You wonder at the marvel of it all, watching as the other people realize their shoe laces and neon prints and mouth retainers glow. Everyone is enamored and distracted at the sights.

Then you realize, the tour guide is gone. You look around, but both tunnels in either direction are dark save for the fluorescing rocks. You hear a slow rumble come from far away. Everyone quiets. You hear the trickle of water from the ceiling. You friend looks at you, but she doesn’t seem worried.

“I’ve heard someone say this happens on every tour,” your friend says.

“Really? And the tour guide leaves?”

“Yes,” she continues. “And she never comes back.”

You hear another low rumble. The mist inside the mine seems to be getting thicker and the people start to panic.

There is a box next to you shoddily labeled ‘Atlas Explosives’ and you open it. Inside is a rope, five sticks of real dynamite, matches, two gas masks, two metal numbered tags, a water bottle and a small container that says it contains noxious fumes.

The tour guide’s laughter is heard from farther away and then the starting of a chain saw.

Finish the scene.

Okay, so I got a little carried away on this one, but I can’t help it. I’m biased for a reason I will not explain.

BONUS POINTS AS FOLLOWS:

Use any of the following: leather-studded ass-chaps, Minecraft, the Fluorescent Mineral Capital of the World, buy-one-get-two-free-flower-bouquets, Molson Canadian beer bottles, a child’s magic trick set

EXTRA BONUS:

Do the prompt while on the clack-y part of the roller coaster.

OPTION BONUS:

Do the prompt while screaming like you are on a roller coaster.

Post your fucking work.

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Creative Writing Prompt Tuesday

Morning, prompters.

I know what you’re thinking.

Hey, Evelyn, you say because you’re done just thinking your thoughts at me, you advertise your wonderful creative writing prompts with they most un-fucking creative title ever and I can never tell the posts from each other.

Well, hot damn. You are right. I can’t even tell the prompts from each other. I should start numbering them…

87… 45… 23… 4… *chime*

(IF YOU DIDN’T GET THAT REFERENCE, KHOSHEKH WILL BITE YOU.)

KHOSHEKH

oh jesus he’s so cute and soft and harmless okay nevermind

But, seriously. I know I need to get more creative with the titles, else surely the Sheriff’s Secret Police will be displeased and a strange helicopter with Aztec drawings depicting birds of prey will pay me a visit.

But what do you think this is, a blog where I do all the work?

I don’t think so. This is a blog where I tell you stuff to do for fun. Like create blog titles. And it’s been a hella-long night and my brain is fried from correcting papers where sixth graders spell brain b-r-i-a-n when there is a word bank DIRECTLY NEXT TO THE FUCKING BLANKS GOD DAMNIT so here is what we’ll do.

You suggest a more creative title that still makes it obvious that it’s a creative writing prompt. If all you got is Creative Writing Prompt Tuesday #5… well, then you should do more of my prompts to exercise that creativity of yours. Please, please do them. It will be worth it.

But if you throw something back at me like, say, Shit for Creatives, Prompts and Unicorns-with-Penises-for-Horns, then I know I’ve got a winner for a reader and will announce you as a great person in my next blog post. A great person.

So, do that. Do that, please.

Do it because I have a fried Brian and my creative juices are slacking this morning.

Do it because even though my creative juices are slacking, I’M STILL WRITING.

[insert *gasp* for sudden realization of blog post theme]

Yes.

Yes.

I love you.

-Evelyn


Tuesday Writing Prompt

Rules:

– The prompt must be done in 500 words or less. No whining. Learn how to get it done.

– Have fun. Because if you don’t, why the hell are you doing it?

Oh, and post the damn thing so I can read it, okay? Comments or blog it. DO IT. DOOOO ITTTTT.

Peace, monkey.


