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 |  Here I go down a rabbit hole. What will I encounter? What will I write? Viva l'imagination |
| Challenges await... |
| PROMPT: "All persons a mile high to leave the court." As the judge of a fictional town, create a rule 42 of your own that all citizens must abide by. Failure to do so should result in what? Joe glanced around the chamber room. To the others seated around the large conference table she seemed subdued, but inwardly she gloated. After months of campaigning on a tougher law stance and drawing upon her connections forged as a judge, she had succeeded in becoming this town's first female mayor. She wanted nothing more than to hoot and let loose in a victory dance, but she had a decorum to maintain. Image made the woman, and this woman could be as cool as a cucumber. Years of deliberating on the bench had left her with a poker face. "All rise for our honourable Madam Mayor." Joe suppressed a shiver. Tonight, Reasonable would hear her first matters of business, and she anticipated a bit of resistance. Her proclamation of a new town ordinance did not disappoint. Upon hearing her edict, the counsel to the council jumped to his feet, knocking a pile of papers to the carpeted floor in his haste. "Surely you are not serious Madam Mayor. This is a most drastic and ill-advised law. How will it be enforced?" "We will banish all those who refuse to cooperate. Force will be utilized if necessary to run them out of town." Fanning his perspiring face, the legal advisor spluttered, "But this is unheard of. You are outlawing the name Danielle? Perhaps if the women with this name agreed to a name change they could remain as citizens in Reasonable. Would you not consider this?" Pursing her lips as if in deep thought, but in reality creating a dramatic pause, Joe slowly nodded her head. "Okay, if and only if the women in question agree to a name reassignment. Gabrielle and Michelle are acceptable. No more Danielles, or their namesakes." Brimming with ideas and a deep desire to retain her job, the young press secretary suggested a slogan. All new laws were introduced with slogans. "You can still be you with a new name." The fledgling mayor bestowed a dazzling smile upon her minion. She liked this spin. It sounded so, well, reasonable. "All those in favour? Remember, I count on your support and vice versa. The name Danielle is officially forbidden. When pigs fly, and we all know that isn't likely, the ban on this name will be lifted." (417 words) |
| PROMPT: Find 10 new writers and leave messages on their notebooks with the phrase, "tarts given to you from the Knave of Hearts". Post links to 10. 1. "Note: Hi Zen! Welcome to WDC. There are many great peopl..."2. "Note: Howdy and welcome to WDC! Do you like writing chal..."3. "Note: Hello and welcome to WDC! I'm a mother and Nan..."4. "Note: Hi James! Welcome to WDC. I love and appreciate yo..."5. "Note: Hi and welcome to WDC. I hope you stay and share y..."6. "Note: Hi Penny! Welcome to WDC. I hope you find lots of ..."7. "Note: Hi Emma! I have relatives with the surname, Kincai..."8. "Note: Hi and welcome to WDC! Please take a meander throu..."9. "Note: Hi Steven! I'm acting as a Welcome Wagon greet..."10. "Note: Hi and welcome to WDC! I hope you wander throughou..." |
| Prompt: Mock Turtle Song- study the poem, create your own version, any topic, keep the same format. I wish to creep across the floor. There's so much to touch and feel. My butt's in the air, wiggling. Let's go burn rubber and squeal. A baby with energy to burn, up on all fours, I stall. With my straight arms flexed and knees bent, I'm in position to crawl. Should I, could I, should I, could I, should I start to crawl? Should I, could I, should I, could I, should I start to crawl? I'm a picture of concentration as I size up the room. What might my speed possibly be, a steady snail's pace or zoom? I espy a destination point, a nearby sturdy wall. My muscles warm from rocking nudge, but still hesitate to crawl. Shall not, cannot, shall not, cannot, not yet start to crawl. Shall not, cannot, shall not, cannot, not yet start to crawl. This urge to move, get up and go proves difficult to quell. Wanderlust has a hold on me, primal, stubborn spell. I wish to cross the house vast, meander down the hall, conquer fear of the wide unknown. To do so I must crawl. Should I, could I, should I, could I, could I start to crawl? Should I, could I, should I, could I, could I start to crawl? |
