Writer Wednesday

Writer Wednesday

 

Happy Hump Day, fellow writers!

Here is today’s prompt:

In a sentence, describe the smell of spring.

In a word, the sound of winter.

In a line of a limerick, the feel of fall.

In five words, the taste of summer.

 

spring-01

Freshly mowed grass, the perfume of freshly bloomed flowers, and the stench of Bradford Pear trees permeate the air.

 

winter

Silent.

 

fall

It’s neither hot nor chilly.

 

summer

Watermelon. Popsicle’s. Lemonade. Snow cones.

Writer Wednesday

writerwenesday6

 

Happy Earth Day, y’all!

 

Here is today’s prompt:

After she started working full-time downtown, her personality totally changed.

dwp

She no longer wore her hair down, but rather in a tight bun she created by destroying an old sock. Gone were the days of chugging Folgers from an old 7-11 reusable tumbler—she only drank chai tea flavored with agave now. Her Skechers® were swapped for Louboutins, her garage sale purse tossed in exchange for a Michael Kors, and she wouldn’t dream of walking into the office without perfecting her lips to Kylie Jenner status.

 

Writer Wednesday

writer wednesday

It’s the middle of the week and you know what that means: its Writer Wednesday!

Here’s today’s prompt:

Write the opening line of your solo show.
A genie grants you three tiny wishes. What are they?
What the person nearest you at this very second is really thinking about.

 

Opening line:

“Welcome to an hour and half of your life you will never get back.”

 

Tiny Wishes:

  1. I magically go back to my best fitness level ever after I give birth.
  2. Every time I go to buy something, I’ll reach in my pocket and pull out the exact amount I need (and I won’t have to be taxed/claim it on my taxes).
  3. The house next door to my sister becomes available and we get to buy it and its move-in ready.

 

What The Person is Thinking:

“I am so done. I hate this. I don’t want to be doing this. OMG, its only been fifteen minutes?!”  ~ My Sister on The Elliptical

 

What about you? What would yours be?

Writer Wednesday

Writer Wednesday2

Here’s today’s prompt:

FullSizeRender (3)

*Most likely, my mom, sister, or Huff the Hubs posted the signs. Here’s what I think it would look like:

missing writing prompt poster

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Please note: I am NOT really missing. Neither am I making light of people who are truly missing. This is simply a writing exercise. Please do not leave comments about how butt-hurt you are. They will be ignored/deleted.

Writer Wednesday

writer wednesday

 

Happy Hump Day, writers! Here’s today’s prompt:

prompt

 

Fashion Magazine: 

Blogger and writer, Jessica Huffman, has the style knowledge that we at Sweatpants and T-Shirts find commendable and comfortable. She has perfected the “Unkempt Gym-Going Mom” look as well as pioneered the “How Long Has it Been Since I Showered?” fad.

 

Business Magazine: 

Jessica Huffman–writer and blogger extraordinaire–isn’t a businesswoman, per se. But she is in the business of making people laugh through her blog, The Huffman Post.

 

Obituary:

The world just got a lot less funny. And sarcastic.

 

 

(Technically I wrote two sentences. Oh well.)

 

What would your sentences say? Would they be funny? Serious? Tell me in the comments below!

Writer Wednesday

Happy Hump Day! Grab your pens and paper, peeps! Its Writer Wednesday!

Writer Wednesday2

 

Here is today’s prompt:

prompt

 

 

Broke a Bone:

hp broken arm

The summer before my senior year (wait, was it my senior year?) I got into a car accident with my two best friends. I ended up breaking my collarbone which, if you’ve never broken your collarbone, is one of the most painful and annoying bones to break. I didn’t realize it was broken until two days after the accident. I woke up and couldn’t even sit up out of bed. I was lying there, crying, screaming in pain for my mom to come help me out of bed. It. Was. Awful.

 

A Heart:

breakup gif

I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever “broken a heart”. I mean, I’ve had my heart smashed to bits a few times. Though, I did have a boyfriend (this was not a good relationship) in which I was constantly pushed around and finally I had had enough. I broke up with him in a very Joe Jonas/Taylor Swift way, and he tried to get me to take him back for a few weeks. But, I stayed strong to my decision. And both of our lives are much better because of it.

 

The Law:

homer

Okay, so, I’ve never really “broken the law”, but I have gotten a few tickets. One that sticks out in my head was one I got a few years ago. I was in a hurry to get back to work (I was on my lunch break) and wasn’t paying attention to anything around me. I was going slightly over the speed limit…in a school zone. A motorcycle cop pulled me over and—thankfully—wrote the ticket without adding I was in a school zone (which saved me $100!).

 

A Promise:

promise

I don’t know the last time I’ve broken a promise because I don’t normally make promises. I only make promises I know I can keep (i.e., my wedding vows). I did, however, make a promise to myself that I wouldn’t eat candy or “sweet treats” until Sundays during the month of January, and eat well throughout the week. I have already broken this promise about six times. Okay, seven. FINE. Eight.

 

 

 

What about you?

When was the last time you broke a bone? A heart? The law? A promise?

