I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Write about the pleasures of home.
On my way home, I've gotten lost again. Where I've been, I don't know. I was too busy looking at the ground. And I never knew to keep my head straight. But there's something beautiful happening tonight.
I'm no longer scared
Of all these troubles I bear
My youth returns to me. And I can make it home. To a place I've never been. But it feels like home.
So there's something beautiful happening tonight. If I can hold it longer for that something right.
On my way home, I've gotten lost again. Because I've never been there.
But there's something right
That's happening tonight
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 8
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Have a Conversation with Death
MYLO: Death, what was it like? For you?
DEATH: To die?
MYLO: No, to live.
DEATH: I don't know if I was ever alive.
MYLO: But you know death?
DEATH: No.
MYLO: That's your name.
DEATH: And what is your name?
MYLO: Mylo.
DEATH: So what does it mean to be Mylo?
MYLO: I don't know. I'm still figuring it out.
DEATH: Okay then.
--
MYLO: What's your favorite memory?
DEATH: There once was this flower that smelled so sweet. I heard colors and saw sounds. Can you imagine hearing the color red?
MYLO: What happened to that flower?
DEATH: I keep it in my pocket.
MYLO: Is it dead?
DEATH: No, nothing ever dies. You see, my job is quite easy.
Prompt: Have a Conversation with Death
MYLO: Death, what was it like? For you?
DEATH: To die?
MYLO: No, to live.
DEATH: I don't know if I was ever alive.
MYLO: But you know death?
DEATH: No.
MYLO: That's your name.
DEATH: And what is your name?
MYLO: Mylo.
DEATH: So what does it mean to be Mylo?
MYLO: I don't know. I'm still figuring it out.
DEATH: Okay then.
--
MYLO: What's your favorite memory?
DEATH: There once was this flower that smelled so sweet. I heard colors and saw sounds. Can you imagine hearing the color red?
MYLO: What happened to that flower?
DEATH: I keep it in my pocket.
MYLO: Is it dead?
DEATH: No, nothing ever dies. You see, my job is quite easy.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 7
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Create a scene where important things are said without dialogue.
Summer. Now it snows. It's dark. On a field. It's snowing but none of it reaches the ground. Lovely. Lonely. She stands. Lonely. In a black sun dress. Floral patterns. Down to her knees.
We love her. We've known her for all our lives. She is us. We've dreamed of her, we've been her.
She looks up at the moon as it rests gently among the heavens. She wonders, as we often wonder, why we're here. What's the reason that when snow falls, we feel the pang of its coldness? We wonder, as she often wonders, why moments like this can't last forever. And when we wonder this, we can never fully capture the beauty of that moment. Always fleeting, a little beyond but so close that we keep striving.
Beauty, beauty.
We know what you are but we're so far from understanding you.
"Hold me close, don't let me go. And maybe when the moon rests on top of us, the sun will never find us."
Prompt: Create a scene where important things are said without dialogue.
Summer. Now it snows. It's dark. On a field. It's snowing but none of it reaches the ground. Lovely. Lonely. She stands. Lonely. In a black sun dress. Floral patterns. Down to her knees.
We love her. We've known her for all our lives. She is us. We've dreamed of her, we've been her.
She looks up at the moon as it rests gently among the heavens. She wonders, as we often wonder, why we're here. What's the reason that when snow falls, we feel the pang of its coldness? We wonder, as she often wonders, why moments like this can't last forever. And when we wonder this, we can never fully capture the beauty of that moment. Always fleeting, a little beyond but so close that we keep striving.
Beauty, beauty.
We know what you are but we're so far from understanding you.
"Hold me close, don't let me go. And maybe when the moon rests on top of us, the sun will never find us."
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 6
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Wish on Stars
I wish that I could touch. That you could be in my grasp. I wish that I can see all of you always, not hidden by the L.A. smog. I wish that I could wish on you. On your surface. And what would I wish for?
I would wish that when somebody dies, no matter how ugly they saw the world or how much ugliness they experienced, that they could understand the extent of its beauty.
I want for people to understand that life is worth living. Whether they know that from their first breath or their last is irrelevant. Whether they were benevolent or malicious does not matter.
I wish that I could understand love better so that I can accept it better and give it better. I wish that I could be more aware of instances of love and hatred because I believe that will allow me to love.
Prompt: Wish on Stars
I wish that I could touch. That you could be in my grasp. I wish that I can see all of you always, not hidden by the L.A. smog. I wish that I could wish on you. On your surface. And what would I wish for?
I would wish that when somebody dies, no matter how ugly they saw the world or how much ugliness they experienced, that they could understand the extent of its beauty.
I want for people to understand that life is worth living. Whether they know that from their first breath or their last is irrelevant. Whether they were benevolent or malicious does not matter.
I wish that I could understand love better so that I can accept it better and give it better. I wish that I could be more aware of instances of love and hatred because I believe that will allow me to love.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 5
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Write Starts: Creative Prompts to get You Writing! Part 4
I recently received a wonderful gift: a thin journal filled with the most randomly outrageous and mundane prompts, all in the hopes to get the writer inside of me to write. I will do my best to fill this book. I'll keep this short and sweet. Now let's go!
Prompt: Describe a dream you've had.
We were flying high in the sky. He and I. He was in all brown with a chocolate derby hat and brown suit on.
He looked like Morgan Freeman.
We were among the clouds, hooting and hollering. There was something I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't find the words. It was something that I couldn't translate, but it was this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy.
The lights from down below were searching for us, wanting to celebrate with us. To share, to be a part of our happiness. But this day, this night belonged to he and I. The lights cast as bigger-than-life shadows among the stars.
It was day again. And he was gone. No longer by my side. I flew back down and on a small patch of grass was a small piece of granite. On it, etched solidly was: "Mr. Jones".
Prompt: Describe a dream you've had.
We were flying high in the sky. He and I. He was in all brown with a chocolate derby hat and brown suit on.
He looked like Morgan Freeman.
We were among the clouds, hooting and hollering. There was something I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't find the words. It was something that I couldn't translate, but it was this feeling of pure, unadulterated joy.
The lights from down below were searching for us, wanting to celebrate with us. To share, to be a part of our happiness. But this day, this night belonged to he and I. The lights cast as bigger-than-life shadows among the stars.
It was day again. And he was gone. No longer by my side. I flew back down and on a small patch of grass was a small piece of granite. On it, etched solidly was: "Mr. Jones".
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