Day 112 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write the pictures’ story.

Shannon: During college I had a job working for an art studio, and I wasn’t hired to monitor anyone or help them find supplies. I was hired by a student who was on mission to make a name for herself by finding scrappy ways to sell her art. I wasn’t even making minimum wage off of the sales she was bringing in, but it was the best job I ever had.

I’m not sure exactly why she chose me over other students to assist her. We were in a class together, but all she ever saw of my work was a picture I took of a unique outdoor staircase in my hometown and a glass window painting.

My favorite art pieces were the slow shutter light pictures she’d have me capture. They always turned out beautiful, and she always had a concept to convey. I wished they could be seen outside of the frame. They were powerful and I wanted that power to be real.

Erin: “That’s beautiful,” I was in complete amazement of the artwork my sister had made overnight.

“I thought so too. But see I am quite sleep deprived at the moment so I am not in the right mindset to make that call.” She giggled at her masterpiece. For what reason, I am not sure.

“Was there a motive for this sudden night painting,” I asked.

“I dreamed of the fire man chasing me around the never-ending staircase,” her eyes grew as she took in her work.

“Okay crazy,” I walked away, because she was an artist and it wasn’t my place to try and understand her brand of uniqueness.

What’s their story?

Day 111 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a lost character.

Erin: I don’t know what I want to do with my life. All I know is that this place I have ended up is pure torture. Somewhere along the line I made a wrong turn. I’m not sure which one it was or where I made it, but I am determined to undo my mistake. I will too, once I decide where to start.

Shannon: “We’ve been here before,” my friend, Jenna, pointed out solemnly.

“How would you know that every place we go looks the same,” I argued.

“I made a mark on this tree,” she pointed at her distinct carving. “I thought you might be leading us in a circle. Are we lost?”

I was about ready to take one more round of searching before I let her in on the panic, but she already seemed pretty calm. “Yeah I think we might be, but we just need to find a road and get out of the woods. It’s just getting so dark and it’s so quiet. Do you have idea what direction we should try next?”

She was still calm, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged, “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You get us lost and don’t mention it, because you didn’t want to worry me,” she reviewed my logic out loud. “You don’t get to drag somebody down with you without giving them all the facts,” she was angry, but I knew it wasn’t just about being lost. “What if I knew how to get out at some point? Then I could have saved us both, but I got caught up in your mess?”

“I’m sorry,” I spoke genuinely, “but did actually know where we were at some point?”

“We’ll never know.” She glared at me before walking off into the direction she wanted try next.

Where in the world is your character?

Day 110 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Make your character sick.

Shannon: “You okay,” I questioned. “You’ve been sleeping all day. Do you think you need to go in to the doctor?” He looked disoriented and cold as he snuggled into the couch with the blanket he’d been keeping around his shoulders.

“No I can beat it,” he whispered, barely keeping his eyes open. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Why are you so afraid of going to the doctor? They can only help,” I reminded him.

He shook his head slightly. “I’m not afraid of getting better, or seeing the doctor. I just don’t like what it means if I’m sitting in the waiting room with handful of other sick people.”

“What’s does it mean?”

He turned to his back. “It means I need help to get my body back under control.” He sighed. “That’s not an easy thing for me to accept.”

Erin: The first time that I was sick and on my own, I didn’t know what to do. I’m the type of person who is crippled with pain in their illness. But there is only so long that a person can lay in bed and cry.

I found out that my record is 2 days. Excluding trips to the bathroom obviously. After that period of time my stomach growling overrides my pain. I squirm to the kitchen. Once I make that progress I’m empowered to do so much more.

I ingest medicine as well. I progress from saltines to full blown chicken soup and tea. I dress, and eventually I shower. I steam out some of my toxin. Then when I start to feel better I am unstoppable and can go about my day almost as normal.

Your character is not feeling well, how does that manifest?

Day 109 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Have your character consider their odds.

