Charlotte
Charlotte Rains Dixon mentors creative writers from passionate to published. Charlotte is a free-lance journalist, ghostwriter, and author. She is Director Emeritus and a current mentor at the Writer's Loft, a certificate-writing program at Middle Tennessee State University. She earned her MFA in creative writing from Spalding University and is the author of a dozen books, including The Complete Guide to Writing Successful Fundraising Letters, and Beautiful America’s Oregon Coast. Her fiction has appeared in The Trunk, Santa Fe Writer’s Project, Nameless Grace, and Somerset Studios and her articles have been published in Vogue Knitting, the Oregonian, and Pology, to name a few. Her novel, Emma Jean’s Bad Behavior, was published in 2013, and she is represented by Erin Niumata at Folio Literary. Learn about her annual writing workshops in Europe at letsgowrite.com, and visit her blog at www.charlotterainsdixon.com, where you can find all kinds of tips and techniques on writing and creativity.
Square-Peg Karen
This is fantastic!!!
Charlotte Dixon
Thanks, Karen! It’s all due to Jessica Baverstock, or Creativity’s Workshop, http://creativitysworkshop.wordpress.com. I’ve got to get a real link up to here site. And, look for an official release of Punch for Prompt next week, with posts on both our sites about it.
Jacksica Nightingale
At last, something to get the juices flowing when they thin down to a trickle and then dry up entirely! <3 Thank you, Charlotte, Jessica, Tristan!
Jessica Baverstock
You’re very welcome, Jacksica. If you get some use out of it, then we are very happy. 😉
Charlotte Dixon
Jacksica, please return and let us know how the prompts are going for you! And thanks for stopping by.
Philip Bernier-Smith
“You could do a lot with a pot of glue” the prompt on the fortune cookie slip said. Harold rubbed his rather full tummy and looked over his glasses at his wife Sharon. Sharon was busy finishing her third and last egg roll. Harold turned over the slip looking for lucky numbers but there weren’t any there. The waiter seeing his moment wafted in and out with the check. Sharon picked up her fortune cookie but didn’t eat it just put it in her purse for later. “I really hate it when you do that” Harold said. “Do what Harold?” Sharon rubbed her nose abstractedly looking at Harold as if he were a bug that had been crawling across the kitchen counter for far far too long. “You know Sharon take home the Fortune Cookies without opening them.” “I have told you before and I will tell you again Harold” Sharon snapped “My cookie, My fortune, don’t start!” “Bugger a potato!” Harold said in retort, Harold liked words like bugger and retort and tried to work them into the conversation in his head especially when it came to aggravating his wife. He looked at his fortune once more and looked at his wife who got up for one last trip to the buffet the words whispered like a nagging itch in his head “You could do a lot with a pot of glue.”
Charlotte Dixon
Thanks for sharing, Philip!
Samantha Gluck
So what do we do? Punch the button, get a prompt and write a paragraph or so using the prompt here in the comments section? Sounds super fun!
Charlotte Dixon
You can use the prompt any way you want–posting your results in the comments section or just using the prompt for yourself. Thanks for coming by!
Samantha Gluck
Please note: I’m NOT a fiction writer. I’m a journalist. And a healthcare/medical journalist at that — riddled with an overabundance of medical and human physiological knowledge that rolls around in my brain uninvited. I’m half of a new digital branding business (RebelSpark) for physicians and others in the humanitarian community at large. I don’t know how to do this. So go easy on me when you read my first stab at this sort of thing. I feel exhilarated at having even tried it [prompt – new moon, new energy, new life]:
When Debra told me the news, I was astounded. They accepted my proposal. Could it really be true? Then it came to me like a whisper on the crisp wind of spring evening – I knew what I had to do. I had to tell Jay.
“Hello and how are ya,” Jay quipped as he answered the call. He always answered the phone that way, whether he was happy or stressed or otherwise impaired. Sweet, funny, overly smart Jay. Always there and always ready to help. God I’m blessed, I thought to myself.
“Um, hi Jay,” the words stumbled out in that awkward way they did whenever I heard his mellifluous male voice. “I’ve got a new lease on life, Jay. They’ve accepted my proposal! I’ll be moving to New York soon. We’ll be neighbors — living near one another, seeing each other every day.” My excitement must have been palpable even as I tried to keep a rein on my exuberance.
“That’s great, baby!” He answered after a pause. Had he really called me ‘baby’? Oh my God, I felt like passing out. Today symbolized a new moon, new energy, new life for this little M.D./Ph.D. grad from Cheyenne. A new life in Manhattan. I’m a blossoming flower, a rushing geyser of hot water from the earth’s belly, a shooting star. What’s next? The little girl’s voice in my head asked like it always does when I’m faced with any type of daunting change.
Charlotte Dixon
Samantha, you ROCK! There's a fiction writer buried in you and its not even buried very deep. This is really good and I'm impressed. Thanks for being so brave and sharing–maybe more will follow you! And congratulations on your new venture, that sounds very exciting.
