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I've been consistently stuck in a writer's block for the past year or so. I've been writing outlines and short little things, but prose is just not working. This is getting on my nerves. About an hour ago, I went on TV Tropes and hit the "random trope" button, then wrote for half an hour. I was hoping for a full hour, but I ran out of steam, so half an hour it is.



The desert air was full of blades. Never literal blades. The wars that clashed over the dunes had long since spent, with the last hints of it being the red streaked sand and the occasional rusted sword. No, these blades were the sunlight pounding over his head. These blades were the sharp sting of sand caught on a stray slice of wind. These blades were the light shining from the curves of metal in the trader’s caravan. These blades were the heat that filled his lungs, dry, draining. The desert air was filled with blades, and that was purely in the day.

At night, the air stayed sharp. It was in the chill that sunk into his bones, stealing the wounds the sunlight had left. Yet the moon was surely kinder than sunlight, and the stars were crisper than the reflections. But the sand in the air still hurt. The moon and stars were not a comfort, like he had hoped. They were sharper than memories. They were not his companions, not anymore.

The iron in the dunes still watched him, whispering for him to break.

He dared not sleep. Not at day, not at night. The traders jeered in their rough tongues around him -- yet another desert test -- but if he slept, he would dream. Distaste bubbled in his throat. If the desert were a battle, then his destination would be the war. And what a war. To think, a simple happenstance would lead him from the comfort of snow into this… this… clot of a place. And at the end of it all, a happy ending.

You should be pleased, they had whispered. You are going to do so much good.

His hands tightened on the horse’s reigns. They weren't even attached to its muzzle, and his own legs were tied in place. Curse that little demon. Curse it from the sun to the shadows.

You are a gift, they had said. Feh. How literal could it have been? Why had he not realised. Those creatures never lied, not when the truth was so much more fun.

Sparks jumped across his skin. They caught in the cuffs he wore.

He was a gift. A gift to be wrapped in the ropes of finery until everything he had was torn away. His blood. He will never see any who rose from it. He will be tied to another and….

That was why he could not sleep, for sleep brings the dreams your waking eyes flee from. It was all in the name of the future. He was just another sword to be cast into the sands. His gaze drifted to a streak in the sand. How much of it was blood, he wondered. How much of it was the memory?

The horse kept walking, striding through stained sand. The traders kept laughing in their tongue, all harsh hisses and barks. They would stop soon, to avoid the peak of sunlight. They were not bothered, but they couldn't have their gift waste away. Gifts. Curse that demon.

The horse kept walking. Thud, thud, thud. If only it keeled over and died. He would be left behind to rot. He would be left to the sands eventually, but he would still have his dignity. Not for long as the heat baked him and shut him down, organ by organ, but those lizards wouldn't be able to watch. Or creatures would hunt him down. That would be a dignified death. He would add to the blood on the sands in silence. If he found a sword, he might even take some with him.

Oh look. The patterns on that dune were like the viens in a butterfly. He wished he could fly. Even if he fell, it would be freeing.

The horse stopped.

Time to break.



Word Count: 634
Time: 30ish minutes.
Prompt: Marry For Love
Basically, a character declares that they don't want to get married for money, political gain, and so on, but out of wuvy duvy stuff.
Success at following the prompt: Not really. The character never directly states that they would prefer marriage out of love, plus marriage isn't directly stated. But hey, at least I manage to write a thing.
Possible Improvements: I feel that I used too many sentence fragments to try set the mood. I've used them as a crutch in the past and I'm trying to avoid overusing them. I'm also doubtful that I stuck to one tense.

Very good. You're an eloquent writer and seem to be an expert with metaphors. Well done.

Cheers, Gerrick!

This one and the previous one are not connected in the slightest.



Blues and yellows and pinks and whites and all of it is awe-some! The cage goes rattle rattle rattle. The people with other cages goes blah blah blah. I wave to another in another cage. They moved too quickly to wave back. Aw.

Mumma looks tired. Whoa, look look look, mumma! All the blues and yellows and pinks and whites! Are we taking more of them? Are we gonna buuuuy more? Mum mum mum mum! Look there! I want the r--

No no no no no no NO! I scrunch my nose up as the awe-some box goes away. I want it! Give it back! Mumma shakes her head no no no no but I WANT it! It is awe-some! It has a rocket and a blue and it's a boom, bomb, awe-some thing! Why can't I have it!