You’re sitting at your computer. You realize your favorite blog has extremely un-fucking creative titles and decide to give her ideas for better ones. The screen flashes a few times and then shuts off. You press the power button and it turns on normally, displaying your Sleepless in Seattle desktop background. You shrug. The ground starts to shiver and your glass of Mountain Dew vibrates off the table. The computer starts to flicker again. Your lamp light flickers and then bursts. Your radio turns on. Castiel appears. You turn around and find there is a huge claw peeking out from underneath your table and it’s nails are digging into the wood floor. It reeks of stale Raisin Bran and fried onions, which you have never smelled together before. It’s eye peeks out and it is scared. The shaking stops. The creature still stares.

It’s nails retract and it lets out a nervous whining sound. Then, you feel pressure in your Brian brain.

What’s going on? you think.

What do you do?

Bonus Points for the inclusion of: recycling bins that look like people at first glance, a tabby cat with purple-ish stripes, magnetite, metal tongs, the fifth dimension, songbirds that sing nothing but California Girls by Katy Perry.

Be free, my pen-pals.

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Writing Prompt for Creative Writers with GOALS

Today’s post is sponsored by Dean Winchester. (#spn)

Dean Winks at You

It’s my famous Tuesday, and by my and famous I mean none of those. BUT… it is Prompt Tuesday.

Prompt Tuesday gives you goosebumps, doesn’t it? The good kind, hopefully. The ‘this song is ohhhh my goddd‘ kind, not the ‘I’m so cold I should have worn a second bra- painful‘ kind. If it’s the latter, I’m oh-so-sorry. If I knew your cup size, I’d totally lend you a boob cage. But I don’t. I don’t know your bra size. I swear, I don’t know it. I DON’T KNOW IT.

Seriously, I don’t.

Act Cool

But it’s 2015 everybody! That means it’s high-time to set your 2015 writing goals!

Actually, I take that back. It was time to do that at the end of last year, but it’s certainly not too late.

Since I’m all about sharing (and over sharing, unfortunately) I’m going to tell you my vague and specific goals so that you can live through me vicariously. (I hope you enjoy failure.) (Kidding.) (Hopefully.) There are only five.

1. Get back into fighting shape. I’ve become a physical softy over the last year and a half. ‘Not cool,’ said Arnold Schwartz.

2. Read 50 books. This may not seem like a lot (it doesn’t to me), but I’m a busy woman. If I make 50 this year, I’ll have to break it the next. Fun! (I already ate Altar of Eden by James Rollins which was AWESOME. Love me my action/ suspense/ thrillers with subplot of love interest…! I am now on On the Road by Jack Kerouac. No, I haven’t read it before. And hey, don’t judge me.)

3. Deepen my relationships. This means my friendships, my communication with relatives, my intimate relationship and all that jazz. People are what makes life rich. And I wanna be rich!

4. Create something everyday. I’m doing this challenge with one of my best friends. A small sketch, a poem, a character sketch, a painting, a BLOG POST- anything! Just create something everyday.

5. And last but certainly the most important (and probably the only one you’d remotely care about) is to keep my writing career, my writing work, my life as a writer, my blog, my writing in general, progressing and consistent. This means consistent writing and editing, attending writer’s meetings, continuing education, writer’s conventions, blogging, etc. All the stuff that I love to do that helps get me to where I want to be. Sounds like a win-win, doesn’t it?

*rally cry* WHO’S WITH ME?!

Good. Thought so.

And if you’re not, well…

Dean's Done

But since you are following my blog I know you’re awesome and have writing goals for the new year. So, why not start out this lovely First Tuesday of the 2015 by prompting it out of the PARK, baby! And because you also want to grow as a writer I know you want to share your prompt, too.

So, post it.

In my comments.

Please.

Don’t look at me like that.

N- hey. No. Stop it.

St-

Shiver Smile

You write this prompt and you post it in the comments.

It’s better than chillin’ with a giant yellow snake whom you don’t know the consumption habits of.

Trust me Dean.

You hear me?

Happy New Year, readers.

I love you all!

-Evelyn

(POST IT.)

