Posts made by EmmahSue

@Derp: Join in! Write something with me for one or some of the prompts, either piggy-backing off of or entirely anew. Thank you for letting me know you enjoy them.

26. Fear: What scares you a little? What do you feel when scared? How do you react?

Imagine a zipper down a bit from the base of your skull. That's right, right there. Do you have the spot? No, no, no need to touch it, just... imagine. Picture the little metal tab resting cold against that knobby bone at the top of your spine. It's cold the way a zipper gets cold in the winter when you've been out and about. That kind of chill. Now, when the moment comes, you're going to react without thinking. Fight, flight, freeze. You look like a freezer to me, but I've been wrong before. I need you to just breathe for me, okay? Remember that. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth, just like that, you've got it now. On the exhale, I want you to imagine the zipper-pull lifting away from your skin. You can feel the tug of it, right? The steel teeth are firm, but their seams are more flexible. On the inhale... up. Up up up up, there we go, smooth and easy, unzip upwards, there you go, picture all that hair and skin falling away, exposing the bone beneath, you're still safe! Bone's still there, no worries, there we go, just let the breeze caress, you're fine, it's all fine. This next bit is a little harder, but you've come this far, you can do it. When you picture the bone open, that's when you'll react, okay? Just be ready to breathe through it. No fight, no flight, freeze if you must. This is all imaginary, all in your head, we're only playing a game. Now.

Imagine a

Meh. I was aiming for a fear of exposure (brain exposure that is) with a hint of mental coercion or attempt to Get In? But I don't like it. It's stuck in my head so I dunno I'll be able to write anything else for the prompt, but I think what's above is too nebulous. Too insinuation, not enough clarity. MEH.

@thenomain

(Are these games on TTS, she wonders idly, because she'll play anything once?)

25. Dread: Write about doing something you don’t want to do.

It's an honor, right? They say that over and over again. It's an honor to be chosen, you won't regret it in the end, it's hard but it's worth it. But will the honor of it carry me through the months that follow? Or will I be stuck late at night in my nightmares, or tossing and turning, unable to sleep at all for fear? Honor isn't an ingredient in sleeping pills, that's all I'm saying. I've seen what some honorees do. They get drunk, they live high, they toss themselves around like it's going out of style. Anything to forget the honor to come. I have to wonder if anyone's gotten out of it? If I cut my own face, would the honor go away? Maybe a missing finger or two? That would take courage. I'm not sure I've got that much. You're a candle! That's what my mom told me. You're a candle with two wicks! Burn bright! She sure thinks it's an honor. Of course she would, she gets to be my mom. At least dad is a little less certain. He watches me sadly when he thinks I'm not paying attention. Would it disappoint him if I tried to turn it down? Or would he secretly feel relieved? I'd have to go into hiding, of course. Nobody would look at me straight on again in town if I refused. They'd pretend I don't exist anymore. You don't get to reject an honor. They'd probably do the same to my parents too, come to think of it. I couldn't do that to him. So that's that. It's an honor. She's beautiful in her own way, I guess? A few months of engagement, then the wedding night. At least it'll be quick. That's the honorable part.

Theno, I really kind-sorta need to know what's in that package. Spill the beans, man!

ES

@magee101

Can't go wrong with a compliment! Thank you kindly for remembering me fondly.

ES

24. Numbers: Write a poem or journal entry about numbers that have special meaning to you.

Picture it
Round
Enveloping
Symbol for naught
A concept
For the thought
Of emptiness
Deep and meaningful
As this poem
Which is to say
All sound & fury
Signifying nothing
At and all

23. Sugar: Write something so sweet, it makes your teeth hurt.

O my dearest love, my sweet prince, who sets the moon and stars in the sky, with your gentle smile and your gentler hands. I wake without you near and wonder: what is this sharp and aching pain in my chest? My heart shatters anew with each breath when we are apart. There is no part of me that does not cry out in anguish, no moment without desperate longing to be with you again. I would walk to you if only I knew where you were, if only they would let me slip free these bars. I would run to you, if only to feel the wind marking the steps that carry me forth. My darling, my only sweetling, how can we be kept from one another? This is true agony, this hell of their making. Return to me and we will share again the bliss of--

"Joe, shut up that damn dog already, for god's sake. You'd think she'll never see you again the way she goes on. Toss a blanket over the crate!"

