Tag Archives: writing prompts

Word Prompts

Looking for inspiration, I ran into the WordPress Daily Press prompts in my blog reader.  They had a few words (they put one out each day), but I stopped at Grainy.  What a marvelous word. There’s the grain in various woods, the grain I feed my horses, multi grain bread, against the grain; the possibilities are endless. I have to admit the first thing I thought of was whole grain mustard, like a spicy Grey Poupon.

The Fair

“I want to break up,” Chris said.

Amanda paused, the warm flavor of her hotdog, mixed with fresh bread and the artisan mustard, which she could only get here at the Tomgate fair, fading on her tongue. The sounds of the fair, the giggles and shouts as the rides dipped and swayed, the barkers at the game stands, the chatter at the bingo tables, dimmed around her. Who brings someone to a fair to break up with them, she thought wildly. it was their anniversary date!

“I mean,” he rushed on, “I think we both should date other people. You’re great Amanda, I just want…”

“To date other people, ” she finished, carefully putting her hotdog on the plate in her lap.

“Have you started dating other people?” she inquired politely.

“Oh, um, no, of course not,” he answered, avoiding her eyes. “I wanted to talk to you. It’s not like I have anyone in mind,  I have been just feeling for  awhile like you might want to move on.”

“And, I’m ok with it,” he added hastily. “I think it might be better for both of us.”

“I see,” she said carefully. “It sounds like you have given this a lot of thought. Why don’t we walk around a bit while I think about it too?”

“Ok,” he replied, clearly relieved she was being so calm.

Amanda led the way through the fair, mulling  her options. Chris, feeling relaxed as they wandered peacefully, actually reached his hand out to hold hers, before remembering and dropping it.

Finally she stopped in front of the Tunnel of Love ride. Turning smiling to Chris, she took his hand.

“Why don’t we take it one last time?”

“Sure,” he agreed, remembering how they had ridden it last year, giggling and snuggling.

He paid the fare, then they sat in the little boat. Each boat traveled out of sight of the others, so that it had privacy. Amanda leaned against him, snuggling under his arm,  until they were half way through the ride.

“I think you might be right,” she whispered, withdrawing from him. “We probably should break up.”

She stood suddenly and swung her purse directly at his head. The heavy bag knocked him unconscious as it flipped him over the side of the boat. Amanda stood watching, realizing as he sank that he had the truck keys.

“Well, damn!”






Filed under Flash Fiction

Friday Fictioneers

“I can’t believe you dragged me to a museum!”

Mary looked at Murray. “After all the places you dragged me? This is the nicest place I could bring you.”

Murray sighed, but paid for the entrance fee before trailing after her. Mary smirked, and led him through all the Impressionist Art before relenting. She turned towards the Modern Wing, knowing how much he would enjoy the display in there.

“Here,” she said, “this is really why we came.”

Murray gasped, looking at the installations of graffiti. Immense and colorful, the art sparked immediate feeling. Reaching out, Murray grabbed Mary’s hand tightly.

This week’s flash fiction for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. Please check out everyone else’s stories here


Filed under Friday Fictioneers


The bright laughter of the playing children mixed with the sound of the fountain in the center of the park. He picked a vivid red bench and sat. When had they painted the benches red? he wondered. It had been awhile since he had visited this particular park. He did like to rotate.

He relaxed and people watched. Who would it be today? He discounted the children playing tag immediately. They were both far too easy and yet too hard. They had no experience. Some older women sat playing cards, but didn’t hold his interest for long. They were too busy clucking among themselves.

A young couple caught his eye. The girl was a true beauty, far outstripping her suitor. But one could see the love between them. The young man got up to get something from a vendor. Perfect.

The girl walked to pond, talking to the ducks. He ambled over next to her, the syringe sliding down into his palm. She smiled at him tentatively. He smiled widely back at her.


“Sarah? Sarah?” The young man turned to the ladies playing cards. “Did you see where my fiancée went?”

“She was over there by the pond, honey, talking to that old man. Huh. He’s gone too.”

(209 words)

My take on the happy scene that Priceless Joy gave us this week. It is rather a follow-up of my post earlier this week, where I pointed out that dark things can happen in bright daylight. Priceless Joy’s story also had a theme of fear this week.  Check out everyone else’s take on the photo here.


Filed under Flash Fiction Friday

Friday Fictioneers

“What are you doing with that stupid picture?”

