Prompt 56

“The art of love”

All those who have an interest in art—in whatever form it may take—learn quite quickly that art and its appreciation is an individual experience. By this I mean that any given person will react in a unique way to a piece of wart, of writing, of music based on his or her experiences, feelings, opinions, likes and dislikes. Each person’s response and interaction with the art form—limited or extensive as it may be—is tied to who that person is at the very core.

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Prompt 55

“Write a list of things that makes you angry happy”

So I modified today’s prompt a bit… I wasn’t quite in the mood to go on a rant about the things that make me angry.

This is my list. What’s yours?

  • Sitting in the sun
  • Flowers in a vase
  • Snuggling with a pup
  • Learning something new
  • Singing
  • Creating
  • Cooking (and, of course, eating)
  • Going home
  • Finding a beautiful place and basking in it for a while
  • Reading (a lot)
  • Writing
  • Being outside
  • Being with friends
  • A warm cup of coffee in the morning
  • Taking pictures of pretty things
  • Making a home out of a new space



Prompt 54

“Write from the point of view of a nurse who hates the patient she is charged with helping”

Rose had a routine. In fact, it was a perfect routine. She would come into work at the Redford Physical Rehabilitation Centre at precisely 7:50 in the morning, so that she could start her rounds at 8:00. She was a stickler for punctuality, particularly when it came to her being on time. It was vital for her to be on time to both start her day and end it.

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Prompt 53

“Set something on fire” 

I looked at the bouquet. It was a bunch of daisies. Bright yellow centres surrounded by pure white petals. Daisies. If he had been listening at all, he’d know I hated them. Loathed them, even.

Adding insult to injury, he had sent a note with them. It had two words on it. ‘Forgive Me’. It stared at me stupidly, silently calling me a fool.

How dare he?

How could he possibly think that this would work?


Before I could stop myself, I grabbed the box of matches that had been laying still and unused on the mantlepiece. I struck one against the strip on the box. It lit in one go. That almost never happened. The action of lighting the match was clearly fuelled by my anger. I lit one of the petals first, and watched it start to smoke. The flame licked around its partners and slowly reached the core of the flower.

I threw the whole bouquet into the fire place. The note followed soon after. I stared at it, feeling liberated as the words were erased by the charring that spread across the paper.

“Forgive me, my ass.”

Prompt 52

“A beginner’s guide to waking up in the morning”

Step 1: Open eyes. This might take some time as your eyelids might feel as if they are glued shut.

Step 2: Look around and find a time device to assess what time of the day it is. This can also be done by looking at the sun’s position in the sky. Time of the year must be taken into account for that to be remotely accurate.

Step 3: Stretch. By this I mean extend your limbs away from your body. This will help you move out of the comfortable shape your body adopted during sleep.  Continue reading “Prompt 52”

Prompt 51

“You are the Grim Reaper. Write three different  opening paragraphs for your autobiography, trying out very different styles.”

I regret everything. Every life I’ve ended, every loved one I’ve taken away. There is not one that I do not mourn. No one understands the weight that I have had to carry on my shoulders since the very inception of time. I hope that this tale will shed some light on it and have you rethink how you see me. Continue reading “Prompt 51”

Prompt 50

“You bring someone back from the dead. Who is it?”

I think when we’re asked this question, we’re often expected to choose someone famous or someone who played a big role in bringing good to the world.

Selfishly, I’m quite baffled by that. I don’t think I could ever squander this wish like that.

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Prompt 49

“Come up with every possible way to describe something as ‘red’, without using the word itself”

The notebook was of a warm, vibrant hue. It blushed, somewhere between crimson and maroon, inspiring memories of fresh strawberries, bright peppers, and ruddy tomatoes.

The colour of a rose, perhaps, not quite as deep as an apple, but more akin to the flaming tones hidden within a sunset…sailor’s delight.

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Prompt 47

“Five ideas for a novel you’ll never write”

Note: Now that I’ve written these down, I make no promises that I won’t write some of these stories in the future. What may sound random or ridiculous now, could be very appealing in the future.

  1. The story of a button factory. Of the button-making family that built it, and how they manage when the button factory burns to the ground.
  2. The life of a puppy and all his adventures. From his perspective, of course. Interrupted by the constant distractions in a puppy’s life (e.g. Ball! Food! Squirrel!)
  3. The story of a concert pianist travelling from concert hall to concert hall.
  4. The Greek mythological characters come back to ‘life’ in a modern setting.
  5. The story of a guitar that gets passed on from person to person, and what it means to each person / the role that it plays for each of them.


Prompt 46

“Write down the interior monologue you experience when you sit down to write”

All right. Here we go. Time to pick up where I left off.

Wait, breakfast first. Can’t write on an empty stomach.

Ladiladila. Coffee’s ready. All set!

Well, I can’t write and eat at the same time…I’ll read some news.

*Half an hour later…after news, Facebook, Instagram, and, of course, a search through LinkedIn jobs fuelled by the perpetual fear that this is all a ridiculous pursuit and I’ll need a job soon*

Right. Pulled myself out of that rabbit hole. Now, to write!

*Stares at blank page with cursor blinking incessantly*

Man, this page is empty.

I should go back and look at what I wrote yesterday.

But, no. All the advice around the process of writing says don’t edit while you write. First drafts can (and will) be shitty.

I just need to put the perfectionist in me aside and just put words to paper.

But what if no one wants to read those words? What am I even doing this for? Is this all just a huge mistake?

*Agonized yelps inside my head*

Ali. Get a grip.

You’re here. You’re doing this. You’re doing this because this story has been tapping you on the shoulder for ages, and it needs to be put down one way or another.

Now, write.

Okay. You’re right.

*Fingers poised on keyboard*

But maybe another cup of coffee first!