@thenomain

Join me in writing, sirrah! We won't get better (and believe me, I do need to get better) without slogging our way through.

ES

22. Smoke, Fog, and Haze: Write about not being able to see ahead of you.

They say the concussion is what did it. All that trauma, knocking my brains around inside my skull. You'd think we'd have figured out some protection for that by now, but nobody's come forward yet. Oh, they'd still have to take the time to get to it, but these days they announce if they see it coming. That's the problem, right? I can't see it anymore thanks to the accident. The future sneaks up on me in flickers. I remember snippets, but so many other things still surprise me when they happen. It used to be at least a month ahead at any given time, revelations opening up before me. My sister, she glides through the world with grace, certain of every step. Not me. I stumble and bumble, and everyone around me tries to be polite as I step on their feet. It ripples outwards. What I can't see throws too many possibilities into the mix for them. It turns everything into a shambled mess. I lost a few friends afterwards for that. They just couldn't handle sharing in my confusion. If one member of the troupe is off-kilter, who can blame the others for pulling away? Together, they interlock and move in concert. I'm the spanner in the works, as the old saying goes.

21. Foreclosure: Write a poem or short story about someone who has lost or is about to lose their home.

Amoung ourselves, we are the stone-people. Translating it into your common tongue loses the feel of it, of course. There is too much air in you, not enough earth. You live short lives, the lives of a young people who flare too quickly and then are gone. We cannot expect you to understand, though we appreciate your efforts. You may die before you know the truth of it, but the trying is a good first step.

We are the stone-people because the stone is our mother. She enfolds us in her arms when she is kind. She buries us in her lap when she is angry. So a mother treats her children while they linger within her reach. For all that we are an old people, we are children still, to the stone. We to her, you to us.

The elders say that the time is coming when we will take our first steps outside our mother's protective glance. The stone does not weep, her waters are buried too deep for that. But she shakes with the force of her resigned grief. She shivers with the ache of her fitful protests. Our mother knows the time is approaching. She to time, we to her, you to us. The stone knows the epochs that birthed her.

Some wish to stay. They claim they cannot bear the thought of the world open above their heads. They will float away without the stone to hold them fast, they whisper. The air will swallow them up, and they will be lost. But no child stays forever with his mother. We must move forward. The stone will not let us stay. She will bring forth her fury in fire and molten rage. When the time comes, we will go up, or we will die.

Even when we have come to the surface, we will remain the stone-people. You do not forget your mother, even after she has pushed you into your new home. In this we are the same, you who are young and we who are young. We all remember the face of our mothers. There is common tongue enough to say that much.

20. Missed Connections: If you go to Craigslist, there is a “Missed Connections” section where you can find some interesting story lines to inspire your writing.

Im looking 4 all the rite ppl

There was a time you could find a fellow cultist without worrying. A few sly glances during mass, a murmured phrase in reverse Latin during the sermon... it was possible. If you knew what to listen and look for, the signs were there. These days, you might find a Wiccan, or an atheist, or even just an agnostic, hiding in plain sight. None of them want to be part of summoning an Elder God, they're no use at all. How am I supposed to complete these rites on my own? I need multiple hands to hold the candles, to bind the sacrifice, to prop up the book. Multiple voices rising in chants that sear the throat and ring the ears. Multiple spirits writhing in desperate horror when we witness what we've wrought. But no. No, I'm reduced to asking on Craigslist. If you show up wanting to be tied up and spanked, I make no promises about what you'll find. I don't have time for your shenanigans. There are Great Ones to bring forth, extrusions into our reality to welcome. Only serious cultists need apply.