“Louis sent it to me. And its not stupid.”

“You are never going to Europe, you know. It doesn’t matter how many pictures Loueee sends you.”

“You don’t know that.  I have vacation coming up.”

“Look, Hailey, your future is here in cubicle land with the rest of us. Not running off to some dream land.”

“Frank, stop being so mean to Hailey! Just ignore him, dear, I think he must have something sour for breakfast!”

“She should be realistic! All these dreams. You never got out of here, did you, Helen?”

Our dreamy prompt from Rochelle this week for Friday Fictioneers! As with my other flash fiction today, I decided to focus on dialog and how to convey emotion with no additional help.  So, what emotions did you feel coming from the spoken words? And read the rest of the Fictioneer stories here–yes, that was an order 😉


Filed under Friday Fictioneers


“Why, Mama?”

“Why what sweetie?”

“Why is Grandpa here?”

“Grandpa isn’t really here, honey, he is in Heaven.”

“Then why do we come here?”

“To think about him.”

“But I think about him all the time, Mama. Can I only do it here?”

“No, of course not. You can think about Grandpa whenever you want. He would like that.  But when we come here there are no distractions and we can think about only him. What is your favorite memory of Grandpa?”

“His trains. He always let me drive. He said I was the best engineer.”

“Yes, he did, didn’t he? He loved those trains. He loved you too, you know. Very much.”

“I know…..Mama?”

“Yes Harry?”

“I miss Grandpa.”

“I know, sweetie, I miss him too.”

“What is your favorite memory Mama?”

“When I first put you in his arms. Daddy was away, and Grandpa drove me to the hospital when you decided to arrive. Early, I might add. He was so flustered, his little girl having a baby right in front of him. He paced and paced–or so I was told. I was busy having you! And when he saw you, it was love at first sight. That’s why we named you after him.”



“I think that might be my new favorite memory.”

An excellent prompt from Priceless Joy.  I managed 219 words today. I chose to do it as a conversation because, in general, I destest writing dialog. So opinions on how I did are welcome 🙂  As always, make sure you check out all the other wonderful stories, including Priceless Joy’s, here.


Filed under Flash Fiction Friday


“Ok,” the teacher called, “do it again.”

A chorus of groans met her as the students reined their horses back into formation.

“Georgia, get Tomey back two steps. Henry, Honey needs to stretch a bit, loosen up the reins.” Angie walked around the riders, fixing the line as she went. Finally, she stepped back and smiled.

“Good job everybody!”

Horrays went up as the line scattered. Last five minutes of the lesson was always for play. The kids trotted around the arena, bouncing awkwardly on the patient animals. Horses were zigged and zagged in all directions.

Finally the teacher called them in and led them back to the stalls. After the tack was put away and the horses brushed, each child offered up a snack to the horses before being picked up by a parent.

Angie opened the exterior stall doors and watched in amusement as the horses all charged out into the paddock, bucking and tossing heads. Several immediately dropped and rolled, destroying the brush work of the kids. It was the same every week: the horses were quiet and sweet for the children, and the moment they were gone, the horses went berserk releasing energy.

(191 words)

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, led by Priceless Joy. Each week  we follow PJ’s lead as she gives us a photo prompt to write a story of  150 words  (more or less). Please check out the other stories here.  Leave a comment so all the writers know how awesome they are!


Filed under Flash Fiction Friday

Friday Fictioneer

Alison looked up at the ceiling, struggling not to gape. They didn’t have anything like this in her village. Her house alone could fit in the wide expanse of the room. She was fairly sure the all the houses of the village could fit inside this capital.

“Come along, children, keep moving,” the harassed teacher hissed. “Hold hands! Alison! Where is your travel buddy?”

Alison jumped guiltily, looking for John. She didn’t like holding hands with John, his were always wet and cold. How was it possible that he sweated and was cold all at once she wondered. Finding him, Alison gingerly took his hand; he grabbed hers like a lifeline.

John wasn’t making an effort to mask his reaction to the huge richness of the building. He simply gawked, twisting and pulling on Alison’s arm as he tried to take everything in.  Most of the other children were staring as well as they were shepherded into the vast room where all decisions were made for the country.

Alison stared at the tall man at the end of the room. He was standing on a platform, surrounded by other men, and wore clothes such as she had never seen before. Gold fabric swirled as he turned to face the children.