| A newlywed couple honeymoon at an exclusive tropical resort. The husband decides that it is the perfect time to teach his new bride all about the civilized game of tennis. This is their volley of words, a repartee. The wife takes issue with certain tennis terms. " Where I'm from, a racket is a great deal of noise. Why is this called a racket? Could they, the tennis people, not think of a better name?" "It just is a racket." With this short answer, he hits the ball to her, and she misses it. The tennis coach husband yells,"One love." With a flourish,he then produces a second ball, from a pocket, and he once again hits it to his partner.This time, he hollers, "Serve." Unfazed with her futile swing, she comments, "I thought we agreed to have drinks after we played tennis." "What? We did. Serve means to deliver the ball." "Well that's just silly. You're not giving me the ball. Why don't you say , I'm hitting the ball now?" "I don't know. I didn't create this game. Wait, what are you doing?" "I want a turn to hit the ball. Why do you get all the turns?" Despite a valiant effort her ball strikes the net and bounces to the ground. "One darling," the eager novice player shouts. "Huh," he queries. "Didn't you hear me? I said one darling." "No, no, it's one love, but it's not. The ball failed to clear the net." "I know. I saw it. I hit the ball once. You count, I count." Her significantly exasperated other sighed, "Maybe we should try golf." "Ooo, is that the game with a stick?" "It's a club. Well, to be precise one is a nine iron." "Isn't a club a caveman thing?" How do you hold an iron? Is that why golfers wear gloves?" "What are you on about now?""I have two irons, a clothes iron and a curling iron for my hair. They both get pretty hot." Groaning and shaking his head, the husband croaks, "Forget sports. Let's go for a walk." "A stroll or a hike? I need to know which shoes to wear." (359 words) PROMPT: Write a story about a game/match gone horribly wrong. |
PROMPT: Create a story or blog detailing an event that made you incredibly angry/frustrated. I can still recall in vivid detail a day spent waiting in a Toronto hospital. My Mom, my eldest daughter and I arrived as per instructions at 4:00 a.m. To accomplish this , we'd travelled by car four hours the day before and spent the night tossing and turning. My Mom had consented to a third hip replacement. Yes, most of us are issued two hips at birth, but one of Mom's replacements needed a replacement. She expected to be the first person in the operating room that morning around 7:00 a.m. Immediately upon check-in, my mother shucked her street clothes for a thin, cotton hospital gown and a pair of paper booties. The nurse assigned to her wanted her to be ready to go. With this in mine, she ordered the removal of false teeth, rings, and earrings. My Mom refused to relinquish her eyeglasses just yet. All the permission paperwork passed a review. The time for the procedure arrived and passed with my Mom still waiting. After I demanded an explanation, the nurse informed me that Mom had not agreed to an epidural. She had never agreed to an epidural! Months of appointments and planning had not swayed her and this had been made clear to her surgeon. Anaesthesiologists came and went each one determined to force my Mom into accepting a spinal. She stood resolute with her choice of a local. She'd experienced many surgeries and she did not relish being conscious during a new one. As if to punish her, Mom saw a series of rooms throughout the day as her surgery was bumped. If I so much as left for a bathroom break or a drink run, I'd return to discover her missing and ensconced in a different room. Each change forced her deeper into the hospital. Wow, I needed my orienteering skills that day. Her last wait occurred in the basement in the recovery room. At 10:00 p.m. after a long day without fluids or food, a young female anaesthetist bounced into the room to discuss Mom's medical chart. Unbelievably, she too decided she couldn't administer anything but an epidural. At long last, someone begrudgingly permitted the use of a local anaesthetic, and Mom entered the surgical suite just before midnight. My daughter and I were committed to await the outcome and the hours passed at a snail's pace. I believe my mother returned to a hospital room around 3:00 a.m. the next day. For the first time ever post surgery, Mom was ill and she vomited. I had to demand that the night nurse get Gravol and unbelievably, she brought a pill and a tiny amount of water. I just stared at her. I broke the silence and suggested she return with liquid Gravol , or administer it into the intravenous line pumping a saline solution. She consulted the doctor's orders and realized this could be acceptable. At no time did this nurse attempt to clean Mom, or change her hospital gown. I stormed off down the corridor in search of towels and a fresh gown which I eventually found. I didn't think I could possibly feel any angrier about this unnecessarily grueling day, but I was proven wrong. First, the nurse refused to accept a bulging bag of mom's bottled and labelled drugs that I'd safe-guarded all day. At one point, I'd locked it in my car in the parking garage, tired of toting it around. I became livid. The express directions from the surgical team had emphasized that Mom needed to bring and take her own prescribed drugs while in the hospital. The nurse laughed at this. Not that she knew me, but I hollered that I could make pretty good money selling those drugs on the streets of Toronto; the bag contained powerful pain medication. The last straw of my tolerance crumbled when this nurse asked my mother, a senior worthy of respect, if " we needed to go peepee." My mother was not a child. This ranked as the worse hospital experience in my Mom's life, and it had only just begun. (681 words) |
