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Category: Writing Prompts
I found some topics on Pinterest grouped monthly. Thought I’d give it a whirl.
I never know with these word prompts whether I’m gonna tell you the truth or spin some yarn. Sometimes I want to do both. And I bet sometimes I could trick you on which one was true, if it wasn’t too far fetched. Of course, sometimes my life is so weird you might guess wrong! Let’s picture it: pure white, uniform crystals that faintly glitter, mounded up like a snow capped peak outside Denver. Dense and easily confused with sugar, but smaller granules in common households. Representative of superstitions and a commodity throughout all the years of human existence. Found in every home, forever and always. Frequently given as a traditional housewarming gift known as a pounding: pound of sugar, pound of flour, pound of butter, pound of cornmeal, and a pound of salt. May their lives always have flavor. My grandmother loved salt. She added it liberally to watermelon, beans, creamed potatoes, anything just about. After she passed, I couldn’t ever get my mashed potatoes to come out like hers and Uncle Dale laughed and said, “Pilgrim, you ain’t dumpin’ enough salt to ’em!” That was a fact. She must’ve used half a salt shaker at a time for a pot of them. My cousin must have watched her cooking pretty close, because she decided to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies when she was around ten or so. According to her…
I try to make my blog posts about me. Not only because I’m vain and self-centered (what? Y’all thought I didn’t know??) but because every English teacher I’ve ever had stressed that you have to write about what you know. And I know me. I was striving to name things I felt like I had conquered and it all seemed like such a sham. People tell me I’m competitive, but I don’t see it. I just want everybody to work as hard as me so we can get the desired result quicker. If one man isn’t rowing, it puts a strain on the rest of the crew to pull his weight. I can’t stand people who take up space and don’t contribute. I realized I haven’t conquered much when I set down to it. There’s so much unfinished business out there. But let me tell you, I just finished a book by someone who has. Jewel Kilcher. She frankly amazes me. She fended pretty much for herself growing up in Alaska. She moved to Hawaii for a semester, staying with her aunt, just to try something different. When that didn’t work out, she got the money up and came home. She was yodeling in bars with her daddy when she wasn’t any bigger than a minute. She hitchhiked all over Alaska as a…
{WP #815 the poem that won awards and sparked so many to love poetry again} I sat down to write it, summoning Jesus (’cause everybody’s momma loves Jesus), Shel Silverstein (’cause grownups and kids alike love him), and David Allan Coe (’cause he wrote the ultimate country and western song). I had to be humble, and funny, and true. I had to please the masses. My success depended on it. No pressure, right? It had to have music and roses and candlelightTo make everything just rightIt had to be whimsicalAnd moody And upliftingBut also rhyme and not be uptightIt had to say a million “I love you”sIt had to sing with all the joy everlastingIt had to be the one thing you could memorizeAnd let the world know you were sophisticatedIt had to make you forget about your problemsAnd make you feel lightAnd gracefulAnd place stars in your eyesIt had to talk about all the ugly things turned beautifulBecause this is the perfect poemThe one where there is the gorgeous treeAnd the luscious fruitAnd the breathtaking oceanAnd all the things we dream about at our desks at 1:30 in the afternoon  …
{WP #942 The City Behind the Waterfall} My backpack weighed only eight pounds, but it may as well have been eighty. The mosquitoes were literally eating me alive, and I wondered how effective my malaria shots were if the swarm sucked all my blood and I had to have a transfusion from a native who had NOT had the recommended rounds of anti-malarial antibodies? Something else to worry about. Writing for National Geographic had been a dream of mine since I was old enough to look at the pictures, and I knew I was beyond fortunate to have this experience, but the tribesman scout that I had been assigned to was a brutal hiker and I was dog tired. I missed my dog, speaking of dogs. I missed chili dogs from street vendors in Chicago. I missed going to the movies to see a chick flick. I missed my beautiful canary yellow Volkswagon Beetle. I missed getting all the electricity I needed from a wall socket. I missed makeup and uncomfortably high heels, and most especially, I missed my books. I collapsed on a rock covered with vines. I didn’t have the energy to look for snakes. All I’d seen were lizards lately, anyway. They liked lounging on my tent. My Bushman stopped his whacking and faced me with the universal quizzical “How can she be tired already? Wimpy girl” look. I feel sure that if he knew how to roll his eyes…
Sharkbait! Ooh-ha-ha! I’m the first to admit I would just as soon my death be delivered via shark bite than a car wreck or cancer. My friends say I’m crazy. But think- how cool would it be for y’all to say, “I know a girl who got eat by a shark.” And you would relish in it. The chances are pretty good it could happen, too. My preferred depth of swimming in the ocean is shoulders deep, because that’s right before where the waves break and I don’t have to get beat up by them. I like to be able to bounce off the sandy bottom when one is rolling in and then be able to stand flat footed the rest of the time. Evidently this is the prime feeding area for sharks. I also like to swim late in the day when the sun isn’t so intense. I’m sure it would be completely terrifying. And it might hurt if he doesn’t hit a major artery first thing. But what’s worse- the terror of being trapped in your car and being cut out while everybody stares or being eaten by a magnificent creature? Slowly wasting away, getting weaker and sicker every day and everybody forcing you to fight it when you just don’t have any more fight in you? Watching their eyes go all liquid and…