The cage rattle rattle rattles to a stop. Mumma smiles at me, she still looks tired and she should, meanie, and she goes away. I kick my feet against the cage. Meanie, meanie, meanie poopy pants head. I kick again, mumma says ‘Don't throw a fuss sweetie look here's your favourite you don't want that sugary nonsense.’ She's the no sense. She's a meanie. She's un-awe-some. I give the cord around me my best dad look. Grr, I'm a bear and you will run away from me, and then I will gobble gobble munch crunch lunch.

Mumma still won't listen. I roar like a bear, a big brown people omh nomming bear, but she's over there looking at metal barrels. She still looks tired. Like a bear I pounce on the cord, pulling, tugging, tearing, I am a bear and I will re-turn to my nat-tur-ral hah-bit-tat.

There's a click! A clicky click! My toothy bear grin works! I wriggle out of the cage, freedom! Then, quiet, quiet, follow the blues and yellows and pinks and whites to the spaceship. I will fly to the moon and find the moon bears. ‘How did you get here’ he'll say, and I say ‘On my spaceship hurry in before my bearsuit runs out of fresh air!’

Where's the spaceship?

I stop against a wall of stuff. Everything is made of lights. It is terrible, the worst, the worst thing for a bear. Bears need grass and fruit and little bunnies to CHOMP. The white isn't grass, the blue isn't sky, the pink isn't bunnies and the yellow isn't the sun. This isn't fair. I will find my rocket! Then we will fly, fly, fly to the grass with moon bears and make a home.

Arrrrgh why is this so terrible! I look look look everywhere and my rocket is nowhere! Wait! Wait wait wait wait wait! Where is it I just saw it come back please, back please, where where where where--

Noooo. This is the worst! Not awe-some! Mumma says that when lost, stay put until someone finds you, but I can't find my lost rocket. Maybe she didn't listen to her mumma and was walking around. Silly billy, you have to stay still to be found.

Maybe mumma can help? It's a quest. Mumma has to help if it’s a quest. A quest to find the rocket so I can fly to the moon so I can rescue the moon bears so I can go to the grasslands so I can make a bear home. It's not a real quest, but it's super important.

Oh! Mumma! There she is, on the other side of the corridor. Mumma mumma mumma can you help me find the rocket-- mumma?

Oh no.

Mumma? She's super sad and super tired. She needs a hug. I hug her. I'm sorry mumma, were you scared? Don't be a scared, I'm a super tough bear and I'll growl at anyone who bites.

Ow! Mumma! No I don't WANT the cage I want the ROCKET mumma you have to help, it's a quest mumma! Mum! Muuuuuuum!



Word Count: 657
Time: 31 minutes.
Prompt: Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs
Those lovely sugary cereals for kids that are 100% sugar and marketing.
Successes: I followed the prompt decently. The cereal was the main driving force of the narrative (aside from bears. No idea where that came from). I'm far too proud of the moon bear reference and all the implications of this kid's home life it brings. Kid probably hates trains.
Improvements: I think I need more practice at writing children. Far too many exclamation points were used, and I didn’t have the confidence to muck up as much grammar as a child would do. Also, I have no idea how young the child was. The ending was kinda meh. I was considering a kidnapping, but that would've been needlessly dramatic.

Same world as from this:

The desert air was full of blades....

They whistled between their teeth, a counterpoint to the wind outside. Like dancers, their fingers crossed strings and fiddled with fiddles. The heavy heat inside had ruined the tuning. Ruined! What a world, what a world, was it not? They flashed a grin to occupants nearby, twisting their face into apologies.

‘My sorrows,’ they told a collection of children. Specks, nothing more, one was a little bright but not quite right. ‘It is not cooperating tonight,’ they said to a mourning wife. She didn't know, but her husband still lived -- trapped in the snow, waiting for a rescue that would never come.

They made a note to give him a visit. It would not be long until the cold stole him away.

Hour by hour, their fingers travelled up and down their instrument. Pegs twisted, but never were right. The little people drifted in and out of the cold tavern, never really looking at the bard in the corner. Well, one child almost managed it. She was bright, but not quite right.

Such is the life of the songwrite who never played. They tried to avoid their sharpest grin, nodding to the coins that fell to their cap. Their eyes never stopped roaming, never looking at the fiddle, just watching and watching, waiting for the right little spark.