One more for good luck:

My FAVORITE GIF


Tuesday Writing Prompt

Rules:

– The prompt must be done in 500 words or less. No whining. Learn how to get it done.

– Have fun. Because if you don’t, why the hell are you doing it?

Oh, and post the damn thing so I can read it, okay? Comments or blog it. DO IT. DOOOO ITTTTT.

Peace, monkey.


You walk into Barnes and Nobles and head to your favorite section. As you’re browsing the titles with your head tilted, someone comes up behind you to peruse the same shelves. You step back slightly so they can see. He looks at the shelves and speaks. “Have you ever read this one?” he asks. You have, but he plucks the book from the shelf and cracks it in half. A breeze washes through your hair. The book is blank inside. No, it’s not blank. It’s see-through. But you can’t see the floor. It’s a different world. He doesn’t smile at you, but holds the book closer. “Go,” he whispers.

Before you can decide what to do or figure out what the hell is going on, several shelving units crash down on the far side of the store. People are screaming and running, but the man holding the book is not.

The book title is __________.

All the books next to you start to shiver and quake in the shelving. You grab a hold of one and…

Finish this scene! What is going on? (I don’t fuckin’ know.)

Bonus Points for the usage of: sky-high bungee jumping, The Chronicles of Chronicles, un-cashed checks, belligerent grandmother, epi-pen blues, Dean Winchester

AND POST IT, DAMNIT. POST IT.

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Shit, shit, shit! It’s WEDNESDAY.

It’s NOT TUESDAY?

NOT TUESDAY?

*resists the urge to input Supernatural GIF*

Well, I’m terribly sorry. I’d give you a list of excuses (like the fact that I’m sick as a dog, I’m vacationing in Boston while sick, the view of the harbor is terribly beautiful and distracting, etc, etc) but I won’t. Instead, I’ll do what I do on Tuesday on this wonderful Wednesday.

New Year themed!, you cry hopefully.

No.

No.

Boston themed.

Because I said so.

Continue reading

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Creative Writing Prompt – A prompt a day…

Holy fuckshitcapers! There are only a few days left until Christmas.

OH GOD

Which means it’s almost time to start Christmas shopping!

However, I wholeheartedly recommend you take the time to stay healthy. After all, an apple a day does keep the dentist away.

…well, wait. Okay, that’s not it.

What was it?

A prompt a day keeps writer’s block at bay.

Yes, yes. That’s it.

Happy Holidays!

(I’m BACK, BITCHES.)

(AND I GOT A JOB INVOLVED IN LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE.)

(BOOYAH.)


Tuesday Writing Prompt

Rules:

– The prompt must be done in 500 words or less. No whining. Learn how to get it done.

– Have fun. Because if you don’t, why the hell are you doing it?

Oh, and post the damn thing so I can read it, okay? Comments or blog it. DO IT.

Peace, monkey.


Put the following two characters together in any scene.

How do they meet? What disaster do they find themselves in together? Why do they loathe each other?

Character 1: C1 sits at the same Starbucks everyday people watching but not in a serene, appreciative way- in a direct, invasive sort of way. C1 comes home to a son who is not yet in high school. C1 thinks this son is prostituting himself to other men for money. C1 wears mix-matched socks everyday for a specific reason due to an event in the past. The event in the past has something to do with over-heated hospital rooms and an overly attentive grandmother.

Character 2: C2 writes which way they take to work in their journal everyday. C2 is trying to take as many different combinations of paths, between the subway, the train, the bus, the Path, walking routes, and a car, that they can. C2 is on page 200 of said journal, with approximately three entries per page. C2 has been reading the same book for five months and has not reached the halfway mark. C2 has family reunions that involve four generations, firecrackers in back pockets while playing pool and pot-cookies being passed around secretly by the oldest generation.

500 WORDS. OR LESS.

GO.

MAKE EXCITING. DO THE THING. BE ENJOY.