{WP#858 Working nights has exposed you to a different view of the world} Now, this is true. Once upon a time, in a land about 200 yards from here, I worked “midnights”. It opened my eyes whereas before they had been most decidedly shut. When you work third shift, you get a completely different mindset. Everything about you changes. I’ve heard that working thirds for an extended period shortens your life. I believe it. It’s hard to make all the people around you become accustomed to your new schedule. You have to alter doctor’s appointments (well, any appointments, really), shopping trips, and of course sleep patterns. And when you’re off for more than a day, your schedule really gets warped. Suddenly you realize there’s a whole crew of people just like you out there, the night owls, either by choice or force. You may have already guessed, but this was during my time as a 911 dispatcher. 911 never sleeps. And our job was to wake the firemen, paramedics, rescue, and policemen to get to you. Typically when the phone rang between midnight at six, something bad was going down. Not so many accidental cell phone calls in those small hours. Not so many people calling saying, “I’m not sure this is really an emergency….” these callers were legit in a mess. I remember one night the phone rang at like two…
{WP #703 A poem about loss} Sometimes I want to tell himNot to bother locking the door behind himBecause the only person who could hurt meIs leaving…
Have you ever spent time wishing someone would die? I don’t mean an ex or an enemy. I mean, someone you know and love and are in so much pain they can’t think? Or maybe they’re lost inside their mind and causing you to lose yours. It brings to mind one of the most heartbreaking stories I ever knew. It was just a few years ago, right here in my hometown. This vibrant, active little boy of twelve was diagnosed with a rare form of brain cancer. It was simply awful. It was a blindsiding, because he’d always been so healthy and now was so, so, sick. So the community gathered and prayed and surrounded the family as the young man fought and battled and tried to get well, to beat the odds. He underwent countless treatments of radiation, chemotherapy, surgeries, and many therapies to keep as much of his body functioning as possible. Everyone rallied, Regen fought, but ultimately got worse. As Christmas drew closer, this Christian family was quite obviously pushed to their limits. On Christmas Eve, his mother wrote on Facebook that she hoped the Good Lord would call him home soon, he was suffering so badly. Now you think about that. A mother, praying for our Heavenly Father to take him only because she loved him so much and couldn’t stand to think of him in any more pain for another moment, even if she felt…
I should probably use this prompt to go off on a tangent. There are many controversial subjects itching at my fingertips, but instead, I’m gonna write about this: The handwritten note. I remember in fourth grade, our entire class had pen pals. They lived in San Bernardino, California. Mine was a boy….I think his name was Derek. It could just as easily have been Daniel. Or David. Or Eric. Or Steve. Who knows, the letters are long gone but I remember wanting to continue writing after we finished our required number of correspondence. Of course we didn’t. He was game, but somebody has to take initiative and no doubt, I had a horse to brush or a book to read. I wonder what ever happened to him. Where our lives have taken us since those long ago carefree days. He could be a firefighter or a lawyer or a park ranger. He could be pouring asphalt or working on cars or cutting up asparagus.He could have a houseful of kids or maybe he’s in prison for beating his wife. He could be a jewelry maker or living under a bridge. He could be living in Portugal or Paris, or maybe even East Tennessee. It’s untelling. And he could be gone already. I’m a big believer in thank you notes. And I still owe a few. If you’ve ever received one from me, you probably had…
Well, this is involved. I’ve just picked up Jewel’s Never Broken today. As in, I actually opened the cover, not went out to the store and bought it. I’ve had it for awhile. But here’s a link, if you’re so inclined to have your own copy. I love her. https://amzn.to/2TcG39I It starts with an “Ode To My Fortieth Birthday” style poem, which I found poignant. I’m not even fifty pages in, and she’s breaking my heart. I feel a kindred spirit to Jewel, always have. She loves the wilderness and grew up out in the Alaskan territory on horseback. She writes many of her own songs, and I admire her resiliency. I think this will be an insightful book, not only into her life, but mine as well. If I weren’t so ashamed of my library right now, I’d post a few pictures of it. How ’bout I just post some oldies instead?Welcome to my abode. I have read a great many of these pictured, but I would say 50% remain unread. I just love them. This is my utopia. It’s a dream I’ve always had, to be able to walk into my own library and select a book at random. I’m pretty sure I’ll like whatever I’ve picked up because, after all, it’…