| PROMPT: Mistakes happen, some beyond our control. Create a blog or story telling of such a time and what you did to rectify the situation. Mistakes and I are intimate. I'm certain they find me entertaining and they never want for laughs at my expense. The particular mistakes in judgment that I shall share here occurred because I am fiercely stubborn, or more accurately, I am independent. In cahoots with lack of self-awareness re my physical limitations, my single-mindedness has resulted in some memorable "situations". I have, however, survived to ultimately make fresh mistakes. Picture if you will my seventeen-year old self awakening in a hospitable bed, alone and a wee bit disoriented after what would be my first knee surgery. A primal urge suggested I find a bathroom. My instinct directed me to vacate my bed and stand up pursuant to hurrying my annoyed bladder to a place of relief. There seemed to be a physical barrier. At first, I thought I'd been deposited in a crib of some sort, and my teenage pride took offence. Bars hemmed me in and I struggled to release or lower them. This particular model did not have electrical buttons to push. I somehow knew that the latch rested out of my reach. Not to be defeated and really needing to empty a certain ornery organ, I improvised my escape. I never once considered using the call button and seeking assistance, no, not me. Without at least some strategic planning, I hoisted my newly casted right leg up and over a bar. This was my first error. I failed to calculate that this leg could not and would not bend. I also did not foresee that this leg refused to be weight bearing. All that became secondary problems because that stiff, unusually heavy limb acted as an anchor and pulled my entire unprepared body out of that bed. Yep, I crashed to the floor, a floor as soft as concrete. Of course, I then had to somehow return to an upright posture. I struggled, but I did manage to stand. I then discovered I could not walk, so I invented a sliding, twisting step for my 'good' leg while holding my other foot slightly off the cold floor. I must say the curtains hung from the ceiling were strong. I faced an incredulous nurse when I exited the facilities. Apparently, I was supposed to call her and ask for a bed pan. Fast forward to several years in the future where I found myself in a similar predicament. Once again, I'd subjected my body to a surgery, and once again my demanding bladder ordered me to obey. In this instance, I'd had an abdominal hysterectomy and walking hurt. Until then, I'd never considered how important the abdominal muscles were to basic ambulation. I had ensconced myself on a loveseat before this call of nature and I learned I could not simply stand. Instead of requesting aid, I rolled off the furniture and onto my hands and knees. This move did not benefit me at all and instead created a new predicament. My daughters found me there. Compounding my dilemma was the almost hysterical laughter from the three of us. One bright thing emerged. My bladder had super control. Into the stretch of numerous years, my beleaguered knees had reached their breaking point. I found myself on a waiting list for a knee replacement and while I awaited this surgery, I coped as best I could. My left knee manifested as extremely unstable and of necessity I depended upon the right knee. One Spring night, I gingerly hobbled down the nineteen steps of my home and I eased out to the curb with a garbage pail. As I turned to retrace my steps, my right knee rebelled. I did not fall to the ground, but I felt something tear and let go in that joint. There I stood unable to move. The pain proved to be excruciating and my right knee refused to weight bear. Oh, I attempted a few halting steps. I had a dilemma. Basically, I was trapped outside my home without my cell phone. I was home alone. I could not crawl on my shoddy knees. I could not hop. A young neighbour came to my rescue. She'd been watching me from her apartment across the road and she wondered why I lingered at the roadside. Curiosity got the better of her. She assured me she was strong as she urged me to use her as a cane. It seemed to take forever, but she helped me to my nineteen stairs. This is where I should've sent her upstairs to retrieve my phone, but, no, I did not do the sensible thing. I bumped up those steps on my butt joking that someone had to polish them. Perched on a chair, I phoned my son and asked for a ride to the emergency room. Had I stopped to think, I could've been downstairs waiting for him in the first place. I then cursed my short-sightedness when I bumped back down the stairs. I suppose I could brag that I own my mistakes, but who am I kidding? Those lapses in judgment have my number.(849 words) |