They never paused for a meal. Their fingers plucked, caressed, shifted, but never held food between their tips. They pushed down another too-sharp grin. Flat little teeth bared instead.

Through the door a curl of cold crept inside, nipping at the heels of some workerman or other. Their eyes paused.

Oh. Hello there.

With a sweep of their cape, they stood and they bowed. The coins, they tipped into a pocket. The fiddle, they slung over their back. Their smile stayed flat, a bit buck-toothed, and they left the tavern.

The chill of the night was a breath of fresh air. It coiled like a snake in its nest. They paused for a moment to shed the warmth. They cricked their neck, eyes like coal fixed on the small shadow. It was even clearer once free of the warmth -- he would do nicely, very nicely.

They hunched their shoulders, pressed a grimace to their face, and trudged through the snow to the shape.


Word Count: 381
Time: Something less than 30 minutes? I was interrupted halfway and forgot to pause my timer.
Prompt: Wandering Minstrel
A character who wanders, playing music for money.
Successes: Fewer sentence fragments are always a plus. For someone who knows nothing about music, I don't think I wrote anything immersion breaking regarding it. Plus the prompt was followed, more or less (even though the character isn't actually a minstrel, whoops).
Improvements: I feel like you can see the exact moment where I went 'Screw it; this guy is not actually a minstrel.' (It's at the first use of the word "twisting.") Also, ew, I acknowledged the eyes of a character. Good grief this one is short. I think I found a word I use too much ("Oh"), but I'll need a bit more data. (But "Oh" is so versatile...).

This continues directly from the previous.


He would only stop for a minute. That is what he had planned. He would stop for a minute, wait for the wind to tone itself down, and then keep walking. He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. His gloves were ice and he could barely feel their burn.

One minute passed. Then two, then three. The wind did not slow. Of course not, it would not bear slowing its deluge of snow being hurled at them all.

Ahead of him, a door swung open. A narrow bead of light shot through the snow, then vanished moments later. Curse the snow, curse the cold, curse everything about this night.

No point waiting much longer. No point at all, other than how he did not want to step back into the wind. If he went now, he would be by a fire in half an hour. Or he could wait and hope that the walk may become mildly easier.

‘Come on,’ he said to himself. Pleaded, more like. ‘Just snow. Snow, wind.’

It did not look any more appealing.

His gaze drifted down. He could see the patterns in the ice, but he was not looking for that. A bit of wood would be helpful. A piece of tinder, even a twig, he could make use of it. He kicked his boot through the snow. It hit something solid.

‘Thank the gods,’ he mumbled. He did not dare withdraw his hands. Instead he kicked, deliberately slow, and cleared the snow. It was brown, light, and looked like a shard of a barrel.

He picked one hand. It protested as he drew it back into the night air -- even more so when he stripped the glove off with his teeth. He crouched, forefinger to thumb, and pressed them to the end of the wood.

A spark leapt between his fingers. The wood was unchanged.

‘Snow not melted,’ he said. Another spark, fueled by frustration. ‘Dry enough.’

He took a breath of frigid air, held it, then forced the sparks out. One, eight, twenty, more, they were too quick to count.

He stopped. A tiny flame was there. He scooped up the wood and turned, putting it between the wall and himself. He probably expended far more energy than he would get back from it, but who cared? He was warm now in the moment. He'd just be shivering later in the night. This way, his fingers would stop buzzing like the edge of a blade in a smithy.

Ok, now he could go. His fingers were not about to die, he had a little bit of warmth, he had something other than the cold to focus on, and--

He turned and choked on a yelp.

A smile peered out of the storm. ‘Good evening.’

He could not speak. His eyes darted up and down the other. He took in the minstrel’s cloak, the fiddle on their back, the exposed skin of their arms and hands, and he stopped at the footprints the other had left. There were no footprints. How long had they been standing there?

‘You watching me?’ he said. He deliberately put the wood and the flame behind his back. They had probably been there a while, but no sense in flaunting it.

The other’s head tilted. ‘I was merely passing by, my friend.’

‘That not a no,’ he snapped.

‘Perhaps.’ Their smile seemed to widen. They took a step forward, and he tried to step back. The wall was in the way.

They weren't blinking, he realised. Unnatural ice crept down his back. No blinks, no shivers, nothing. They had not broken eye contact once.