19. Great Minds: Write about someone you admire and you thought to have had a beautiful mind.

Admiration is a tricksy thing. It asks that you set someone on a pedestal, that they become an Ideal in their own right. Admiration sets that someone in stone, in marble, in gold-finished plating that holdes them just... so. What then when they move? What then when they step out of true, when they make a mistake, when they act against your shining image (because it was only ever your image)? Can, should, admiration be a single facet? If there is more to the gem, can you admire only the one part of it? Even when we pick the facet we enjoy, we ought to wonder about the others. Does magnifying the one illuminate them as well? There are none of us without faults that will fracture the light shone through. Admire with care. It is fraught in its own right.

18. Cleaning: Hey, even writers and creative artists have to do housework sometimes. Write about doing laundry, dishes, and other cleaning activities.

It ain't easy, y'know. Oh, everyone thinks they can do it. They're all, I can pick up a body and roll it onto a tarp! Only they don't think 'bout the way a body can flop, how it's all loosy-goosy when you're moving it 'round. I cleaned up a scene once, and that guy had his fingers done chopped right off! We hadda go digging in the couch cushions and under the tv console lookin' for them fingers. Who thinks 'bout that, huh? But that's the stuff you gotta do if you wanna get a good rep. It'sa matter of pro-fess-nul pride! Them killers, they ain't gonna call up someone who can't get the job done right. I got me a kid, he's learning the trade behind me. By the time I'm ready to retire, he'll be ready to take up my name, just the way I took up mine when my boss went west. That's notta slang thing. He moved out to Washington-state, got himself a big ol' farmhouse with some apples or some shit. Me, I'm thinking somewhere warm. So long as you register your retirement, them killers they don't care. You kept your mouth shut this long, they'll make sure you're safe while you enjoy some sun. Part of the benefits package.

17. Dictionary Definition: Open up a dictionary to a random word. Define what that word means to you. (Writer's Note: Eh, random-schandom.)

A Modern Roland

These things I hold to myself, and though I do not always succeed, they are the framework around which I seek to step:

To look for the divine in the daily tasks, and to let those who would give that divine a name do so without my interference.

To offer my best when I have agreed to a task, in honesty and self-awareness.

To feel for the unfortunate not as weak, but as needing assistance as all of us need it in our own due time, and to offer that assistance as I can without harming myself or others.

To speak and act towards strangers with courtesy, common or otherwise.

To strive, always and without ceasing, whether I stumble or rise, to achieve these things.

To hold money in its proper place: a tool towards these goals, rather than an end in itself.

To understand that what is right for me is not necessarily right for others, and to acknowledge that I am not and cannot be the only one who is content with their lot.

To grant authority to those who deserve it and to follow the laws that help protect our civic spaces and our community, but to never do so slavishly or without aforethought.

To hope these things of others while accepting that they may not demand it of themselves; my expectations are not the laws by which others must act.

To place a mirror before myself and look with as clear a vision as I am capable, over and again, because the changes wrought by time and circumstance do not cease.

To seek the loyalty that I give in turn.

To know the truth and use it to good end, for not all truth shared is kind and uplifting.

To finish better than I start, whether to completion or abandonment, so long as the ending leaves the world around me stronger.

To respect the choices of the people around me, no matter their gender, their race, the choices themselves, so long as they do not impinge upon others (including myself).

To accept challenges with an open heart and use them to improve what I see in the mirror.

To find foes only rarely and with as little hatred -- though righteous anger is allowed -- as I can bear.

16. Addict: Everyone’s addicted to something in some shape or form. What are things you can’t go without?

It doesn't smell good. I think that's on purpose; you're not meant to drink it, after all. The taste is bitter and numbing all at the same time, further proof that you're Doing It Wrong. I figured I should taste it at least once, just to know what I was putting in my body. I don't regret it, but I don't need to repeat it either. Insulin injections are plenty good enough for my purpose.