Samantha Gluck
Done! I put my little response to the prompt below. My heart is still pounding with fear because I’ve never done anything like this before…reporters and journalists write news stories, feature stories. I write about developmental oncotherapeutics and the like…not this. I feel almost like I’m sneaking around doing something I shouldn’t. Crazy isn’t it?
Charlotte Dixon
You feel like you're cheating on your journalism, right? Not to worry, I love what you wrote!
Medtopicwriter
Hi. I’m Iain, Samantha Gluck’s son. Below, I’ve added my prompt and the story that came of it.
Prompt: The valley gleamed green and lush in the sunlight.
The valley gleamed green and lush in the sunlight as John walked through the trees, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders tense. He was wearing leather riding gear emblazoned with a gold phoenix rising, burning with scarlet flames — the symbol of his family. His sword hung at his side, the silver pommel shining in the sun, casting rays of light in all directions.
“John.” Suddenly a voice behind him called out, as familiar as his own. He sighed sadly and turned around, his curling black hair blowing in the breeze. A boy his age stood between two trees, his clothes tattered, his silver hair matted to his head with sweat. He looked for all the world like the brother he had left behind in Valen, his home country, when he had gone to train with the fire knights of the Burning City.; except that the eyes no were no longer blue, but red as blood, and the voice did not hold any emotion, but was cold as ice and hard as stone. John’s anger rose within him. This creature had taken his brother from him, and it was going to pay. The creature took a step towards him, its stark white arms open. John drew his sword and leveled it with the creature’s throat.
“No Closer, demon.” John said, his hatred making his voice thick.
“Demon?” the creature said in a voice so sad that john almost believed it,” I’m still your little brother, John, I’m still me.”
“No, Caleb,” John said sadly,” this is not you. I was your brother, and I did not protect you, and for that I am sorry, but now I must do what has to be done.”
Suddenly Caleb snarled and slashed at John with razor sharp talons. John barely had time to jump aside, the talons raking the air inches from his face. The creature charged again, its claws whipping in all directions as they tried to break John’s guard. Finally a taloned hand caught him in the chest and sent him sailing through the air. He hit a tree and slumped to the ground, his whole body reeling with pain. Caleb strolled leisurely toward him, laughing. It grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air, still laughing.
“Did you think you could beat me because you went to train with those old morons at the Burning City?” Caleb asked, his face twisted into a horrible grin, ”You let this happen to me, and now I am going to kill me for it, slowly and painf-“
He cut off as john reached behind him and drove his sword through Caleb’s chest, cold black blood coating his hand. Caleb stared at the blade in astonishment, then at John, his eyes once again blue.
“Thank you.” Caleb whispered, than slumped to the ground, dead. John got to his feet. He stared at his brother’s body, and then turned and walked away without looking back.
Charlotte Dixon
Iain, wow! I think you’re a very talented writer. I actually can’t believe you’re 14, I would have guessed you were much older, someone who had been working at this for a long time. The possibilities here are so rich, I love it! It is very exciting to read your work.
Medtopicwriter
Thank you, Ms. Dixon. I appreciate the compliment. I’m looking forward to working with you. One of my main issues with writing is keeping flow (sometimes). As my story gets longer, I have trouble keeping the flow going nicely.
I’ll be 15 in July, but have been writing ever since I can remember.
Iain
Samantha Gluck
Hi Philip,
So I want to know — what CAN you do with a pot of glue? What happens next?
🙂
Samantha
Charlotte Dixon
I bet that's why you're so good, Iain, because you've been writing ever since you can remember. I can't wait to work with you, too! In the meantime, my best advice is to write as much as you possibly can. The best way to learn to write is to write. (Plus you're lucky to have a Mom like Samantha to encourage you!)
Charlotte Dixon
LOL! I bet a lot of people are pondering that!
Taylor Gluck
Heat rose from the asphalt in waves. Lindsay strained with the weight of her gun as she led the bedraggled trio down the overpass. Walking behind her, also struggling to carry the supplies needed, were Jason and Kyle. Jason was her brother, Kyle her cousin. All three carried long, double barrel shotguns and semi-automatic pistols, camouflaged duffel bags, and wore tight clothes that clung to their bodies like a second skin. No one knew who they were. No one cared to know. There was no one to know. That was the way they liked it.
Suddenly, Lindsay stopped short, her hand going to her pistol. Jason drew his and dropped the bag into the dirt.
“Where are they, Lindy?” he demanded, keeping the gun aimed at the mess of automobiles up ahead that they had yet to walk through.
“Behind the school bus,” she whispered. Her eyes were very wide, and she drew her pistol slowly, grateful for the silencer on its barrel.
Kyle screamed, and Jason and Lindsay whirled around to see a full set of teeth buried in their cousin’s neck. He fell to his knees, blood pumping like a fountain and staining the ground red. Behind him stood a man with greasy brown hair, dull, unfocused eyes, and gnashing teeth stained with blood. A bulge in his pocket implied that he had the infectious drug on his person.
Lindsay raised her gun and, without a second thought, shot the man through the temple. He dropped without a sound.