‘An interesting talent, you have there,’ the other said slowly. It was like they were rolling the words around their tongue, considering every syllable before spitting it out. ‘I cannot imagine the troubles it has bought you.’

‘It is none of your business,’ he said sharply. ‘What do you want?’

With aching slowness, they blinked. It did nothing to stop his racing heart. It was a deliberate slowness. ‘Were you aware that your deliverance dramatically improves when defensive? Delightful. I was not looking forward to discussing matters with a street urchin. Shall we talk?’

‘I think you should leave.’

Their smile widened again. ‘That not a no,’ they said.


Word Count: 716
Time: 36 minutes.
Prompt: "Yes" / "No" Answer Interpretation
When someone gives a question that should be answered with yes or no, the other person gives an ambiguous answer. The asker then either asks or offers whether or not the answer was a yes or a no. Screw this prompt, it made me need to write dialogue.
Successes: Ha ha ha, dialogue is hard. I did some dialogue. Yay for me. Also my cheat of "one guy is not speaking full sentences" managed to make the characters sound different enough, so that's good. I was nearing 25 minutes and the characters hadn't started talking, shush.
Improvements: I have trouble multitasking in writing. When there is dialogue, I'm rubbish at description. When there's desription, I'm not going to focus on plot. When there is a plot, the dialogue greatly suffers. The inverse is true too. Plus, I'm not great at making characters sound different. Basically, I'm not happy with how the POV character sounded nor how their internal thoughts evaporated compared the first story.

This is unconnected from anything.


Tomorrow, the Merrenfires Adventure Park will close. Nobody at the park knows that, nor do the faceless shadows puppeteering the rides, employees, and every drop of pleasure. Not a single soul will have a warning to give. Why would they? Ordinary days cause no alarms to ring. The birds will chirp and flutter about the same-old power lines and rooftops, and the rats will burrow into the garbage, but the sun will still shine and the breeze will still blow.

The children on the coasters will ride up and down on the same-old tracks, instincts tricking them into thinking death is at every corner -- and they will fail to realise that they are on the same-old, same-old path that hundreds had been on before. The same-old track, the same-old story, they will think that these fun days will never end. As with any other day the parents will drive their cars into pretty little rows, where the silent sun will strike their eyes. The same dance will happen. The same-old routine, where any misstep is scorned and jeered upon.

A foot that trips on a metal can will create a clatter that shatters a sleeping morning, and all heads will whip around to stare at the wrongdoer. Or a bottle will be dropped and snap in twain. Though a meer pair of pieces would be easy to clean, the free feet of the petulant child would not care for such distinctions.

The same-old tired morning. Funny, is it not? The little people constantly complaining in their heads?

Go faster, I am bored, I am hungry, hurry up, I am scared, I do not like this, get out of the way, where is the bathroom, the line is too large, bastard dented my car, I dropped my toy, I do not love her, where is my son, this suit is too hot, do not touch the wet paint, this tastes gross, I want the red one, on and on and on.

By tomorrow, all those noises will stop. The Merrenfires Adventure Park will close, but it will not go quietly. People are fickle. They complain and shout and scorn and jeer, but they still love what is theirs. They will gather, voices strung high, in the same places where their heads had been filled with complaints.

That does not mean the people will be silent. No, people will never do that. Instead their heads will be filled with other sounds, other words.

Why did this happen, this is wrong, somebody fix this, it is the government’s fault, we should tear it down, this is not fair to the children, we should not blame the park, what happened, shut the fuck up, where am I going to work now, this has to be illegal, let me through let me in, who is to blame, we need to blame someone, on and on and on again.

That is how people are. Same-old people in the same-old rows, no matter the occasion. No matter if they are right, or wrong, or if they hold all the facts, or if what they ask for is possible, they still act. They are people. Speaking is what people do best -- within their minds and to one another. Even if the sun starts to scream, or the weather beats them into a pulp, people will still talk. Their minds are filled with whys and whos and whats, like the curious children they grew up from.

People never really grow up, do they. All that happens is that they gain new experience, and learn what same-old stories will remain, and which are mutable. No matter what happens, people will always keep talking. Warnings, alarms, screams, scorn, jeers, cries, complaints, demands, regrets, blames, the same-old words turned to different patterns for different occasions. The birds may not chirp in the mornings, and the rats may not burrow. But, people will always talk.


