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First blog post

Well! I took a deep breath and jumped.

This is my very first blog. I’m kind of nervous and excited to get this started.

I’ve been writing stories on the Writer’s Digest Creative Writing Prompts forum every week for the past two years. It’s been a wonderful learning experience to take their prompts, no matter how weird or specific, and turn them into two or three completely different stories. I’ve written stories on there that I normally wouldn’t have considered writing – science fiction stories, vampire stories, and so on. My fellow forumites, who are awesome writers, have helped me with their suggestions and comments to grow as a writer.

So, after much mental fidgeting and nail biting, I finally decided to create this blog to give my prompt stories a proper home.

Hope you enjoy them!

AK

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A Simple Twist And A Simple (?) Fix


Lord Breck threw his head back and laughed, “Mwa-hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Triumph is mine! Allll MIIIIIIINE! MWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He cleared his throat. “And now I shall monologue about my diabolical plan.” He waggled his finger. “No falling asleep now.” He gripped his lapels and strutted around Vince. “It all started when I was four years old and my older brother wouldn’t let me play with dynamite. It wasn’t fair. We had ever so much dynamite in the house. Why couldn’t I play with it? I didn’t even want that many. Just two sticks, but no. He refused to give me even one. The unfairness of it broke my young heart and steeled my soul to humanity’s plight. That’s when I decided that I would not be a slave to society’s whims and wishes. I would not be a functioning member of the moral disaster we call society. I would rise above it all. I would become my own society.”

“Huh? That’s just dumb.”

Lord Breck stopped in front of him. “Oh, really? You know what’s truly dumb? This whole conversation.” He pointed his gun at Vince’s forehead. “You don’t deserve to know the rest of my wondrous plan.” He pulled the trigger.

Vince died without even a gasp.

“And now? You’re dead.” He threw his head back again and laughed. “Victory is mine. ALLLLLLLLL MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE! MWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!”

A gunshot rang out.

Lord Breck felt a sharp pain in his back. It stole his breath. He fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

A man walked up to him.

Familiar shoes.

Familiar slacks.

Hands.

Shirt.

Shoulders.

Face.

“Vince? But you’re dead. I just killed you. You’re dead.”

“No. That was my twin brother, Mincemeat.”

****

“Stop. Just stop right there.”

I cringed at the familiar voice. I looked up from my computer screen.

Sure enough, a man with slicked back hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a perpetually sour expression stood before me.

“My expression wouldn’t be perpetually sour if you didn’t make so many rookie mistakes.” said my Internal Editor.

I slumped back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “Now what did I do wrong?”

He scoffed. “I’m surprised you even have to ask.” He came over to my side of the desk and tapped on my computer screen. “This line right here.”

I reluctantly sat up. “Which one?”

“This one here.”

I read the line out loud, “‘Vince? But you’re dead. I just killed you. You’re dead.’ What’s wrong with that?”

He clicked his tongue at me. “Nothing, except this here.” He tapped my screen again. “See this? It says here that he can’t breathe. He’s gasping for breath.”

“So?”

“So, how does he have enough breath to say ten words? Try saying that line while gasping for breath. It isn’t possible. You’d be lucky to get two words out.”

“But I needed to show the reveal—”

“Oh, that leads to Point Number Two.”

I mentally cringed. It was never a good day when he verbally capitalized his points.

“Where did this twin come from?”

“From Vince’s mother, duh?”

He pulled a giant back of Reeses’ peanut butter cups out of the right pocket of his tweed suit jacket.

I was about to comment on the incongruousness of that bag fitting in a pocket that small, but then he swatted the back of my head with the bag. “Ooff!”

“I’m asking a serious question. I do not appreciate flippancy.”

“Fine. Mincemeat was there all along. Just kind of hiding in the shadows.”

He scoffed. “Hiding very well and no. That is not a compliment. If you’re going to have a magical twin appear out of nowhere, you have to build it up. You have to make it reasonable. You have to make it feel unexpected and inevitable. You have to do it right.”

I did not like where this was going. “So, what? Do I just delete Mincemeat?”

He read the whole chapter over again. “No. I think we can let him survive. But.” He looked at me and the computer light glinted off his glasses in an ominous fashion. “You will have to do a massive rewrite.”

I cringed all over. “I thought you’d say that. Darn you.”

“You’ll thank me later. Go back to the first chapter. Let’s see how we can fix this.”

February 2019 Writing Prompts

Pixilated Paintings

He paints one dot at a time.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Red. Blue. Green. Purple.
Red. Red. Green. Green.

Small dots on a large canvas.
Small spots of color on the sheet of white.
Blue. Dark blue. Light blue. Hyacinth.
Green. Emerald green. Grass green. Leaves.

Every dot adds up.
Every small touch of color becomes something bigger.
Become a greater whole with each touch.
So many touches.

Grow.
Blossom.
One dot at a time.
In colors small.
In colors small becoming large.

Add up.
And see the whole.
When it is all done,
Every dot makes it whole.
An amazing, glorious whole.