Erin: “Let’s get a lottery ticket,” my roommate suggested.

“Nope.”

“Why not,” she ran into my room and started bouncing on my bed.

“We don’t have any money,” I reminded.

“Exactly,” she screamed.

“We can’t afford to throw any money away.”

“We’re not going to, we’re going to win,” she lied.

“Were going to lose like 99.9999% of the population.”

“We’re going to lose, so were going to play,” she cheered and ran away before I could argue.

Shannon: If I do this I don’t know what I’ll get out of it. What are the odds anything will actually change? What are the odd things will just stay the same, or get worse? Then I get my hopes up for nothing. It’s not like I have much choice. Nothing is going to change if I don’t do anything, but what happens to me when I fail?  People keep advising me it couldn’t hurt to try, but rejection is never fun, and it’s never as easy as advertised. I guess over time you just get used to it. Well forget the odds, and the pain, because I’m going for it. 

Are the odds in your character’s favor?

Day 108 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Create a situation that is dangerous, but beautiful.

Shannon: “It’s kind of beautiful though, isn’t it,” Leo observed, tugging back the sheer curtains to peak out the window.

“You find the world ending in a domino effect of man-made explosions beautiful?” I was starting to believe his inevitable death was getting to him.

“No, not the weapons,” he clarified. “People’s reactions,” he tied back the curtain, letting the light fill the room. “I thought everyone would freak out, find shelter, and act like complete savages in their final moments,” he smirked, continuing to watch. “They’re all just doing exactly want they want to do, and they’re with the people they want to spend their last hours with. Everyone is living in the moment. Everyone,” he was in awe.

I walked up next to him to see it too, and I wanted to stay cold and angry because I was being deprived of life here, but my heart felt a childlike joy that begged me to join the rest of them. Some were dancing, some were hugging, and other people were even throwing water and other fun things at each other. It looked like a celebration. “Let’s go,” I decided impulsively.

“Really,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Let’s go down in style. Race you outside,” I quickly challenged before running to the door.

Erin: “I don’t even recognize you anymore,” I could hear the disappointment in my brother’s voice.

“Well, I’m a changed man,” I offered adjusting my tie.

“You’re boring and worried about stupid shit,” he countered.

“You’re mad at me for being responsible,” I asked for clarification.

“I am mad at you for loosing yourself is some girl. You are wasting your time and money on getting her everything she points her finger at. You are planning a wedding that is going to financially cripple you for years. You only ever do what she wants to on weekends. Then when you do hang out with us, she’s around, and you act like you are too high and mighty for our sense of humor.”

“She’s not some girl. She is the girl. Ray is the most beautiful amazing girl I have ever met. She’s made me a better man. If you don’t like her you don’t have to be a part of our wedding.”

“Maybe I won’t,” I started walking away. Then I stopped to say one more thing. He was my best friend. I owed him that much. “If she was the one, she would fit with you as the friend I used to know. You’re not a better man, you’re just a different man. Plus, loved ones are supposed to make you smile more, I’ve seen your cute little smirk less man. Just stop and make sure this is what you want to do.”

What’s underneath the surface of your story’s pretty exterior?

Day 107 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a situation that is becoming repetitive.

Erin: My boyfriend gets up every day at 8 am.

Then he takes a dump.

Next, he brushes his teeth.

He comes back to bed.

Kisses me once.

Goes back to the bathroom to shower.

After that he goes into his closet and grabs whatever shirt is next in his rotation.

He ties his left shoe first.

He puts his belt on last.

He already packed his lunch before bed.

He takes his coffee in a to go cup.

I start to feel like I am in a reoccurring nightmare.

Tomorrow morning is going to be different.

I’m going to make myself his ex-girlfriend.