-Evelyn

Side Note: Feel free to use these character sketches to evolve your own character or just take it entirely. Artists steal, remember?

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The Exorcist

HNNNGGGGGGGGG. *whale sounds* *whale sounds morph into whining sounds* *flops on floor*

Well, how do you do? Long time no- post?

It’s been about a month since I last posted here. I’m sorry. Truly, I’m sorry. (This is where I run from the mythical creatures holding half-finished manuscripts as they scream, ‘where are the fucking prompts?!’) I know I may not have many followers at all, but some of you have taken the time out of your day to make your inbox do a blinky-dingy-thingy when I decide to share some word-spew and for that slight inconvenience I should at least be writing something here every week or so.

The truth is, I want to. I did want to over the past month and I will in this coming month. Although, I have to get my head on straight first- and right now, I look more like the exorcist without a good chiropractor. I need to do some work.

The last month and a half has been plagued with personal issues and sticky-heartache situations. I won’t go into them here (whiny bastard!, you shout). They were all brought on by me but none-the-less very difficult to handle. The worst of the problems I’m facing now due to these issues are the following:

  1. I have no clarity or plans.
    1. WHO THE FUCK AM I A WRITER WHAT I NEED A JOB but oh god NO NOT THAT WAIT I HAVE ONE, right? DO I WHAT IS MY PURPOSE I HAVE NO GOALS BUT I KNOW WHAT I WANT AND WHAT DO I DO TO GET THERE IM a STUPID STUPID DUMB-
    2. Translation: I’m an ideal-driven INFJ. No goal, no motivation.
  1. My aura has depleted.
    1. But-but… but where is it? The glowy? The bluish-greenish-iridescent, shiny thing? It was here! It was just he- OH MY GOD IT’S GONE WHAT I CAN’T- I’m just going to be a loser of a person. I have no spark or curiosity or magic. I’m lame and nothing. I have no potential or anything. I don’t have a soul. OH GOD I’M SOULESS SAM.
    2. Translation: My aura is what makes me me. It’s the being It’s my soul juice that you can feel when I’m around that allows me to inspire, motivate and help others. It’s not around. My spirit isn’t around.

Hey-bitch, you say because I’m using this blog post to fill your mouth with potty-mouth words, this is a damn writing blog, you whore-house-frequenter person. You’re a lame-ass nuthin’ monkey who needs to get your blog purpose straight and-

Alright. I understand. I know. And until I manage to sit down and figure out what the fuck I’m going to do with all this shit inside of me, I will be on the down-low. I may post, but it may not be as superb or as focused or as frequent. But I’ll still be around. Because I am a writer and that means I don’t have a choice. It was never a choice. It just is.

(Also, this is a writing blog with subcategories of personal growth and development and life-y shit. So, there.)

But just to let you know…

…I miss you.

Love,

Evie

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WHERE’S MY PROMPT, YOU BASTARD?

You are going to have to forgive me, dear readers, for the clear absence of a Prompt post yesterday. My life has been turned upside down. The boat has been capsized.
I know how to swim, so don’t worry. I’ve just never been this far away from shore before.

I will get back to where I need to be. Just give me a bit of time.
And a bit of hope.

Love,

Evelyn

PS- I still plan on giving a prompt this week.

Creative Writing Prompt – For those with the Word Sickness.

Today, go forth and

be a contradiction.

Pick two things that are black and white, on different ends of the spectrum.

Dig in to understand both sides.

Describe both sides.

Research both sides.

Pick a side to argue.

Then remember there is someone arguing the other side.

List the arguing points that the other side will surely make.

Feel compassion for them.

Think about the things in their life that shaped that other-side-of-things so much.

Create that person in your head.

Humanize that person.

Accept that person.

You don’t have to agree.

Now, take both sides into yourself and be a walking contradiction.

No one can compete with you.

Love,

E

Bonus: Yippee! You have a new character! (Bonus-bonus: make them a villian.)