Writer Wednesday

Writer Wednesday

Happy Hump Day, aspiring writers!

Huff the Hubs got me an AWESOME gift in my stocking this year:

book

This tiny book is FULL of great writing prompts! I’ll never go without something for Writer Wednesday! WOO!

 

Here’s today’s prompt:

prompt

 

This would be yesterday’s fortune cookie:

fortune cookie1

 

And here is last year’s fortune:

fortune cookie second

 

What would your fortune cookies say? Tell me in the comments below!

Writer Wednesday

I am so excited about today’s prompt! I was NOT a fan of The Great Gatsby, so when I saw a chance to do a little re-write, I squealed! Especially with a magical twist! Here’s today’s prompt:

writing prompt

He knew Daisy couldn’t—and didn’t love—a brute like Tom Buchanan. He just knew it. If Daisy loved anyone it was him, Jay Gatsby. The last time they were together, he could see it in her eyes.

 

But would she leave her husband? Of that, he was not so sure. They had a child together, after all. But Jay could be a good father to that little girl, he knew he could. He would show her how a real man was supposed to act. Yes, he could do it. He could be a stepfather.

 

And, he could be a husband. He could be a good husband, a better husband than Tom Buchanan could ever be!

 

But how could he make her see that? He could find out the name and address of Tom’s mistresses—he knew there had to be at least one out there. He was certain he heard Nick mention it in passing.

 

What to do? thought Gatsby, as he paced in his library. What to do?

 

He walked back and forth, back and forth for nearly an hour. He thought hard. He was sweating, so he took off his jacket.

 

If only I could make Tom tell her he doesn’t love her; that he wants her to leave and never come back.

 

He threw his hands up in frustration. If only that were possible! Suddenly, he remembered something. Once, a very long time ago, while he was walking the streets of London looking very forlorn an oddly dressed man with a long, white beard and half moon spectacles came up to him. He hadn’t even heard the man approaching; it was as if he just materialized out of thin air.

 

“It looks as though you’re in some sort of emotional turmoil, my boy,” the old man said.

 

“I’m fine,” Jay mumbled, and pushed passed him.

 

“You do not look it,” the old man replied, following him.

 

“Look here, sport,” Jay said, an edge to his voice. “I mean no disrespect, but I have no money to give you and I just want to walk in silence, okay?”

 

“You misunderstand stand me, my boy. I do not wish to take anything from you.”

 

“Then what do you want?” Jay asked.

 

“To give you something,” said the man.

“Unless you can give me a fortune, I don’t want it.” Jay turned to leave.

 

“Ah yes,” the man nodded and stroked his beard. “Yes, I was right. Financial troubles. I could see it in your eyes.”

 

Jay sighed and turned back to face the man.

 

“Sadly, I cannot give you a fortune,” the old man said, apologetically. “But I can give you something else.”

 

“Yeah? What’s that?”

 

“The ability to walk in someone else’s shoes,” said the man, eyes twinkling as he spoke. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vile. The old man then started to explain what was in the vile. Jay couldn’t remember the name of it now, something “juice”.

 

The stranger described how to use it and what it would do—by adding the hair of someone into the Juice, and then guzzling it down, you would turn into that person for a full hour. Even a guy’s own mother wouldn’t know the difference between the two! Jay couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

 

“You’re crazy, old man,” Jay said, shaking his head.

 

“I am many things, Mr. Gatz, but crazy is not one of them.”

 

Jay’s ears perked up at the sound of his name. “How do you know my—“

 

“It is not important, Mr. Gatz,” said the man. “What is important is that you trust me.” The man handed the bottle to Jay.

 

Gatsby looked down at the bottle in his hand. “Will it really work?” He looked up, but the man had vanished. He could’ve sworn he heard a faint pop! sound down the street.

 

That happened nearly ten years ago. He didn’t believe the man then, but now, he was so desperate he would try anything.

 

Gatsby dashed to his cedar chest at the end of his bed. He wrenched it open and started digging through its contents. Old pictures, letters, and books littered the floor until he found was he was looking for, an old blue sweater. He unrolled it carefully and took out the small vile that the old man had given him so many years ago.

 

He ran to the foyer. Daisy had worn one of Tom’s coats the last time she visited. He hoped it was still hanging in the closet. He threw the door open and found it. He prayed to find one of Tom’s dark black hairs. He searched the collar, the back, until finally he spotted one right on the sleeve. He picked up, uncorked the vile, and dropped in the hair.

 

Green smoke billowed out of the bottle. Gatsby couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The liquid turned a dark, dank yellow. It smelled putrid.

 

“This is for you, Daisy,” said Gatsby, holding the bottle up. He closed his eyes and chugged. The liquid burned as it went down his throat and thought he might be sick. He dropped the vile and it shattered into a million tiny pieces on the tiled floor.

 

Gatsby watched, first horrified and then amazed, as his hands started to change in shape. He ran to a mirror in the hall. His once clean-shaven face was now growing a mustache. His neat, blonde hair turned dark. Suddenly, in a matter of moments, he was not longer staring at Jay Gatsby, but Tom Buchanan.

 

He knew what he had to do.