| Macabre jawsOpen to enticeUnsuspectingScavenging mice.Edible nibblesTaunt and tease,Rodents bewareAvarice acts displease.Prevent your untimely demise.Suicide by steel is a nasty surprise. Me and youEndless chatterMillions of wordsOdd bits, gossip, natter.Reflecting, resurrectingIntimate, intense matches.Expressed often as laughter.Silly, unsobering snatches. MarvelousUnique, unequalled,Carefree, but not frivolous.Hugs unparalleled.Nebulous yet bright.Ethereal as a breeze.Sparkly sequin delight.Spontaneous like a sneeze. PROMPT: Create acrostic poem(s) with the words mousetraps, memories, and muchness. |
| PROMPT: Forever stuck in time! Write a story or poem where your character is always stuck at 6:00 p.m. Paul pounded the steering wheel. "Oh, come on! What's with this traffic stop?" The hiss of the air brakes still echoed in the cab. Static squawked from the radio. The truck rumbled and vibrated. Staring out at the stalled vehicles crowding him Paul had a strange sensation of deja vu. It's not as if he hadn't ever been stuck in a traffic jam; this felt different. This seemed too familiar. He laughed to shake off the eery shiver that rolled up his spine. Could his family be right? Did he spend too much time alone with his crazy thoughts? He reached for a pile of papers on the console. Just because the semi had to idle didn't mean he had to sit and do nothing. He hated to wait indefinitely. This ate into his driving time. Glancing at the blue light of the dashboard clock Paul noted the time. Again, he shivered. Wait a minute, that couldn't be right. Recognition evoked a snort. Huh, the display glowed the unmistakable 6:00 p.m. That's odd. What are the chances that he'd be stranded every evening at this exact time? It's not as if he drove the same roads either. Long haul meant just that, he covered thousands of miles. To verify this phenomenon, Paul checked his onboard e-log. He whistled as he verified that yes, every evening for the past month he'd been stationary at 6:00p.m. Well, this certainly qualified as peculiar. Curious, Paul reached for his headset and dialed Roddy. After the usual trucker complaints, Roddy admitted that he too sat idling in a traffic jam, and it began at 6:00 p.m. Roddy refused to consider cosmic or karma forces of the universe as scapegoats. "It's the government. They plan these stops, this congestion. They want us all to burn more fossil fuels. They control the consumption and the prices. It's big business. They force us into this rat race. They keep us on edge. We're too busy ranting about our commutes to worry about them." Paul let Roddy rant. If he had to be stuck at this same time on a never-ending loop then he'd find something to entertain himself at that time as he waited. Maybe he could tune into a stock-car race? At the very least, he should plan to stock snacks? (385 words) |
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PROMPT: Write a short story or poem of a most cunning person with the phrase, "With the grin of a Cheshire cat". "I don't remember signing a Power of Attorney, or this POA, or any piece of paper," quavered the tiny, white-haired woman, "I just want my money back." The young officer sighed and shuffled some files on her desk as she contemplated her reply. This situation never failed to tug at her heart strings. Once again, a vulnerable senior had been duped, and the law was clear. "I'm sorry Mrs. Jones, I truly am. Whether you recall endorsing this document or not, it is legally binding. You yourself verified this is your signature. You gave Donna the right to handle your finances, and she claims you did so willingly. She did not coerce you. We have no proof anything criminal occurred. If she has taken some of your money from your bank account, she has the power to do it. When I questioned Donna, she assured me the money was for your benefit." "But what can I do now? That woman stole from me! It's not right." Gesturing to the trembling senior and offering her arm, the policewoman helped her to her unsteady feet. "I've phoned a friend of mine, she's a lawyer specializing in just this kind of situation. I believe she will ask you to reassign someone else as your power of attorney, someone you can trust. She's waiting out in the hall to meet you. Goodbye, and I wish you a speedy resolution." As the frustrated and confused older complainant slowly shuffled out into the hallway of the police station, Officer Brown grimaced to herself. Earlier, when she'd interviewed this Donna she could've sworn the unrepentant person smiled with the grin of a Cheshire cat.Oh, no doubt she'd swindled her poor victim, but she knew she'd gotten away with it. Sometimes, the law seemed so unfair.(300 words) |
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Fabulous. Great imagination and so practical.