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

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?

I Can’t Even…

…think of something to blog about!

I started this blog thinking that I would never run out of things to say. I mean, I talk so much anyway, that blogging couldn’t really be much different, right?

wrongo

 

I mean, my week is pretty much planned for me. I’ve got: Mommy Mondays, Try It Tuesdays, Writer Wednesdays, and Fan Girl Fridays. But Thursday gets NOTHING. Even though its one of my favorite days of the week (two words: Vampire Diaries) I often sit at my computer and have NO idea what I am going to blog about!

spongebob

So, I’m looking to YOU for help, Oh Wise Reader. What would YOU like to see more of? What would YOU like to read? If you had a blog, what would YOU write about? Help me, Reader. You’re my only hope.

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!

Typically on Writer Wednesdays I regale you all with a short story or give all you aspiring writers out there so helpful tips and tricks that help me out. Today, though, we’re doing something a little different.

I saw a pin on Pinterest about something called a Smash Book. Its basically like a journal/scrapbook hybrid and looked so cool! Anyway, there was one page in particular that I found really interesting. I’ve been wanting to journal more (I like being able to jot down stuff; plus, I’d like Hermione to be able to read it one day) and what better way to inspire myself to journal more than by sharing my thoughts with total strangers, right?

 

Wednesday Blog

Click me to zoom in!