Tuesday Writing Prompt

Rules:

– The prompt must be done in 500 words or less. No whining. Learn how to get it done.

– Have fun. Because if you don’t, why the hell are you doing it?

Oh, and post the damn thing so I can read it, okay? Comments or blog it. DO IT.

Peace, monkey.


You’re sitting on your front porch. You’re 100 years old. You’re rocking back and forth on a creaky rocking chair just like the old people in the movies. You’re looking back on your life with happiness, sadness, grief, regret and laughter.

As you scroll through the video feed of your life, you hit a particular memory that makes your back stiffen. You’ve revisited this memory more times than you’d like. You’ve gone through great lengths and picked up bad habits in order to forget this memory. You’d do many things to forget it, or to at least change it. “If only I had just __________,” you think. “Maybe things would be different…”

Then, as if your private thoughts were broadcasted, a small girl with beautiful hair appears before you. She smiles at you and you stare back. But you know why she’s here. You know what she can do. She approaches you and reaches out her hands, palms up.

You close your eyes and reach out to the memory you so desperately want to change. Then you reach out and grab her hands.

“Change whatever you’d like, Y/N,” she says.

You take a deep breath, and then you’re right there, in the memory, heart racing like it was just yesterday.

_ _ _

Write the memory the way you want it changed. Focus on making the turning point, the deciding point within the short, stand out. Let us know the choice they make and wonder about the ones s/he made in the original memory. Make it heated, make us feel, make us understand. Ratchet up the tension as much as possible.

I want to bleed with you.

For Bonus Points sponsored by Scotch Tape (We love being your favorite bracelets on Christmas! Why not Halloween? And Thanksgiving?), use one or more of the following words, phrases or letter arrangements:

hot-crossed buns, far from the dragon lair, fish on a plastic hook, silver bottle, the sound of change in a jug, porno

Guts Points if it’s a real memory of yours that you’re taking seriously.

Best of luck to all my Nanowrimo warriors. Stay strong!

*returns to cry over novel edits*

-Evelyn Moore

PS- I am starting to think I’m writing to the empty universe. I mean, it’s cool. I’ll write without an audience. This word sickness demands I write regardless, so it’s half a dozen one way… but here is a trial ping!

Is anybody out there?

(Resist singing Journey.)

If you’re a reader of mine, I’d like to get to know you. Are you a writer? Why do you read my blog? How can I help you?

Comment, comment, comment away.

Love!

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Your Friendly Friday Reminder – On Being a Writer and Living Life

Writing, as we so painfully know, is a solitary craft. Most of our time as writers is spent hunched over our desks, drooling, literally, over our own imaginary worlds, fingers sliding over perpetually slimy keys as you curse, cry and whine. And because we are sick, because we have the word sickness, it’s easy to forget to take our medicine. After all, we’re in a writing induced haze, only tethered to reality by the occasional mewing of the cat we forgot to feed and the cursory glance of our significant other when we realize we forgot to brush our teeth because we were totally feeling that scene this morning. And ew, gross.

Having word sickness without taking medicine is dangerous. For instance, if I am doing a mindless activity, such as painting, a type of physical activity, showering, driving, talking to friends, cleaning, cutting tile, buying groceries, slicing open bags of cheese with a shard of glass… I can easily spend that time working on my novel in my head. His eyes were shit brown… no, they’re hazel. Yeah, okay. Blood doesn’t splatter that way, does it? Add that to my ‘to Google’ list. Didn’t my dad say Glocks don’t usually have a safety? And I can get a lot of work done by doing this, by staying in my head whilst in the real world.

prfecious

I will also, in the midst of un-medicated word sickness, choose activities that allow me solitary time over activities that require contact with other living, breathing humans, such as socialization, sporting events, sitting on the couch with my lovely boyfriend who has been patiently waiting for me to come out of my writing dungeon, going to the post office to mail extremely overdue items, or, occasionally, going to work.

