Tag Archives: challenge

Writing Prompt #3

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“The dictionary atop your shelf has more than 200,000 words defined. Why don’t you blow off some of the dust on its cover and randomly pick out ten words? Don’t look at the meanings; just concentrate on the words. Write down your chosen words on a (blank) sheet of paper. Now you’re going to have fun creating meanings for those words. What do the words make you think of? What do you think they should mean?”

Capsicum – (ADJ.) If something is capsicum, it is on the precipice of reaching its peak, or being at the top of its game. CAPPED, one might say. An example use of this: After a capsicum career, the sanitation worker could think of nothing more than getting out as soon as possible. Alternatively: (N.) The highest point of fulfillment. Example: The Sewer had finally reached the capsicum of excrement.

Boanthropy – The brotherhood of boyfriends. Related, boanthropology, the study of boyfriends, has existed since the dawn of the human relationship, though it is colloquially known as “gossip”, and is greatly practiced in many female circles. The prefix is derived from the old term for boyfriend, “Beau”.

Euneirophrenia – A mental disorder in which one believes himself to be a reborn and reformed version of Emperor Nero. Such individuals tend to have acute fears or aversions to Fiddles or Fire.

Groak – A sound between a groan and a croak. Alternatively, “Groak” is also the name of a pixie like creature that lives in the swamplands of Louisiana. The lure their favorite food, frogs, with imitations of their various mating calls, giving the Groak its signature sound and name.

Preantepenultimate – before the beginning of almost the ultimate ending of everything. Subscribers to the theory of the Butterfly Effect could say that the wind causing the butterfly to flap its wings was a preantepenultimate occurrence.

Timmynoggy – this is an indelicate drink created by the Snarflewoggins as a means of celebrating the Carflookle of Snogsburgs birthday. Since no one liked the Carflookle of Snogsburg, the drink tends to taste like the mix of a Fliggy’s toe jam and the musk of a cogsnerg. The actual ingredients are far worse.

Zarf – This rare creature is found only in the most alien of places. So alien, in fact, that the Zarf is in fact extraterrestrial. Being roughly the size of a mastiff hound, the Zarf is a florescent green color and has a large proboscis, roughly two feet in length. It stands on two legs, and has wing-like protrusions from its shoulders instead of arms. The proboscis is used as the main method of manipulation of items. The Zarf, though flightless, can manage to remain airborne for approximately 10 yards, given a good enough running start. The wings can also be used to soften the falls from the numerous cliffs of its native landscape.

Quisquilian – A creature that has sharp quill-like protrusions that seem to quizzically serve no purpose.

Scroop – The technical name for anything found on the underside of a shoe.

Rasceta – A delectable dish made from antelope cheese and noodles processed from rare varieties of gluten-free, calorie-free, carbohydrate-free monomolecular wheat particles. It is often garnished with leaves adorned with the first dew of spring, cryogenically frozen to preserve freshness.

 

ACTUAL Definitions (via google):

Capsicum –  noun – a tropical American pepper plant of the nightshade family with fruits containing many seeds. Many cultivated varieties with edible, pungent fruits have been developed.

 Boanthropy is a psychological disorder in which a human being believes himself to be a Bovine.

Euneirophrenia” is a peaceful state of mind that occurs after experiencing a pleasant dream.

Groak – to watch people eat hoping that they will offer you some of their food

Preantepenultimate (Latin prae-, before) is one step further back still, making it the fourth from the end of the series, the last but three.

Timmynoggy – a device the saves time and labor

zarf (plural: zarfs, zuruuf, zarves) is a holder, usually of ornamental metal, for a coffee cup without a handle (demitasse or fincan).

Quisquilian – consisting of trash and rubbish.

Scroop – rustle of silk.

Rasceta – creases on the inside of the wrist

… I think I like my definitions better.

Writing Prompt Challenge #2: Caged

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Prompt # 2: A picture is worth more than a blank page. Take out those dusty photo albums. Pick out photo #14. Count however way you like, but make sure you stop at photo #14. Look at the photo for 2-3 minutes. Then for 10 minutes, write all the feelings that photograph made you feel. Don’t censor yourself. Just write.

Okay, So I did what I was asked. While I take the 2-3 minutes to write this, I’m now studying the picture and getting some feelings. In a moment I’m going to start the 10 minute timer… Wish me luck. J

 

Caged.

I don’t know how long it’s been since my incarceration, but the time has started to eat away at me. I fiddle with my fingers, my hair, my clothes, anything to keep my mind from going crazy in this chamber of deprivation. I’m left with few items with which to occupy myself, but nothing seems to hold my attention like the seemingly teeming amounts of LIFE to be had on the outside of my solitary confinement. I am at least given a blanket, but no pillow. I suppose my captors fear that I would suffocate myself for lack of entertainment. I am also given sufficient amounts of drink, also probably to stave off the desperation that comes with thirst.