Red. Red. Blue.
Green. Green. Blue. Purple.
Red.
Red.
And blue.

 

February 2019 Writing Prompts

Circle In The Sky

There’s a circle in the sky.
Smooth and silver and bright.
Everyone is afraid of it.
Maybe they are right.

Maybe it is a sign of doom.
Maybe it is the beginning of the end.
Maybe it is an invasion waiting to start.
Or maybe it is someone hoping to be a friend.

I see the circle in the sky.
I don’t see it as a sign of doom like everyone else.
I don’t see it as the end of it all.
I don’t see it as mankind’s inevitable fall.

I see beauty in the circle in the sky.
I see hope in the circle in the sky.
I see light.
Soothing and silvered and shined bright.

Something that beautiful cannot be anything bad.
I will hold on to this hope even if it is small.
I look up at the circle in the sky.
I hope that we humans will not fall.

February 2019 Writing Prompts

Magenta Moments

Do you remember?
Magenta moments bound up in ribbons of blue.
The smell of chocolate and the feel of the morning dew.

Do you remember?
Long, drawn-out days and short two-second nights.
Summer’s sweet whispered hymns to the grass and to the trees.

Do you remember?
Those days.
Those long ago days.

How fast time flies!
What is young becomes old and what is old passes on.

Do you remember?
When we were young.

February 2019 Writing Prompts

Yorkshire Pudding People

Melanie admired the decadent puffs in the muffin pan. They looked both heavy and air-fluffy all that the same time. “I should take one.” She reached forward. “Just one.”

“Melly!”

The small girl startled and nearly fell off the kitchen chair. “What?”

Her older sister, Nancy, marched over to her. “Those need to set a bit. Leave them alone.”

“I just want one.”

“I mean it. Leave them alone.”

Melanie stuck out her lower lip. “You’re just being stingy and mean and selfish and I’m going to tell Mom.”

“Go ahead. Mom will side with me. And, for your information, it has nothing to do with stinginess or meanness or selfishness.”

“Does so.”

“Does not.”

“So.”

“Not.”

“So.”

“Yorkshire pudding people.”

“S—What?”

“You heard me. Yorkshire. Pudding. People.”

Melanie sat on the chair. “What’s that?”

“It’s what happens if you don’t let Yorkshire pudding set. The dormant Yorkshire people hiding under the crust come to life. They poke holes in the crust and tear their way through, moaning and groaning for the flesh of the fool mortal who disturbed their slumber.”

Melanie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re making crazy stuff up.”

“Nope. It’s common cooking knowledge.”

Melanie closed her mouth and scowled at her older sister. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m gonna go ask Mom. We’ll see what SHE says.”

Nancy shrugged. “Go ahead, but fair warning: She will agree with me.”

“We’ll see about that.” Melanie jumped out of the chair and ran out of the room. “Moooooom!”

***

Nancy waited until her sister was out of sight. She stroked the crust and felt a slight rustling underneath. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. Sleep on.”

February 2019 Writing Prompts

Elevator Love??

Author’s Note: I couldn’t help it. I just had to use my Ambrose and Elsie story characters. It just had to happen.

Ambrose tensed up as he followed Robin and Barbara to the mall’s elevator.

Robin looked back at him. “Oh, for freakin’ heck’s sake!”

“I can’t help it. I hate those things. They’re demonic entities.”

“Stupid dummy. Fine. Then, we’ll freakin’ take the escalator.”

Ambrose shook his head. “I’ve done some reading up on escalators. Those things eat people’s feet.”

“Then, quit lookin’ like you’re gonna puke up the whole world.”

“I do not look anything like that.”

“Yeah. Easy for you to say. You ain’t seein’ your expression.”

Barbara tucked her hand into Ambrose’s hand. “I’m here.”

He relaxed and looked at her with love. “You’re here.”

Robin stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the call button.

Ambrose focused all of his attention on her. He did his best to ignore the moaning and grinding and rumbling of the elevator’s motor. “I love you, Barbara.”

She smiled at him. “I love you too.”

He bristled involuntarily as the elevator doors dinged open.

Robin grabbed his arm and all but dragged him aboard. “We told Raven and Missy we’d meet ’em in the food court at noon. Which means we ain’t got time for you to drag and scuffle your feet in some indecisive manner.”

Ambrose jerked his arm out of Robin’s grip and sat against the back of the elevator. He leaned his head against the cool glass.

Robin pressed the button for the fifth floor.

Ambrose startled in a hard jerk as the elevator began the long ascent.

Barbara sat next to Ambrose and laid her hands on his shoulder. She sang “Helpless” from the musical Hamilton.

He smiled as she did the rap section.

And, just like that, all of his anxiety left him. He quietly sang along with her.

In a matter of a minute, or so it seemed, they reached the fifth floor.

The doors dinged open.

Ambrose scrambled up to his feet and raced out of the elevator as if he expected it to suddenly drop.

Robin came up behind him and gently punched his back. “See? It’s perfectly safe.”

Ambrose scoffed. “This time. There’s always next time.”

“Stupid dummy.”

February 2019 Writing Prompts