Shannon: There was another bowl on the kitchen counter. At this rate we’d run out of Tupperware before we’d run out of baked goods. I picked up the lid with enough hesitation you’d think an animal was about to pop out. “Cookies,” I grumbled. We were drowning in Daisy’s desserts. This week alone we had cake, cheesecake, cupcakes, muffins, frozen bars, and now cookies. She broke up with her boyfriend, and suddenly she needed somewhere else to put all of her focus. It was a pattern, one that was destroying our clean kitchen. Why couldn’t her new obsession be cleaning?

Another day, more writing. Your repetition is positive, how about your character’s?

Day 106 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a character making a home in an unexpected place.

Shannon: “Doug, Doug, wake up,” I gradually got louder as I continued to call his name. I wasn’t complete sure it was actually him and not a homeless person, but he would be easier to deal with.

“Oh no,” he turned over and I was happy to see the familiar face looking up at me. “What time is it? Am I late,” he questioned in a panic, quickly hiding his sleeping bag and backpack under a tarp. He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked at his phone. “Are you always here this early?”

“When they need me, and since I’m intern and it’s cheap labor, they tend to need me a lot. What are you doing sleeping in the old bear enclosure? After all the years you’ve worked here, you think somebody could have given you a nicer place to stay for the night,” I felt for him.

He shook his head, “They don’t know I’m living here.”

“Living here,” my jaw dropped, “How long?”

He looked embarrassed, “A month,” he eventually answered to fill the silence.

“No one has caught you yet?”

He smiled, clearly happy to hear that was first reaction. “I had my eye on this place for a while. Nobody has touched it for years, and the den is secluded enough to get away with it, but I’m guessing you’re here for a reason,” he gave a sad smirk, waiting for the bad news.

“They’re getting a new black bear,” I confirmed his suspicion. “But you don’t need this place, do you,” I pried, worried about him.

He shrugged, “My daughter is sick,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying to save money and send it to her, but I don’t want to be bother to anyone,” he shook his head, “Still, I would do anything for her,” he explained. “Please don’t tell anyone I was living here. I don’t think they’d be very happy with me. I’ll clear my stuff out right away.”

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” I agreed to keep his secret, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell them about his daughter. “Do you need a place to stay?”

“No, no. I’ll figure it out,” he smiled.

Erin: “How come we never hang out at your house,” was the scariest words that I ever heard.

Truth was we did hang out at my house, a lot. My mother not only worked at the children’s museum. We lived there. My room was the life-sized doll house and my mother’s was the house-boat exhibit. Our personal bathroom was the “out of order” handicap stall.

We got the leftovers from the cafeteria, and their was never a shortage of fun. We just couldn’t tell people about our wonderland, because if they knew we might lose it.

Where does your character call home?

Day 105 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Let Spacemen by The Killers inspire you.

Erin: In the morning, my husband was always a different man. He questioned everything. How some people are groggy and slightly crazy at night he would be in the morning. I got this impression that his dreams were on a different level than my own. In a different universe than my own. I used to think he was crazy, but then I got to know him and I started to listen and I realized in his crazy there were answers to questions I was finally starting to ask.

Shannon: I breathed in and opened my eyes. I was back on Earth and lying in a hospital bed. “We’ve got a pulse,” one of the doctors standing over me spoke out loud in a relieved tone. My vision was a little foggy, and my body was going though a weird tingling sensation as life poured back into my veins. I was alive. Thank God I was still alive.

The doctors and nurses were working on examining me, and patching up my broken pieces. Well, the physical ones. It was weird seeing them work on injuries I’d inflicted on myself. I wondered what they thought of me, and the other people like me. I winced at the pain of one of them sticking an IV into my arm.

After they finished and they gave the all-clear for visitors, my mom burst through the doors more emotionally destroyed than I’d ever seen her and immediately held me in what felt like the making of the world’s first never-ending hug. My eyes flooded with tears and I couldn’t control my heaving. It was one of those bittersweet hugs, the kind that burn, but in the moment you need them more than you need air to survive. “Why would you ever try to leave me like that,” she questioned, hardly able to get the words out coherently.

