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.

Writer Wednesday

Hello, fellow writers!

Here’s today’s prompt:

prompt for writer wednesday

 

 

I’m still holding on. Nobody thought I would. After all, I was one of the smallest of the bunch. Everyone else in my family tree was robust, strong, and was able to hold on with all their might. That is, until the chill came.

 

Throughout the spring and summer, the sun shone bright every single day. It rained occasionally, too. Ah yes, those were the days. We never wanted for anything. We had everything we needed. Sure, we lost a few of our brothers and sisters here and there. Sometimes the winds came too fast and strong and would whip one of us right off. But that was nothing compared to now.

 

Now, the days were shorter. The skies were gray. The air was cold. And my family was dropping every minute.

 

A part of me was scared. I knew that I would be falling soon. But, I didn’t mind it so much. I knew that I had to let go of my branch so another could come after me. Besides, I had had a good, long life on my branch. I saw the rains in April, the flowers in May, the sunshine of June, the fireworks in July, the school buses making their rounds in September, and little ones trick-or-treating in October. I knew I probably wouldn’t last to see the bright lights of Christmas.

 

My great-great-great-grandpa saw them. He stayed around long enough to tell his son. And his son told his son. And so on.

 

Great-Great-Great-Grandpa was the smallest of his bunch too. Maybe there was a chance for me to see the lights. That’s what kept me going; the thought of seeing the lights. There were only about 50 of us left. It may seem like a lot, but when you consider we started out in the thousands, it really puts everything in perspective.

 

Yes, I was scared of fall, but I didn’t let it take my joy. I knew it was going to come eventually, but for now, I held tight. I took in everything around me. I watched the people work hard to rake their leaves into tidy bunches. I watched the mothers bundle their kids in jackets and scarves. And hoped upon hope that I’d see them trim their trees with the bright lights of Christmas.

Writer Wednesday

Today’s Writer Wednesday is autobiographical (sort of) in nature.

Here’s today’s prompt:

“Write about a pet that used to be in your life.”

When I was little, my best friend Marissa lived across the street. She had a cat lovingly referred to as “Momma Cat”. Momma Cat had a litter of kittens one day, and one was given to my sisters and me. The kitty had a twin brother who my bestie and her brother named Copper. At the time, we were obsessed with the Disney movie The Fox and the Houndso we named our twin Tod.

My sisters and I were so excited to have a pet. The only pet we had up until that point was a dog named Shep (who was promptly given away because we girls were terrified of him). A cute and cuddly kitten seemed more our speed. When Tod was small, we would hold him in our little hands and cuddle him like crazy. Soon, he got bigger which meant he was the perfect size to torture. Not in a sadistic way. More in a “we-don’t-have-a-brother-to-torment-with-girly-stuff-so-the-cat-is-a-good-substitute” sort of way.

Tod, in his natural habitat. (AKA, hiding from us)

Tod, in his natural habitat. (AKA, hiding from us)

We dressed that cat up in our doll clothes, pushed him up the street in our toy strollers, and even placed cat food trails along the monkey bars in the backyard to see how far he could walk without slipping. We snuggled him close, brought him in the house to catch mice, and even tried to teach him to play fetch (a plan that failed miserably).

Tod was never an inside cat–our dad wasn’t the biggest fan–but sometimes I’d sneak outside on Saturday mornings before anyone woke up and bring him into the bedroom my sisters and I shared, plopping him on the bottom bunk with Bridget, giggling quietly. As we grew up, Tod became less and less of a priority. We weren’t neglectful by any means. He was still fed, he always got his neck and back scratched, but he just didn’t stick around as much. He was usually patrolling the neighborhood for some tail (ha; pun intended), looking for a fight, or just being curious.  

One day, we came home and saw Tod was gone. I honestly have no idea what happened to that cat. My middle sister thinks he may have gotten into a fight with another cat and lost or might have known he was sick and went off to die in peace somewhere. I was sad when I realized Tod wasn’t coming back, but I was glad knowing that we had made some great memories with that furry feline. Memories that I still hold dear.

"Look at the camera, Tod, and smile pretty."

“Look at the camera, Tod, and smile pretty.”

Do you have memories of your first pet? What kind of animal was it? What was his/her name?

Writer Wednesday

Happy Hump Day, peeps!

Here’s today’s Writer Wednesday prompt:

prompt

 

It seems like everyone I know has some hidden–or not-so-hidden–talent. Huff the Hubs can play guitar, piano, and trumpet. My dad can build ANYTHING your imagination can come up with. My mother is a crochet ninja; my sister is a master baker; and practically everything my other sister touches turns to gold. So where does that leave me…?