Word Count: 652
Time: 30ish minutes.
Prompt: Souvenir Land
Generic theme park, usually modeled off of Disneyland and other famous amusement parks. I got this prompt last week, but ended up sitting on it for ages because I had no idea what to write and didn't want to cheat and get a new one.
Successes: Writing in the nonpast tense is unusual for me, but I like the way this sounds. I think my opening paragraph is a little more engaging. When I sat down to write this I was trying my best to multitask, and I think it shows what with how I'm practically ticking off different writing devices (book ends, repetition, personification, yadda yadda). ...In hindsight, I'm not sure that's a good thing.
Improvements: Oh look, it is super deep for deepness's sake. I need to work on including a plot in these things, rather than just "Oooo look! A thing!" and listing pretty things. Then again, I should probably get into the habit of writing consistently before I can properly judge my writing.

...Oh gosh darn it, I was intending to work on dialogue. =D

I am having such a good time reading through all these.  You are a really gifted writer, not just a random kid on fanfiction.net or whatever.  I like the world that you are creating, with the hot vs. cold, and the magical sparks.  You have nice imagery and world-building.  I did notice a few grammar errors here and there, but they're so nit-picky that I wouldn't go through the trouble of fixing them.
If you want a challenge for writing, I have a proposal that I've attempted a few times myself.  The most common writing method is third-person, past tense; "He did this", "She did that".  This is the most natural.  There is also first-person, present tense, which I think you used a few times.  This is also natural, but more personal and harder to pull off (which you did).  Of course, the next step is... second-person, future tense (dun dun DUN!).  This is stuff like, "You'll step up the stairs and see her standing there, her pitch black hair swinging loosely in the breeze.  You'll freeze in place, your mind racing, and she will ever so slowly turn around to face you."
Of course, that's only if you want to.  You did actually use future-tense in the last story, and you used it well enough that I didn't notice at first.  I can't find many cases of 2nd-person, future tense online, so it'd be a cool experiment.

I am having such a good time reading through all these.  You are a really gifted writer, not just a random kid on fanfiction.net or whatever.  I like the world that you are creating, with the hot vs. cold, and the magical sparks.  You have nice imagery and world-building. 

Thanks for the compliments, it really means a lot. Hopefully the RNG lands on something that sparks my interest into that world again.

...I should also write things more often.

I did notice a few grammar errors here and there, but they're so nit-picky that I wouldn't go through the trouble of fixing them.

Tell me anyway? It might be guidelines that I'm not aware of, or ones that I'm deliberately breaking for an effect. And if that effect isn't coming across, then I should probably try something else.

If you want a challenge for writing, I have a proposal that I've attempted a few times myself.  The most common writing method is third-person, past tense; "He did this", "She did that".  This is the most natural.  There is also first-person, present tense, which I think you used a few times.  This is also natural, but more personal and harder to pull off (which you did).  Of course, the next step is... second-person, future tense (dun dun DUN!).  This is stuff like, "You'll step up the stairs and see her standing there, her pitch black hair swinging loosely in the breeze.  You'll freeze in place, your mind racing, and she will ever so slowly turn around to face you."
Of course, that's only if you want to.  You did actually use future-tense in the last story, and you used it well enough that I didn't notice at first.  I can't find many cases of 2nd-person, future tense online, so it'd be a cool experiment.

Hm... I've been picking perspective and tense to fit the story -- so in other words, just on a whim. I agree with you in that 3rd-past and 1st-nonpast/present are natural, so I probably wouldn't have gone for the more interesting types. Now that you've mentioned it, hopefully I'll go for it sooner rather than later. It sure will be interesting. Plus, challenges are FUN. That's why I'm doing this!

(And also to get into the habit of daily writing, and to get back into How To Write after spending the last few years primarily writing outlines, and a host of other reasons, but FUN is a primary motivator).

I'm glad to know my tenses in the last one were ok! That was the secondary goal of the piece.

This, once again, is unconnected from anything.


With that, Jarret pushed the mug back across the table. He promptly regretted it, the unpleasant grinding grating at his ears. Lacina’s hands sped to her own.

‘That is not nice,’ she reprimanded. Her delicate hands scooped up the mug, cupping against her chest. ‘I do not understand why you are acting this way, but--’

‘ “Bee spit that isn't honey.” Sorry, but I'm not sticking any of that into my mouth, thank you!’ Jarret grimaced. His words were echoing into his brain.

