Tag Archives: challenge

50 Words #2

*Continuing my 50 word challenge/prompt, I encourage you to do your own. The goal is to create a scene/story in exactly 50 words. No more, no less. Any subject or theme. The goal here is to just write and maybe practice some self editing in the process. I find this helpful when thinking about writing larger bodies of work. So anyway, have fun and write!*

50 words #2

The coffee cup is cold now, steam dissipated into the chill morning air. At the bus stop, the rain begins, and I wish for the woman with the blue umbrella to show early, coming down the street from her apartment to join me in the wait for the morning commute.

-Paul D Aronson

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50 Words #1

Create a scene/story in exactly 50 words. Any subject. Your words. Let’s go…

50 Words #1

I’ve never been cool. Not even standing in the rain, water running in rivulets down my faded leather jacket. Nor caught in the spot of the dying streetlight as I look up at her window, knowing she’ll never be let out again, the tower princess punished for loving a commoner.

*Feel free to take the challenge/prompt. Post yours in the comments or share a link to your own blog post*

Seven Days Of Sentences: Day 4

This daily writing challenge is making me want to do the daily writing thing in NaNoWriMo next month. I know I wouldn’t be able to finish the required 50k words this time around, but it is giving me the itch to get back to long form compositions. Okay, so here we go with the challenge at hand today, to tell a story or illustrate a scene in just one sentence. Don’t be afraid to do your own here and post it in the comments. Have fun!

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David stood at the tracks, watching the locomotive’s approach, thinking to himself that high school was over and stowing away on a boxcar would carry him to a better place.

Seven Days Of Sentences: Day 3

It’s day 3 of this personal writing challenge. I’m having fun with this, and I feel like it’s helping motivate me a little. Sometimes I spend a great deal of thinking on what I’m writing, trying to keep characters and events in line with the larger story. But with this challenge I can write off the cuff, not really thinking about where the story will lead. Just getting into the simple act of writing. If you need that kind of motivation, I hope you’ll try the challenge as well. It only requires you to tell a story or show a scene in one sentence. The sentence can be as long as you like, but when you put that period in, that’s it. Here’s mine for today.

My father had a knack for disappearing days at a time, causing both mom and I to wonder if there was another woman, or perhaps a more sinister reason for the gun in his drawer.

Seven Days Of Sentences: Day 2

Here I go with Day 2 and the challenge of trying to tell a story in one sentence. Feel free to accept the challenge yourself and post your one sentence story in the comments. Remember, there are no rules on lengths, but once you put in a period, that’s it. Have fun and get those creative juices flowing….

I taste the blood in my mouth, for it is not my own, but the remnants of another night clubbing, Faithless pumping a beat through my dead heart as I drink the only thing human left of her right off my fingertips.

Sleeping Gods in poetry and prose

Today I thought I would try a little experiment. Consider it a challenge or prompt if you’d like. The challenge to myself was to write a short poem or rhyme, as well as a short piece of prose or free write. Both pieces had to cover the same subject or theme, and would allow the reader to see it in two different ways. I don’t know if I succeeeded in this, but here’s what I came up with. Hope you enjoy.

SLEEPING GODS

We are the dreams of the sleeping gods 

Peacefully adrift on oceans of time

Wondering if there is more than this

Being a mere fragment of the mind.

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Once, when I was young, I dreamed I was a dream, and at any moment the gods would awake and I would find myself drifting off into nothing, my whole life amounting to just a figment of heaven’s imagination. In this, the futility of growing up became apparent. For after all, if we are but a dream in the minds of the gods, then nothing is permanence. At any given moment, our very world could change, even to the point where the gods wished to dream of us no more.  

Writing Prompt: Put Down That Book and Fight Me

Here we go with another writing prompt to get the creative juices flowing. Today’s task is to write a short story beginning with the phrase, Put down that book and fight me. 

If you want to participate, it’s easy. Just start writing 😉 Feel free to share what you write in the comments, or provide a link to your blog so others can see what you’ve come up with.