“I don’t know,” I coughed out.

“You don’t get do something like this and say that. I’m not going to accept that. You tell me what’s wrong,” she demanded, finally backing away but she didn’t loose contact as she took ahold of my hands in hers.

“I just thought I wanted to be free, because I’m not free in this world. It’s doesn’t really like me,” my voice faded out as I tried to control myself.

She shook her head. “I promise the world doesn’t hate you. I would hate a world that didn’t have you in it, so whatever made you feel that way is wrong. They don’t know how important you are.” She put her hand under my chin, “You don’t know how important you are.”

Listen, interpret, and create?

Day 104 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about what a character sees outside of their window.

Shannon: As I was reading in bed I heard a loud chirping coming from outside my open window. The bird must have been in a tree close by. If I didn’t move too fast, maybe I could peak at it before it flew away. My pet parakeet was already singing up a storm, right next to the window screen, probably drawing in some interest with his outsider tone. I looked outside and there was blue jay flying right across from Albert, but when it spotted me it flew up and away. I giggled. “You have secret friends, you sneaky little thing,” I cheered. I felt so proud.   

Erin: My most productive space was my desk at home. The breeze from the window calmed me. The air was my favorite smell. The white noise of the town soothed my mind. Most importantly however all I could see was bricks.

Where the browns and reds mixed could be distracting, but I had memorized them. There was nothing to learn about the portion of the brick wall that was my work companion. The lack of newness left all of my creative energy for my work.

Some would say I would be best without a window. I can’t explain it, but that set up would make me feel trapped. There was a reason I stayed in my crappy apartment. You couldn’t find a view like mime anywhere.

Help us see what your character sees.

Day 103 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Incorporate as many things of one color as you can.

Erin: My friend always took Saint Patrick’s Day too seriously. He put on his full emerald suit. He turned his breakfast into green eggs and ham with some food die. Then he drank his morning shamrock shake. At work, he wore his olive colored glasses to make up for the people in the office who were not on “his level.” His desk was scattered with hand cut clovers and streamers of various shades of green. For lunch, he ate all of the foods he could match with his color scheme: Peas, string beans, cucumbers, granny smith apples, asparagus, pistachio pudding and spinach chips dipped in guacamole. After his work day was over he would go out to survive on green beer until he was lulled into a green wonderland dream coma. It was no wonder he always looked sickly green the next day when he came in.

Shannon: He was nearly the perfect man for me. His appearance was made up of all the features I usually swooned over: tall, dark hair, deep brown eyes. Check, check, check. Nice personality and a good sense of humor? Another check. So what’s his glaring flaw? Well, he has this primitive need to explore the great outdoors. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about a person having a passion, but I wish I didn’t have to get dragged into his so often.

I get to spend the rest of the weekend in the middle of the cold woods with Caleb and his chocolate lab, Bruce. No camper, no electricity, and no plumbing. We’re roughing it. However, I don’t think I’m ever leaving my spot next to the fire as soon as he gets it started. I’ve burrowed into a blanket and I’m trapping Bruce by my side to try to suck up some of his heat, but Caleb just thinks I’m keeping him out of the way. “Want to do me a big favor,” he asks looking over his shoulder.

I sign to make him feel bad and to earn more girlfriend points. Bye, bye warmth. “I guess.”

“I need more wood for the base. The dirt is too damp. I can’t keep the flame going. Some dead leaves might help too,” he flashes a smile so won’t get angry about it.

Fine I grumble, getting up, “But as soon as I see a snake I’m out,” I warn as I take each step cautiously, trying to avoid the mud puddles.

“Like you’re out of here, you’re going home?”

“Don’t worry, just out of commission. You can’t lose me that easy,” I clarify as I accidentally step on soft ground. I try to pull my shoe out before it sinks in too far, but it’s too late. I’m going to be mess by the end of this.

What is going to be the color of your story?