Lacina pouted up at him. ‘It will help,’ she repeated.

‘Help me get rotten teeth and an upset stomach, you mean,’ Jarret said. He waved his hand, sending Lacina backpedaling a few steps. ‘Go play with mistletoe and stop bothering me.’

‘I do not--!’ Lacina dropped the mug back on the table, wings buzzing frantically. ‘I am assisting you and--!’

A few more knives decided to poke at Jarret’s skull, and vibrated in tune with the fairy’s words.

‘Uuuuugh, stop!’ Jarret ground his palm into an eye, the other boring down on the fairy. ‘Leave. Go to your room. Bother a sleeping dragon. Avoid getting caught by Peter Pierce. Whatever.’

‘--you are sensitive to light, you are flinching at loud noises, and you are obviously in pain!’ Lacina’s voice was fucking piercing. ‘You have been poisoned!’

‘Yeah, willingly, that's what hangovers do! Now fuck off before I remove a loud noise!’

‘As your assistant, it is my duty to care for and protect you!’

‘Fucking-- since when? What the fuck has Sally been saying to you lot!’

‘To protect this sanctuary, nay, this world, I must protect you!’ Lacina’s hand shot up and pointed somewhere in the vicinity of Jarret’s nose. ‘If you fall, so shall the nation!’

There was a ringing silence. Literally, thanks to how high-pitched the fairy’s voice was.

Jarret glared at her. Lacina’s stance -- in all her ten centimetres -- emitted pure confidence.

With a sigh, he pushed her hand back down along with his annoyance. Jarret was unsure if he managed it. ‘I'm confiscating whatever cartoons Sally has been giving you, as well as any cookbooks I find up there. And you aren't my assistant.’

‘Child, then,’ Lacina said promptly.

‘No no no no no no-- child?’

Innocent eyes blinked up at him. ‘Yes? Is that not the correct word?’

Scrap the innocence -- this chick knew exactly what she meant.

‘No, it isn't. Babysitter. Landlord. I am not the parent of a hundred and one damnations.’

‘Fifty six,’ Lacina corrected, Jarret mouthing the number along with her. ‘And Sally-Ann said--’

‘I fucking knew it,’ Jarret muttered.

‘--you are in charge of us!’ Lacina raised her chin. ‘We could not possibly talk to you with, um, vulgar and um, demeaning, terms.’

‘No.’

Jarret yelped as Lacina buzzed forward into his face. He leant back, having to cross his eyes to keep her in view.

‘If you are not in charge of us,' she said slowly, 'Then that would mean we can fly around as we wish, correct?’

She… goddamn it.

Jarret pushed her away from his face. ‘Fine! Governor, I'm your governor. Happy?’

Lacina beamed.

‘Don't look so pleased with yourself,’ he said. ‘And landlord is not demeaning, that's what I am.’

‘Very well!’ Lacina chirped. ‘As you are our newly titled governor, I will be sure to let everyone know. It is important to let the people in charge know about any all all problems!’

For a few seconds, Jarret had a sudden and vivid view of his future. It was one filled with countless chirping, high-pitched voices and buzzing wings and an inability to do anything without accidentally batting one over the head.

‘No, no that is not necessary,’ he said quickly. ‘Why don't you take care of that? You did that before, right?’

Lacina’s head tilted in clear confusion. ‘But you are in charge.’

‘Yessss.’ Jarret drew out the word, stalling for time. ‘I… I am delegating. As governor, I am allowed to delegate.’

The room was quiet for a moment. The buzz of wings filled Jarret’s ears, a gentle breeze ruffling all his papers. The mug of… whatever it was, was starting to smoke.

Lacina’s expression brightened. ‘Ok! Nice talking to you, governor!’ she said, and vanished.

Jarret blinked a few times, then immediately checked every door, drawer, and hidden corner. She was gone. Jarret waited a few more minutes, then let his head hit his desk.

‘Damn fairies…’ he muttered. At least his hangover could rest and--

‘Oh, one more thing--’

‘Fuck!' Jarret's head snapped up, hitting his lamp. 'What!’

Lacina dropped a pile of papers on the desk. ‘Sally-Ann wanted to congratulate you on finally getting an assistant.’

She vanished.

Jarret stared at the opposing wall. His expression was blank.

A minute passed.

Across the hallway outside, Sally-Ann looked up. Muffled shouting reached her ears. She smirked, winked up at the fairy in the corner, and got back to work.


