Write a story in which each sentence will begin with a different letter of the alphabet, beginning with the letter A, and moving sequentially, i.e. B, C, D, and so forth.
A cold wind threw Ana’s hair in all directions as she waited for Brian. Brian was late, as always.
“Can’t that man ever be on time,” thought Ana. “Doesn’t she deserve that much?”
Even as she was thinking about leaving, Brain’s car pulled up next to her’s in the damp, evening light.
“Finally,” Ana said to Brain.
“Getting here was hell tonight, Ana,” said Brian. “How about cutting me some slack?”
“I am forever cutting you some slack, Brain.”
Just as the same old fight was about to begin afresh, there was a small tap coming from the back window of Ana’s car. Kiera stared at her parents. Like every Thursday night, the three of them stood in the local police station parking lot to facilitate a custody exchange. Many a time before, back when these things were held in driveways like normal people, these exchanges had gone sour.
“Nevermind,” Ana said. Opening the car door, Ana said, “Would you like to go see your Dad?”
Pretty much immediately, Kiera was out of the car and crossed the pavement to her father’s arms. Quintessentially daddy’s little girl, Kiera was thrilled to see her father but upset to be parted from her mother. Reluctantly, Ana shut the door and made her way to the driver’s side door. Since she met Brian, he had made her life nothing but miserable. To be sure, there were some happy times but Kiera was the only thing that made knowing Brian worth it.
Usually Ana would drive home and enjoy her weekend off. Very soon, Kiera would be home again. When Ana was growing up, this was not the way she pictured her life. Xylophones, stuffed bears, and all other sorts of toys always littering the floors, an exhusband she could barely stand, in-laws that helped her more than her own parents did, and never finishing university after an unplanned pregnancy gone wrong. Yawning, Ana pulled into the driveway of her empty suburban home. Zero people, zero things waited for her there and the thought crossed her mind, just briefly, that’s the way she liked it.
A storm destroys your uncle’s shed and kills his six-year old son. Describe the colour of the sky right before the storm hit.
The day he died, the sky was like any other sky, but bluer. The clouds were the white, fluffy kind where they shape shift into anything you can imagine. When the first drops of rain began to fall, the sky turned ominous. The sky became a blanket of grey, just like the wool of the blanket he slept in as a that time he had scarlet fever. The clouds flashed and banged. I used to tell him that thunder and lightning were just the angels bowling. We spent storms guessing the score: The big ones were strikes, and the smaller ones just knocked down pins. Two close together were spares. But that night, it was a strike that killed him.
What did you think? Would you be interested in hearing the end?
Prompt: The orchestra on the Titanic famously kept playing as the ship went down. Describe the sinking of the Titanic from the point of view of the musicians playing in the ballroom – from their interactions to the sights, sounds, and sensations they experience as the ship sinks.
Happy Hallowe’en, everybody! I hope you night was sufficiently ghoulish.
I’m trying something new today. I bought a book the other day that is filled with writing prompts. So, on days when I don’t have anything to share, I will do a writing prompt from the book! To make things interesting, I might even do some prompts from the comments.
Prompt: Put your iPod on random shuffle, write down the lyric of the first song that comes on, and use it as an opening line. Here we go!
“Hush, just stop.” Amanda’s mother said. “There’s nothing you can do or say.”
“I loved him, Mom!” Amanda cried into her mother’s shoulder. “He told me he loved me, too.” Her mother smoothed her hair and dried her tears.
“I know, sweetheart,” she began, “but it doesn’t always work out.”
“And now he’s with Trisha! Trisha of all people.”
Amanda’s mother stifled a smile. She remembered teenage heartbreak. She remembered how intense and painful and how ultimately fleeting it was. She couldn’t say this to her daughter, though, of course. This was a lesson she would have to learn in her own time.
“Trisha was my friend,” Amanda continued. “We went to the Spring Fling on double dates. How could she do this to me?!” She began to cry again.
“I know you feel betrayed,” said her mother, “but Trisha liked Michael, too. You told me yourself when you first started dating… last month.” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of the added ‘last month’. It seemed like Amanda was getting her heart broken every other week.
“You would stick up for Trisha! You always liked her better than me!”
Amanda’s mother was startled by this escalation. “Well, that escalated quickly.” She was trying to make Amanda laugh but it did not work. “Of course I don’t like Trisha better than you. You’re my daughter. But you and Trisha have been friends for years; it’s not uncommon that you would like the same boy. Did you think of how Trisha felt when Micheal chose you?”
Amanda brushed the comment off, “she said she was cool with it.”