Now, while there are undoubtably times when complete immersion in the writing process is necessary, and even necessary for certain periods of time on a weekly basis, we have to remember something.

Our job as writers is to create a new world, another life, for others to soak their spinning heads in, to soak in all the different feels. Our job is to express the human condition through strings of sentences that sound lovely, but that are also so reflective of how we feel in everyday life that we feel connected, that we feel that we’re not alone, or so that we see the same thing someone else sees but in a completely different light- a new, novel way. (PUNS!) We are to take the colors and paints of real life and, with our drool soaked fingers, smear stuff we’ve gotten from the world across the page so that we can speak to others in symbols- because that is art. Art, abstract or realistic, writing or drawing, understood in one way or many, is always, if you look deep enough, thoughtfully enough or strangely enough, a reflection of real life.

But similar to the idea of you can’t write books unless you read books, you simply can’t write real stories unless you live real life.

Life. That is your medicine.

And oh, don’t tell me, writing is my life, Evelyn (as you groan and roll your head in exaggerated torment), because if you are a writer, of course writing is your life. There is an unexplainable connection to writing that writers have and, even with our talents and word sickness, can have trouble describing accurately. And that’s okay. But if your goal is to reflect humanity, to reveal truth, to describe in ways so that others may feel, feel the things like the indecisive twist in your chest when you steeled back tears on your deck at sunset last autumn or the sensation of cool, smooth skin through warm blankets on a chilly Sunday morning or the feeling of the shattering inside your mind when someone breaks the stereotype you ruminated on with guilt just moments before, then you’ve got to get out there and live. If you want to capture those moments, those feelings, those epiphanies, treasures, worlds within worlds, those illusions- then you have to get eyeballs deep in the messy slop of the real world. Really in there. No holds barred. Teeth, heart and fingernails.

And that means you have to live life.

It’s so cliched, but it’s worth saying, especially when it’s part of our job to reflect life, fiction or otherwise.

It means thinking about your novel on the way to work and then finding out what really is going on when your co-worker gives you the third hesitant smile that week.

It means taking up your friends offer to go apple picking and having a great conversation at the beer garden, people watching, laughing, and eating too many apple cider donuts.

It means closing your hands around a tiny pair of hands and swinging them through the streets of Boston until your arms get tired and you feel the ache in your shoulders and the see the glow on their face.

It means feeling nervous walking out of a store buying nothing, stumbling over the sidewalk coming back from getting the mail in oversized slippers so big you have to keep your toes scrunched and it trying the new sugar cookie coffee flavor even though you think it might be too sweet because that is real life guts. The meat and potatoes, skin and bones, roses and chocolate.

It means focusing on being in the moment, and living while you’re alive.

Because I promise. If you do this, you’ll find, when you return to your keyboard after cleaning off last sessions drool, that you remember everything with more clarity. The words won’t seem forced or awkward because you are pulling them out slowly. You will be able to put yourself back in the moment where you felt everything so vividly. You didn’t have to take notes while on the park bench, or remember that thing!, or describe the backstory of the girl in the green parka while you were there. It will all come back to you with gusto and the feelings that came along with it and your writing will spark with real life.  And that flow, that liquid river of life, lived fully, lived presently, is what will give your novel a heartbeat- one that will echo in the reader and make them feel the breeze on a freshly wet-kissed nose and understand the Barbie-doll innocence of the brown-eyed child in a ripped, dirty green parka. They’ll have your book cracked open as they sit, knees to chest on the couch, while their faces will shift and change with emotion. They’ll understand. They have felt that way, too. In real life.

That’s why we read. To get that feeling. And if you live life, you’ll be able to write life. Convincingly.

And your medicine, my friends who share the word sickness we call being writers, is real life.

Lucky for you, it’s Friday. (Sorry part-timers.) You’ve got this afternoon and Saturday and Sunday to get out there and do something life-y. Something real life-y. Block out time for writing and then block out time for life.