Word Count: 821
Time: I don't know, to be honest. This one was patchy and I spent a while fixing things.
Prompt: Hideous Hangover Cure
It's a pretty descriptive title. It's a cure for hangover that is hideous in some fashion. Jeez, first the amusement park, now hangovers. RNG really wants to make me write on things I can't relate to well.
Goals: Write something that began "in medias res." Building off of that, write non-clunky exposition. Then there's dialogue, and writing with free indirect discourse (which I do a lot, but I've been reading Katherine Mansfield and thought "gee I should try doing this deliberately").
Successes: People! Talking! With names! Whoaaaaa! More seriously, I feel that the character's had somewhat distinct voices (although I cheated again with "swearing" versus "lack of contractions." Ah well). But, there's more of it. And as a bonus, there's some vague comedy attempts. And 200 more words than normal.
Improvements: I think it shows how I put this down for a bit. The direction of the scene seems to have swung like a swing every few lines. I actually went and edited parts of the fairy's dialogue because her tone had gone frightfully inconsistent. (Plus I am near certain I overused the swearing. Why are there no "how to write sweary characters" guides).

If I were to edit this, the first objective would be to add some scene setting. There are too many short paragraphs and that is making the page look like a zebra. =D

Next Prompt

I thought I should do this, because after I got the Hangover Cure and the Theme Park tropes I was very tempted to "reroll."

Prompt: Physical Scars, Psychological Scars

...Really. I decide to telegraph what I write and THIS is what I get? I swear, RNG does not like me.

Thanks for the compliments, it really means a lot. Hopefully the RNG lands on something that sparks my interest into that world again.

...I should also write things more often.

Tell me anyway? It might be guidelines that I'm not aware of, or ones that I'm deliberately breaking for an effect. And if that effect isn't coming across, then I should probably try something else.

Hm... I've been picking perspective and tense to fit the story -- so in other words, just on a whim. I agree with you in that 3rd-past and 1st-nonpast/present are natural, so I probably wouldn't have gone for the more interesting types. Now that you've mentioned it, hopefully I'll go for it sooner rather than later. It sure will be interesting. Plus, challenges are FUN. That's why I'm doing this!

(And also to get into the habit of daily writing, and to get back into How To Write after spending the last few years primarily writing outlines, and a host of other reasons, but FUN is a primary motivator).

I'm glad to know my tenses in the last one were ok! That was the secondary goal of the piece.

*Scours the stories for grammar mistakes.*
Alright, I ended up only finding two, and one of them if from the new story, so I don't know what I was trying to say in my last post.

"People never really grow up, do they." should be "People never really grow up, do they?", with a question mark instead of a period.

And this one is less important.  "And landlord is not demeaning, that's what I am." should be "And landlord is not demeaning.  That's what I am."

Also, your dialogue is looking nice, especially in the last one.  If you write a line and a reader can easily distinguish which character said it, even without looking at "he said"/"she said"/etc., then you have created two very distinct and developed characters

Thanks for the compliments, it really means a lot. Hopefully the RNG lands on something that sparks my interest into that world again.

Ayyy... I see what you did there.

*Scours the stories for grammar mistakes.*
Alright, I ended up only finding two, and one of them if from the new story, so I don't know what I was trying to say in my last post.

"People never really grow up, do they." should be "People never really grow up, do they?", with a question mark instead of a period.

And this one is less important.  "And landlord is not demeaning, that's what I am." should be "And landlord is not demeaning.  That's what I am."

Oh, that's good. Both of those have justification behind them.

I have a tendency to drop question marks in order to convey a sense of "flatness" and/or a rhetorical question. Basically, I'm attempting to dissuade the reader from adding an upwards inflection that the question mark may imply!

Now, if the second was part of the narrative, I'd have written it out with a hyphen instead of a comma, or maybe a semicolon. I don't like to stick those into dialogue. It makes it feel unrealistic, or just throws the tone off. To me, a full stop would add too much of a pause. So by default, I end up with a comma.

Also, your dialogue is looking nice, especially in the last one.  If you write a line and a reader can easily distinguish which character said it, even without looking at "he said"/"she said"/etc., then you have created two very distinct and developed characters

I still feel like I've been cheating. =P

Ayyy... I see what you did there.

*Fingerguns* *Shoots foot*
Puns are amazing and any who say different are liars.