The sensation is a prickle up the back when your shirt is thin enough. Lean back against the wall and just rest for a moment. Pull away and there it is, that flicker trickle in that difficult-to-reach space between shoulder blades. Here in the south, there are fewer walls that grant the desire. They prefer brick and smooth stone. Out west... out west they know a good stucco.

Start with white. Not just white: gleaming, shining white with no interruption. It stretches out to sharp edges that end abruptly. Next comes the liquid sheen of black laid across that pale surface. It contrasts and threatens to spill free of the tension holding it in place. Only a threat if you're careful; don't let the ink escape itself to smear.

Pain and discomfort need a voice. When they press close at temple or stomach, when teeth are grinding and you haven't noticed until the ache lingers in the jaw... then. That's when the low whistle escapes over and over. It's an odd sound with no true reason. But the bosun's two-note general-call in three-step is what you catch echoing under your own breath.

Cortlands are the best choice. Oh, a Pink Lady or a Gala won't steer you wrong, ne'er doubt it. But for the sheer joy of taking that breath in through nose and mouth at the same time, nothing beats the Cort. Orchards rise in mind's eye with the true essence of apple in front of you.

15. Eavesdropper: Create a poem, short story, or journal entry about a conversation you’ve overheard.

• Do you remember how chubby she was?
• Oh, yes. So cute! Such a shame, really. But they do grow up.
• Now now, she still has that bit of baby-fat. You can see it in her cheeks!
• Especially when she smiles, such a sweet girl.
• What was that she said about eating healthy these days?
• Just a phase, I think. But she's letting me help with the smoothies.
• You're picking out the--
• Yes, the very best I can find. All organic!
• So lucky -- you know mine won't let me near them these days. Always crying about something or other.
• Don't you worry about it, they'll come around.
• They all do, someday. Might be the death of me before then.
• What about--
• Oh, he's long gone. What else could I do?
• I suppose it's true, he wasn't supporting you properly.
• Exactly! Single parenting is hard, but better than the alternative. The money is helping a little too.
• Are you sure you can't make it?
• I would if I could! All that marbling, and the infusion over time... I'm a little envious, I'll admit. Mine will be so salty!
• If only it didn't take so long for them to age properly!

14. The found poem: Read a book and circle some words on a page. Use those words to craft a poem. Alternatively you can cut out words and phrases from magazines. (Writer's Note: What a terrible prompt. :))

When they say to you, treat your books like ladies, spit at your teachers. Books are meant to be devoured! They're meant for deep thought and heavy limbs. Reading should be a pleasure, bone-deep and soul-lifting. Whether you espouse dog-ear corner-flipping bruises or the gentle insertion of a loving bookmark, even if you ravage an electronic copy with tapping fingers, that truth remains. Treat your books like a lover long lost, like water in a desert, like a meal in your third day of fasting. Save lady-like treatment for gentler trade. A book wants you to know it inside and out, cover to glossary, spine to ruffling edge. Don't hesitate: dive in with your mouth wide open!

13. The Letter Poem: Write a poem using words from a famous letter or a letter from your own collection.

Estimating how long it will take / monitoring along the way / mercifully forgetting how trying / and / hoping wistfully this time will be better / She takes the med / unlocking the door / even if the room behind is dark

12. Greeting: Write a story or poem that starts with the word “hello”.

Hello, you say. Hello, so prosaic, so common, as if what lies between us is nothing? Hello, two syllables and nothing more, not even a smile. Hello! Not so much as a good morning or a how are you, no wondering how it's been since it happened? Just hello, plain and simple! Better that you say nothing than only say hello! At least nothing would show you care enough to keep silent. At least silence would show you remember what we had! But no, it's hello, hello to a stranger, to an aquaintance, to someone you haven't thought of and won't think of again! It's empty, a nothing greeting with no room for response -- if I cursed or shouted at a hello, the would would think me mad! Perhaps that's what it is, that hello. A taunt. A tease. A sly bit of inducement to act out? Well I'll show you. The next time you say hello, I'll just have to hello back! Take that!