“Ah,” he purred, “the new recruits have arrived.”

So, I went way over the limit: 215. I write two flash fictions and I got in a flow and sorta forgot my limit for this particular one. I sincerly hope that Rochelle will forgive my lapse this week. Don’t for get to check out the other, more rule following 100 word stories here.



Filed under Friday Fictioneers

Friday Fictioneers

Friday has once more arrived to joyous cheers around the world. All, of course, for the Friday Fictioneer stories, led once more by Rochelle. Here is my offering, sadly at 101 words instead of the 100 goal! Make sure to check out all the other stories based on this photo prompt.

The party was  over. The paper lanterns, so gaily lit last night, now hung quietly from the ceiling. Flowers bloomed in the vase and the room gleamed.  Martin stood in the doorway, unable to reconcile this pristine room with the revels of the previous night.

By that window Kenny had performed his lousy magic tricks.  Lou had danced on the island with a pretty redhead. The keg had just fit onto hutch. And it was only a fast grab that had prevented Tyler from spraying the extinguisher over the entire party.

Martin shook his head. His parent’s maid definitely deserved a raise.


Filed under Friday Fictioneers

Word Play

A prompt from our Daily Post here at WordPress (thanks to Kim for the challenge):

You have 20 minutes to write a post that includes the words mailbox, bluejay, plate, syrup, and ink. And one more detail… the story must include a dog named Bob

Bob licked his leg. After knocking the plate off the table and getting the gooey syrup everywhere, he needed a little cleaning up. His ears perked as he heard his human thumping down the stairs. Good! Maybe she had more syrup for him. He did like the sweetness.

“BOB! What have you done?” his human howled. “I go upstairs for one minute and look! Bad dog, bad bad dog!”

Bob slunk out of the room as she picked up the pieces of the plate. Geesh. She gets so upset by such little things. Humans are so temperamental, Bob thought. Just five minutes ago she loved me.

Bob decided to go out his door in the big human door. Maybe if he wasn’t there, she’d forget what he had done.  And there was always things to sniff in the yard. Maybe that man who delivered the papers his human collected every day would be out there. He always ran when he saw Bob. Bob didn’t know why, but it sure was fun to watch.

Wagging his tail softly, Bob checked out all the corners of his yard. That dang cat from next door had cut through again. If Bob could just catch her doing it…… It was the birds, Bob knew. His human had set up feeders in the yard and the cat was hoping to catch one. As if.

Bob wandered over to the feeders, sniffing the ground. Squirrels had been by, probably to eat the seed dropped by the birds. Speaking of which–Bob turned his head to glare at the large bluejay spitting sunflower seeds at him. Bird thought he was safe up there. Maybe Bob would help that cat, just once!

His ears catching the sound of a truck, Bob bounded towards the front gate. The man with the papers was here! Bob woofed gleefully as the man dropped the paper by the mailbox. Startled, the man almost fell over as he shot back to his truck. It was petty, but Bob could be that way. Satisfied, Bob grabbed the paper and trotted back to the house. Maybe if he gave it to his human, she wouldn’t be mad anymore. Why was she mad? Bob couldn’t remember.

He dropped the paper in front of her. She gingerly picked up the paper, avoiding the wet spots.

“Oh Bob, you smeared the ink again,” she sighed before rubbing his head. “I guess that’s what I get for wanting a St Bernard. Drool and appetite!”

Laughing, she put her arms around Bob’s neck to snuggle. And everything was right in Bob’s world again.

17 minutes, not including spell check!

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Filed under writing

Friday Fictioneers

Friday is here once more, and we rejoice with a prompt from Rochelle once more.  While this prompt put many a thought in my head, I went with the one that screamed the loudest. I hope you enjoy it and check out the other stories HERE. Plan on spending some time, there are many good ones to read 🙂


Let’s move to the coast, he said.

There are always fish to eat, he said.

A new village would be good, he said.

It would help, after, you know, he said.

Life will be good again, he said.

Ameara snorted. He was so wrong. She watched him grunt with effort as he manned the massive turnstile that pulled up the thick anchor chain. The pale men cracked their whips to encourage him and the others and soon the ship was moving. Ameara watched as the coast–her promised good life–slid away to a distant speck while she huddled with the others.


Filed under Friday Fictioneers