Oh, that's good. Both of those have justification behind them.

I have a tendency to drop question marks in order to convey a sense of "flatness" and/or a rhetorical question. Basically, I'm attempting to dissuade the reader from adding an upwards inflection that the question mark may imply!

Now, if the second was part of the narrative, I'd have written it out with a hyphen instead of a comma, or maybe a semicolon. I don't like to stick those into dialogue. It makes it feel unrealistic, or just throws the tone off. To me, a full stop would add too much of a pause. So by default, I end up with a comma.

Those are both really good points, actually.  I withdraw my statement.

*Fingerguns* *Shoots foot*
Puns are amazing and any who say different are liars.

I'm so glad to have found another human being who does fingerguns with puns.

I'm so glad to have found another human being who does fingerguns with puns.

But wassa bout meh? I does it too!

But wassa bout meh? I does it too!

Become one with the puns. Join the order of the Punchline. The force of gravity compels you.

From the spark setting. I need to come up with a name for these.


Said the night to the lambs, you’ll say to the headsman. Do you see what I see?

He’ll strike -- one two -- and you’ll hit the ground. Obviously it’s not the best approach, but there will be no better path. You’ll smirk back up at him, daring him, and he’ll strike again. One two. Shall the fate of traitors be decided by blood and anger? Of course. That’s their downfall, right there, they just need to use it. Their arrogance.

Way up in the sky-- and he’ll hit again. A cut shall slide across your face, across your lying little mouth, he’ll say, or something to that effect. That’s what they all say. All traitors to the flesh deserve no pity. That’s their cry.

Blood will be iron against your tongue but you’ll hold your head high, on the ground, where all can see you. All the night air, surrounds, envelops, and you’ll hold your head high as you’re dragged from your cage into the crowd.

--little lambs, you’ll say, you’ll spit any blood out of your mouth and onto the snow. It’ll be a red stain, sudden and dark and shocking to the ground. It won’t be in line with their “perfect” plots, and you won’t back down easily. Do you see what I see--

They’ll strike and kick and try to keep you silent. You know this. But you won’t stop. Not for this not for this, never for this. You will not back down. You can’t. Not so long as there are people who need to see, need to know.

So you’ll keep talking.

A star, a star, dancing in the night, you’ll shriek the words out not matter what they do, with a tail as big as a--

And they’ll try to stop you.

Again, and again, one and two, barbs and chains and dragging you away in the snow, but you will not be silenced. You’ll see the faces of the hidden little sparks, and that will drive you onward.

With a tail--

One two.

--as big--

One two.

--as a kite!

And those little sparks will hear, and they’ll fly and they’ll fly, as far away as they can before the desert can ride. Those little lambs will be gone. They will flee. They will never, never, never track them down. If you are to die, their agenda will die with them.

And they will be fine.

They will be ok.

They will.

They will.

They….


Word Count: 412
Time: 14 and a half minutes. I ran out of words.
Prompt: Physical Scars, Psychological Scars
When an injury causes physical scars, they can often symbolise the emotional/mental scars the event left behind.
Goals: I borrowed from Eko’s suggestion, since I was drawing a blank on how to use this prompt. I also added “allusion to Do You Hear What I Hear,” because why not. I was going to play with the formatting a bit more and distress the writing, but I dropped that as a primary goal.

Thoughts:
I did my best in 2nd person | nonpast/future tense. However, I feel that overshadowed the initial prompt, which explains why my writing petered out. Furthermore, English has pretty much two words for future tense -- will and shall. That is irritating. Repetition is sad. Hence why contractions show up in this (plus most readers will naturally think with contractions and “you” do so as well. Don’tcha?). I did like how I had an excuse to use italics for dialogue; it has an interesting effect. Plus I had some fun with ambiguous uses of “they.”

For the content of the work, I feel this is a piece that needs more around it. It might be good for say, a prologue, with the explanations for the scene filtering into the plot in later chapters. I mean, come on. Kite. It seems like such a strange word to have present! I have many ideas as to what that will be. Which is good, because I needed more ideas for this series of snips.

Anyway, Next Time:

I'll probably use Physical Scars again at a later point, since it wasn't really used this time.

Exotic Equip-- Nope.
Crush Filter.
...
...I am going to hit the button one more time. Just for fun.

Pinocchio Syndrome
Now that's better.