Have fun! 🙂

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“Put down that book and fight me.”

The old man in his easy chair didn’t look up. “I admire your tenacity, but I truly must finish this chapter.”

“To hell with your chapter. Stand up and defend yourself.”

“Ones defense is not determined by some notion to get up from your reading chair. Now if you don’t mind, I only have a few paragraphs left and you are interrupting my solitude.”

“You can have solitude when you’re dead,” the young assassin exclaimed. To prove his point, he swished his sword back and forth as if he were cutting through the very air. 

The old man ignored him and continued to read. So intent he was on the written word, his killer could have trashed every shelf in the library and he wouldn’t have budged from the comfort of his chair. In this, the newly arrived Intruder would have to take more drastic measures with his intended target.

“I will give you to the count of five to put your book down and fight. After that, I will kill you where you sit.”

Still, the old man read on, as if the assassin’s voice was nothing but the whisp of a memory echoing in the room. He turned to the next page of his book, and continued to take in each word. A slight smile crossed his face in the same way we ourselves might exhibit when reading a particular clever passage in our favorite tome.

The killer, shuffled from one foot to another as he counted. “One…”

He waited a beat. “Two…”

The old man’s eyes glued to the page, as he nodded in satisfaction.

The killer gripped the hilt of the sword tighter. “Three…”

He took one step forward. “Four…”

A breath. He raised his sword, preparing for the deadly swing. 

Crack! An excruciating pain in his ankle. He staggered back on his other foot, looking down unbelieving at the damage. He hadn’t even seen the old man move, and yet his his leg had shot out from him in deadly precision to strike the breaking point of the killer’s ankle. The rest of him had not moved, and in fact still sat in the high backed leather chair engrossed in his book.

“Oh, you are so dead,” the assassin snarled and charged forward, his sword swinging forward in an arc towards the chair. Before he reached it however, it was flipping backwards, the old man still in it, tumbling over twice until the avid reader was buried under it.

The sword had missed its mark and struck only fabric, enraging the killer. With his good foot, he tried to sweep the chair over on its side so he could see the old man, but the chair was too big and he staggered and swayed off balance. Regaining his footing, he thrust the point of the sword through the chair. 

Thunk! The tip of the sword didn’t meet flesh and bone, but the solid wood of the floor. The old man wasn’t under the chair. 

Looking up, he spied him right away. He was standing by the fireplace. In one hand he held a hot poker, just removed from the embers. In the other, the book he had refused to put down. He raised the volume to eye level and began to read again. 

Angered to the point where the broken ankle no longer mattered, the assassin charged, the arc of his sword swishing back and forth in crisscross movements before him. 

Holding the book out at arms length, the old man brought the poker to bear, gray ash flying off its tip. Sword met poker with a clang. The metal vibrated in their hands, but neither dropped their weapon. Instead, they parried back and forth, the old man taking the lead by driving the young killer back, while the would be assassin himself couldn’t believe the elderly gentleman in coattails still had not put down the book, even while fighting.

This distraction was too much to bear, and the old man with one swift twist of the poker, disarmed his attacker. The sword flew across the room, too far away to be retrieved. With a roundhouse movement , he swept the legs out from under his younger opponent. 

The youth landed on his back hard, the breath nearly knocked out of him. The hot poker was inches from his chest as the old man leaned over him. But the victor was not gloating, nor was he even paying attention. On the contrary, he was still reading. 

He nodded his head, smiled, and put his heel upon the young man’s chest to let him know he was not to get up. He snapped the book shut. He took a deep, satisfactory breath and tossed the poker away. Leaning down, he looked in the young man’s nervous eyes.

“The true reader doesn’t allow anyone to interrupt the tale,” he said.

The fallen warrior shook his head. “I can’t believe you beat me,” he whined.

“I was finished with the chapter.”

The old man reached down with his free hand and helped his student to his feet.