“And what did you say when Trisha told you she was dating Micheal?”
“That I was cool with it and I was over him.”
“Do you see my point?” Amanda’s mother asked.
With a deep sigh, Amanda answered, “yes.”
“Now come give me a hug and go finish your homework,” Amanda’s mother said with outstretched arms.
Amanda got up off her knees, gave her mother a hug, and went into her room. Loud music began to emanate from the room, indicating that Amanda was going to be just fine.
What do you think? Would you have gone another way with the same first line? Do you have a prompt you’d like me to do? Leave it in the comments! Thanks for reading!
I’ve been neglecting this blog and for that I apologize. I’ve been having a hard time thinking of things to write, or write about. I’ve neglected most of my creative pursuits so I hope you don’t feel slighted.
I was inspired by this video by Ze Frank. I encourage you to go watch it for some context. (It should open in a separate window/tab.)
Okay, are you back? The basic premise was to make up a memory and share it with everyone. So, I wrote two memories. To make it interesting, I wrote one real and one fake memory. Can you figure out which one is real?
Do you remember the day we first met? It was Sunday. It was a bright, sunny day; the perfect day for first meetings and last goodbyes. There was chalk out on the sidewalk in support of some charity that I’m sure you’d remember but I don’t. We paid a dollar for the opportunity to colour the pavement with our ideas. We played hopscotch for the first time since I was in primary school. I drew pictures of rainbows and unicorns. You drew pictures of people in awkward positions to make me laugh. Finally, I wrote my phone number on the pavement. Thunder cracked in the sky and we ran under the overhang to stay dry. Our imaginings washed away with the rain.
Do you remember the day you wouldn’t let me play skip rope? The day was humid and there weren’t a lot of people playing. Most were seeking shade in the vast expanse of the playground where there was only one tree on the top of a huge hill. Generations of children had played there, shifting the soil and exposing the tree roots, perfect for sitting on imagining the tree as a sort of house with rooms and furniture. Of course, kids our age weren’t allowed on the hill; the playground rules dictated only those who’d reached grade eight could sit with the tree. The rest of the kids were left to find shade where they could, like under the plastic slide that was newly replaced after the high school kids burned down our bigger one of mostly wood and steel. So, there was only you and Greg playing jump rope, tying one end to the drain pipe so one of you could turn and the other could jump, except it wasn’t working very well. I wandered by and agreed to be the other turner. When it was my turn to jump, I wasn’t allowed and was sent away; replaced by the inadequate drain pipe that was still preferable to playing with me.
Tonight at midnight, I will be taking on the challenge of the 3-Day Novel Contest.
I’ve been looking forward to it all week! The only writing on it I’ve done has been within the rules: I’ve made a detailed outline, plotted major pieces of action, and all the major characters. I’m horrible of thinking of names on the spot, so I have extra names if I need them.
What I’m planning to do today to prepare is (in no particular order):
- Get the rest of my stuff unpacked from the boxes I still have lying around;
- Take out the said empty boxes, garbage, and recycling;
- If my IKEA desk chair arrives today, assemble that;
- Clean up the kitchen, put dishes in dishwasher, make it look tidy;
- Get dry laundry folded, dry wet laundry, fold next dry laundry;
- Go to the grocery shop when it stops raining; and
- Do some minor remaining tweaks and research for my outline.
Wow! I have my work cut out for me. Luckily, I’m nearly done step one. I have one box here in the living room, and two boxes in my bedroom. Since some repairs need to take place for my to load books onto my bookshelf, those will remain packed for the time being. As for everything else, well, I just need some willpower! The willpower that I was all out of yesterday.
As promised, I will be keeping up with my progress here at my blog. Comments to stir me on would be greatly appreciated!
Wish me luck!
This is a writing exercise that I started with my writer’s group. The prompt: A photo of my friend’s grandparents.
I remember when we were married. It was 1945. The war had just ended and the world was a different place. Most of the places we used to go were gone; piles of rubble where we used to dance.
I remember when we had Ruth. We wondered about bringing a child into the world when it was a world that had tried to destroy itself twice over in half a century, but she stopped the world from exploding.
I remember when your father died. It was like part of you died, too. I wanted you to be more of the same after that but you couldn’t. And that was okay.
I remember when Ruth got sick. We were so scared of losing her and what that would mean for us. She pulled through just as we did.
We were married 65 years ago today.
We were only kids ourselves when we were married, but we made it together. I’ve loved you all my life. I love you more today than I did yesterday, and I will love you more tomorrow than I do today.
Happy anniversary, darling.