Jason raced to Kyle. “Hey man, are you okay?” he hissed, taking Kyle’s hand in his. “Can you move?”
“Shoot me,” Kyle groaned.
Jason flinched. “No, Kyle, I can’t-”
“If you were ever my friend and my cousin, Jason, then please shoot me!” Kyle screamed.
“For God’s sake, Jason,” Lindsay growled, “he’ll bring the whole city down on us.” She tried to ignore the tears welling up in her eyes.
“Whose idea was it to go to the city anyway?” Jason muttered, but he cocked his pistol anyway. “I’m gonna miss you, man,” he whispered, leaning in to give Kyle a last hug.
He came away shrieking. Blood ran from his ripped-out throat in crimson waves, sizzling as it hit the hot asphalt. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Lindsay gulped. Took a step back. Raised the gun and aimed between Kyle’s now-dull eyes. “Stay back!” she yelled.
He grinned lopsidedly as Jason climbed unsteadily to his feet and turned on his sister. “Hungry,” was the last word Lindsay heard as teeth found her from behind.
Charlotte Dixon
Taylor, you're amazing. I love your use of detail and strong verbs–brings the action right to life. Thank you for posting the results of the prompt.
Samantha Gluck
Hi Charlotte! Taylor is my step daughter. She’s exactly same age as Iain. We call them the “monkey twins”. 😉
Charlotte Dixon
Oh dear and I think I just referred to her as your son on Twitter! I'm so sorry, I got the names confused. All I can say is, you've got an amazingly talented family!
SandyRStuckless
Ok, so I’ve spent a lot time on Twitter talking about my writing, but I’ve never actually shown my writing, so this is a bit of step for me. I hope you enjoy.
The prompt was: ‘She threw the book across the room.’
She threw the book across the room and I had to duck or have it smack me in the forehead, dead center. Her aim had always been impeccable.
“What the hell’s the matter with you, woman,” I shrieked as the book crashed into the crystal lamp – the one I brought her back from Italy – behind me.
“You did it. I know you did. Don’t deny it.” she yelled back with all the venom of a cobra.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”
She picked up another book and cocked her arm. “Who is she, eh? Who is this little tramp?” She let the book fly taking out a vase – from Paris. I really need to get her out of this room or I’m going to end up broke.
“Honestly dear, I have no idea.” She had another book in her hand. A thick hard cover. A Robert Jordan. Oh dear God, no! “Oh please, Sweetheart, don’t throw that. Let’s just talk about this.”
She glared back at me like Medusa. “No more talking.” She let the book fly.
Charlotte Dixon
Oh, Sandy, this is a fabulous debut! I love it. And I'm so pleased that you showed your writing here first!
Joshua Kroeger
Prompt: She didn’t trust people who insisted on sunshine.
From childhood, Morena was suspicious of people who insisted on sunshine—ever since that first time they had tried to get her outside “to get Vitamin D” and “because it’s good for you”. But as she stepped into the light for the first time in her life, she noticed something happening to her: her arm began turning to dust.
Morena dashed back into the castle as fast as her legs could carry her. Her father, Viktor, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What have you done to yourself, Morena?” he cried. “Just look at you arm!” Viktor rushed to his potions cabinet, and grabbed a dark red one from it. He applied it to her arm, and recited an incantation. Her father’s healing work restored her arm, but his duties were far from finished.
When his daughter told him what had happened to her, Viktor realized that the villagers were at fault. “I will take care of this, my daughter,” he said, “do not worry!” He dashed through the castle doors, and pulled a hood over his head. When the crowd noticed him coming down the steps towards them, they saw what they took to be an old, hooded man. “Go back, old man!” they jeered. “Return to the grave that was dug for you!”
Viktor spoke from beneath the cloak. “No, my time has not yet arrived. But rest assured that graves will be prepared for all of you soon. You will spend eternity considering that you nearly caused my daughter grief!”
“We are not repentant, grandfather!” the villagers replied. “She is a threat to the citizens of our town, and we shall extinguish her life, and the life of this castle’s other inhabitants!”
“If you will not repent, you will crave repentance soon enough,” Viktor said. The villagers hadn’t noticed that night was upon them, as he cast aside his hood. They now saw that he had not teeth, but fangs the length of a finger. Wings sprouted from his back, and claws replaced his fingers. His eyes glowed with a hideous, blood-red color.
Viktor tore at them in his wrath, and Morena and the rest of the castle’s inhabitants heard the commotion from inside. Only she knew for certain what was happening, but she did not look out a window to watch. Eventually, the chaos ceased, and in walked her father, late in the night. “You did not have to wait up for me, daughter,” he said, “But know that you—and the rest of us—are safe once again.”
The villagers had also heard terrible sounds emanating from that direction. No one ever heard what happened to those villagers, and no other citizen ever ventured near the castle again. But ever after there were many mounds surrounding the city well, and no child even ventured near to cast a coin in….
Charlotte Dixon
Ooh, keep writing, this is a good one! Love the image of Morena's arm turning to dust in the sunshine and I love that you posted this here, thank you!