Here I am, a PhD in nothing but how to describe the throaty kind of whine which one makes over an empty wine bottle, telling you to take the medicine. Life the life. Feel the beating hearts of others. Get in there. Really get in there. Blood, sinew and all. It’s gross, I’d assume. But do it, and then write about it so I know. Please. Please, I need it for research reasons. Pleeeeeaasse.

gross_no_thank_you_supernatural

Seriously, take your medicine. I’m tired of bringing a mop to my Writer’s Anonymous meetings. The drool is getting unbearable.

And just because I need to say it-

I’m so proud of you.

We may not know each other yet, whoever you are, but you’re a writer just like me, and I’m here for you. Live and write! It’s what we are on this earth to do.

LIFE it up!

I love you,

-Evelyn

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Step away from your NANO Pages and PROMPT! -SCREAM-

Good morning.

Here is a Supernatural GIF that reflects the depth of your emotion at yet another Tuesday Morning Prompt.

AHHHHHHH

Everyone needs a morning pick me-up. I understand that and that is why I give you… a GIF.

You especially need a GIF on this particular morning because it is the fourth day of Nanowrimo and I’m sure you’ve already spent a portion of this morning weeping on the floor next to the remote, finger trembling over the Netflix button, eyes darting to the corners of the room (which actually are symbolic to the inner, empty recesses of your brain), whispering random numbers (4567… 9983!… 34445…) while your significant other asks you… is that today’s word count, sweetheart?, the body count in your character graveyard?… or the number of days it will take for you to recover from November? Because I know someone…

No, you cut him off.

You don’t know.

And it doesn’t matter.

I don’t know, you whisper as a single, solitary tear glistens down your cheek. I don’t know…

But-!

not to worry.

It’s really simple.

Step away from the Netflix.

Close the Word Document, Scrivener page or Staples brand notebook and put away the scribbles on your dirty Starbucks napkin or the receipt from Spencers you were hiding form your mother for obvious reasons or conglomeration of intricately arranged post-it notes that resemble a deer head with a single antler, and simply change your mind-track.

Stop thinking about your word count for just a bit. It will be there when you come back to it. There is no need to panic.

Seriously, no need to panic. It’s Day 4. If it was a day somewhere in the fourth week, I’d tell you to stock up on Depends, coffee beans and Black Black gum and don’t forget Wine Country for the expensive whiskey you are justifying because hey, you are the next Hemingway.

But don’t panic.

Open up a blank page, read the prompt, and quietly, methodically, craft delicious letter arrangements.

And remember:

taco dip was bleeding pink meat, the leaky liquid of chopped up tomato flowers, and spoiled cream before you put it in the oven.

Write shit.

You can bake it later.

Love,

E


Tuesday Writing Prompt

Rules:

– The prompt must be done in 500 words or less. No whining. Learn how to get it done.

– Have fun. Because if you don’t, why the hell are you doing it?

Oh, and post the damn thing so I can read it, okay? Comments or blog it. DO IT.

Peace, monkey.


Trick-or-treating was never your favorite activity. Not to get anyone wrong- you loved Halloween, of course. The candy, the wild and sexy costumes, the full moon, the candy… but it was the walking around on a cold night while you were in costume of choice that got to you. Before you approach the next house, lightening strikes the asphalt in the middle of the road. All the costumed folk around you drop to the ground, including you. When you get up, you realize everyone is starting to act funny. Then it hits you. They’re all starting to act like what they are dressed as. You panic and turn to your friend, who is dressed as costume of choice.

Finish the story!

For bonus brownie points that are useless and will not accumulate to the point that you will receive physical, actual chocolate brownies from me, use one or more of the following words, phrases or characters:

one-armed caveman, candy-corn colored vomit, jar of peanut shells, jar of the brown leafy things that come off of peanuts after they’ve been shelled, Sailor Pluto (x5 points if you include time manipulation)

Happy Tuesday!

-E

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