I am not entirely alone in my “Solitary” confinement, however. Mr. Biddles is with me. He is a very quiet chap, and not much company, but the length of his ears amuses me, so I tease him. He is either a very good sport, or an idiot who does not understand my ridicule of him, for he never retaliates. I am leaning towards thinking him an imbecile.

Between the two of us, the blanket, the beverage, and the dull drone of the warden’s television set, there is a puzzle of sorts. Even with my dazzling wit, and Mr. Biddles’ modest (or nonexistent) wit, we can’t seem to master the puzzle. I know that the answer to our freedom lies within the solving of the device. Five concentric rings, aligned along a vertical post… If only I could figure out the arrangement.

In my frustration, I yank on Mr. Biddles’ long ears and drag him across the puzzle, longing to start a prison riot to escape the dissatisfaction of my predicament. The rings are no longer concentric, scattering across the base of my confinement cell in all directions. I then begin to scream.

Finally, my warden returns from her vigil at the television. I lift my arms while I scream, incidentally still holding Mr. Biddles’ by the ears. She lifts me from my jail, and I smell freedom for the first time in forever. Life is good.

 

***

 

🙂 Yep, I bet you know what my #14 picture was of.

Writing Prompt Challenge #1: Black Box

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So, I found a website that has over three hundred writing prompts on it. I’ve decided to challenge myself! I will write something for every prompt. J

So here I go!

Writing Prompt: Close your eyes briefly. Think of one object that’s in the room and focus on it. Without opening your eyes, recall as much detail as you can about it. After three minutes or so, open your eyes and write about that objects without looking at it.

And here is what I came up with:

BLACK BOX

About six weeks before my husband was scheduled to return home from Afganistan, he sent home a rather large black Tuff box. When he told me that he was sending a box home, I didn’t truly appreciate HOW large the box was going to be. In my opinion, it was gargantuan, imposing even, and it sat in my living room, securely locked for several days, serving as the world’s most intimidating coffee table. I believe that all three of my little girls could have fit into it with ease.

So engrossed with curiosity was I to learn what was inside the box, that I often fantasized and had nightmares about the items that my husband might have sent home. The plan had been for my husband to send the keys to the box ahead of time via post, but unfortunately, the box arrived first. Menacing, taunting, and driving me to the outer limits of curiosity. I waited by the mailbox daily, eagerly looking forward to the day that the letter containing the keys would arrive.

I waited in vain. Two weeks, I waited, hearing neither word from my husband, nor receiving the aforementioned letter. I speculated. Perhaps my husband was still adjusting to his new duty station, or perhaps they simply did not have working internet yet? Those were the most innocent of thoughts, forcibly screamed through my brain to shut out the more horrible and terrifying of imaginings. With the lack of word from my husband, and the lack of the keys, the box became more and more of an obsession to me as the days progressed.

I walked past the box constantly throughout the day, staring at it from the corner of my eye. I became irate with my children, admonishing them for climbing on top of the box, leaving toys on top of it, or even simply touching the locks. Even I sometimes had ideas about how out of character I was acting, but it was not something I could help.

Finally, it happened. The rain pounded outside, slamming into the windows in thick thumps as it was blown sideways by the howling wind. It had been six weeks since the box’s arrival. On this particular day, I had sent the children to my mother’s house so that I could have some alone time. It was just me and the box. It had three grooves on the top, with unknown purposes. It was rough to the touch. It smelled of hot plastic up close. It was sealed tight with three master key locks. The page sized packing label was secured to the side with clear packing tape that was beginning to peal from the edges. It was also extremely heavy. I had a hard time dragging it from the living room to the utility room.

I’d had enough. I needed to know what was in the box. I broke the screwdriver trying to open the locks, both by trying to pick them, and then by trying to use it like a lever. The crowbar didn’t really work either. I wasn’t sure if it was my lack of strength, or the metal’s resilience. I pouted, and thought hard for another option. Finally, I spotted the chainsaw.

I bit my lip. It was possible. If I could cut at an angle, I could cut the lip before the lock. I wouldn’t even have to go through any metal. It took me a couple false starts, and one trip to Google to get the chain saw started, but I managed. I even managed to lift it.

Finally, with the smell of gasoline and burnt plastic filling the utility room I had succeeded. The box was no longer secured. Putting the chainsaw down, I smirked while I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Lifting the chainsaw had been harder then I had thought it would be. I approached the box and smiled, ready to finally lift the lid. The stray thought entered my head that I might have just destroyed government property, but I wasn’t sure I cared. I HAD to know what was in the box! Then, I heard the phone ring. I paused, with my hands on the lid. I briefly contemplated not answering the phone, but what if it was my husband? I hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and missing his call would kill me worse than not knowing what was in the box.

With a sigh, I left the box, unopened, and rushed back into the house to get my phone.

 

“Hello?”

Static answered me. “… me? … lo?”

It sounded like my husband from what did come though. My heart skipped a beat. “I’m here! Don’t hang up! Can you hear me?”

More static, but then, “ …me? Don… pen… the box!” Click. Beep, Beep, Beep. The call was disconnected.

Uh, oh.