I’ll tell you where: impressions.

No, not painting. Actual impressions. But not of people…of goats.

I honestly have no idea how this impression came about, but ever since I was about 12 years old, I found I was able to do a dead-on impression of a goat. So dead-on, in fact, that my friends would CONSTANTLY ask me to do the impression. In between classes, during assemblies, in the middle of church. You name it, a goat sound was heard.

Even now that I’m almost 30 (gulp) I’ll see friends from middle school and they’ll ask me to “Do the goat!”

I really wish I had a more productive talent/skill. Seriously, how far does a goat impersonator go in life? And how can I utilize my talent for the betterment of mankind? I mean, everyone I mentioned above would be GREAT to have around during the zombie apocalypse. But me? I’d probably be the first one sacrificed to save everyone else.

Oh well. At least the zombies would have something laugh about as they gnawed on my legs.

 

What’s your hidden talent? Is it embarrassing like mine? Or is it more practical?

Writer Wednesday

Hello all!
Last week I didn’t do a Writer Wednesday post. I know; everyone was very sad. Well, dry your eyes, cupcake because I’ve got a whole new story to share with you!

Here’s today’s prompt:

prompt writer

 

 

She’d been in the tower for almost two years. She would look out the window every night and think of her parents, the King and Queen. She could even see the turrets from their castle.

So close yet so far away, she’d think to herself.
She knew she was here for her own protection. Still, it didn’t make it any easier.
She sometimes wished she could get the “Aurora Treatment”; being in a coma would be better than being bored out of your mind day in and day out. But, she found ways to pass the time.
She’d read–what little books she had. She’d dance. But, her favorite pastime was singing. Her friend enjoyed it too.
Oh no, the Princess was not entirely alone. She had a friend. A friend that protected her and cared for her. He was a kind, gentle creature. Though many wouldn’t have seen him that way upon first glance. You see, her friend was a Dragon.
The Dragon would wake up in the morning to the sound of the Princess singing. Then, he’d come to her window, get a soft pat on the head from his royal companion, and then take the princess on a morning flight around the countryside.
Most fairy tales portray dragons as mean, fire-breathing terrors. But not this Dragon. This Dragon had an important purpose. He was here to protect the Princess.
There was a Prince from a far away kingdom who wanted to marry the Princess. However, she was not inclined to marry a man who stood three feet shorter than her, had a horrendous case of halitosis, who wanted nothing more than to rule his kingdom with an iron fist, and who also referred to himself in the third person.
In an effort to keep their daughter from the awful fate of becoming his bride, the King and Queen devised a plan: they would send their daughter to a faraway tower under the Dragon’s protection until the pint-sized Prince had married some other poor soul.
What the King and Queen had not counted on was the Prince’s determination and the fact that every king and queen with a daughter of marrying age within a 50 mile radius had all devised similar plans. Being as it was, the King and Queen had the closest kingdom to the Prince so the Prince was determined to find the elusive Princess. And this is how the Princess came to be in the tower.
Now, one day after a beautiful morning riding atop her Dragon’s neck, the Princess spotted a shining lump in the far distance.
“What’s that?” She whispered in her dragon friends ear.
The Dragon let out a low moan.
“Let’s get closer,” whispered the Princess.
As the Dragon flew closer to the ground, the Princess immediately knew who it was. It was the Prince! Dressed in full armor!
Quickly, the Princess came up with a plan. She had the Dragon drop her back at her tower and then she discussed the plan with her fire-breathing friend.
“We can do this,” the Princess said. She hugged the Dragon around his neck and rushed to her dresser. Quickly, she tossed her belongings in and raced down the stairs. She slipped out the back way and his behind a bush. This is what she saw…
The petite Prince burst through the front gate outside the tower “Oh-ho! Fair Princess, The Prince is here to rescue you! Sorrow upon those who stand in the Prince’s way! Oh-ho! Onward!”
He charged toward the front door if the tower. As soon as his hand reached for the handle, he was scooped up by the Dragon and whisked away to the Princess’s former window.
That’s when the Princess ran. She ran as fast as she could. She didn’t stop running until she reached her parents’ castle. Panting and gasping for air, the Princess ran to the castle gates. She knocked on the door until it opened with a loud creak!

She was greeted with open arms by everyone: the courtiers, her ladies-in-waiting, and most importantly, by her parents, the King and Queen.