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125 Awesomely Clever Narrative Writing Prompts

From the time you learn how to talk, you have stories to tell.

Faced with a classroom writing assignment, though, you can feel the fog rolling in, hiding all your best personal narrative ideas. 

To clear that fog, sometimes, all you need are some simple questions to get started, which is why so many of the personal narrative prompts in this post include them. 

You’ll find the prompts grouped by theme to make your search for ideas easier. 

What Are Narrative Prompts? 

Childhood narrative prompts, growing pains narrative prompts, overcoming adversity narrative prompts, parents and family narrative prompts, dating and friendship narrative prompts, food and drink narrative prompts, school or education narrative prompts, jobs and career narrative prompts, morality and religion writing prompts, personality narrative prompts, fun narrative writing prompts, how to use narrative writing prompts to improve your writing.

Narrative prompts get you started telling parts of your own story . You won’t tell it all at once, but what you share in each narrative will answer a question or expand on an idea. And your readers will have a better idea of who you are and how you think. 

Here are some possible sources for personal narrative questions: 

  • Dating questions
  • Relationship questions
  • Job interview questions
  • “Never have I ever” questions
  • “Would you rather” questions

So, if you’re wondering, “What are good personal narrative topics?” think of the questions you’ve been asked that got you writing so quickly your fingers could barely keep up. 

The following list should jog some memories and provide new ideas for a personal narrative you’ll be happy to share. 

125 Narrative Writing Prompts 

Look through each category of prompts for the personal narrative topics that trigger a stream of thoughts in your mind. Jot down your ideas as they come. 

What’s your favorite memory from childhood? What impression did it make?

What’s an important memory you only know from others who remember it?

What places from your childhood do you remember most fondly? 

Did you have an imaginary friend (or friends)? What were they like?

What was the best gift you remember receiving as a child? Why was it the best?

What were your favorite childhood shows, movies, or games? 

typing on laptop at a cafe narrative writing prompts

Did you ever have a moment in the spotlight? What was it, and did you enjoy it? 

What people do you remember most fondly, and when did you last see them?

What actor would play you in a movie based on your life, and why? 

What objects tell the story of what you were like as a child? 

What was your most precious childhood possession, and why? 

Have you ever had to deal with a bully? What did you do?

What have you learned from people of different generations or backgrounds? 

What do older generations not understand about yours? How is your life different?

What’s your most embarrassing memory from your teenage years? 

What’s your proudest memory from your teenage years, and why?

What was the hardest thing about going through puberty?

When was the first time you asked someone out, and how did it go?

When was the first time someone asked you out (or to a dance)? What did you say?

Did you ever try something you wish you hadn’t? What happened? 

What did you learn to be grateful for in your teenage years? 

What habit/s did you pick up as a teen that helped you along the way?

Have you had to overcome a childhood disease or injury? 

Did you lose someone to disease, a tragic accident, or natural causes?

Were you born with a visible, physical challenge that affected your childhood?

Were you born with an invisible health challenge that affected your childhood?

Have you struggled with a mental health challenge that has affected your life ? 

Have you had to undergo extensive medical treatment for a health problem? 

Have you needed special accommodations in school, work, etc.? Describe them.

Have you experienced discrimination because of gender, race, sexual orientation…?

What are your favorite survival or coping strategies for stress, anxiety, poverty…? 

Has financial stress affected your educational, career, or relationship prospects? 

What challenges have you overcome? How have you responded to them?

Describe your parents or guardians and their parenting styles? 

Describe a favorite memory about growing up with your family? 

Are you close to your parents and/or siblings? Are any estranged from you?

What is your racial or ethnic identity, and did your family share that with you?

How have you paid tribute to loved ones you’ve lost? 

typing on laptop narrative writing prompts

To which family members did you feel closest growing up? Are you still close?

What hobbies did you pick up from your family? Which do you still have?

How did your family celebrate birthdays or holidays when you were growing up?

If you have in-laws, what is your relationship with them? Are you close with any?

Whom do you trust in your family, and whom do you keep at arm’s length? 

Do you talk to your parents (or siblings) about politics or religion? Why or why not?

How, when, and where did you meet your first love ? 

How, when, and where did you meet your first BFF and become friends?

Who were your best childhood friends, and what did you do together?

Have you ever wanted a friend to be more than that? Did you tell them?

Have you ever lost a friend who wanted to belong to a popular group? 

Have you ever had to put an end to a one-sided friendship? 

Have you ever had to break off a relationship with a toxic person? 

When have you told a lie of omission, and how did it affect your relationship?

Has anyone ever spread an unkind rumor about you? What did you do about it?

Have you ever been betrayed by a friend or family member? 

When was the last date you had that left you thinking, “More, please”? 

What were your favorite foods growing up, and how often could you have them?

What did you usually drink at home, and do you still drink them?

What did you like as a child that you don’t like now? 

What did you dislike as a child that you like now? 

What is a favorite food splurge, and what do you love about it?

How often do you cook for yourself, and what foods do you usually make? 

How often do you cook for others, and what’s the best meal you’ve prepared? 

Did you have a favorite birthday dinner or celebratory meal growing up?

What place did alcohol have in your family life, and how did that affect you?

What is your favorite baked good, and who makes the best?

When have you changed your food choices based on something you learned? 

More Related Articles:

66 Horror Writing Prompts That Are Freaky As Hell

23 Things to Write About For Your Next Nonfiction Book

61 Fantasy Writing Prompts To Stoke Your Creativity

11 Of The Best Writing Prompts Books

Who were your favorite teachers in elementary school? 

When you graduated high school, what did you want to study in college? 

Did you go to college, and what do you remember most about your first year?

When and how did you learn to manage your money? 

Could students at your high school talk openly about mental health challenges?

How have Health and Phy Ed classes influenced your body image? 

How have Health and Phy Ed classes influenced your attitude toward exercise?

What did you like most or least about the high school you attended? 

How did your school’s bullying policy affect you or someone you care about?

Have you ever acted on a dare to earn the respect or admiration of classmates? 

When did it hit home for you how different life is for poor vs. rich people?

When you were in grade school, what did you want to be when you grew up?

What was your first job? How did you get it, and how old were you?

Did you get a job in your chosen field right out of college? If so, how and when?

Do you have a life calling? And if so, is your current job part of it?

What do you hope to be doing within a year of graduating college? 

man writing on table narrative writing prompts

What have you made yourself? And does it relate to your chosen career or calling?

What would you do or create if you had all the funding you could possibly need? 

Would you rather work from home or in an office?

Would you rather work as a supervisor, a team member, or a connected hermit? 

What have you done to earn money? And what is your favorite way to do so?

Do you have (or think you will have) a career or job you love? 

What did you believe as a minor that you no longer believe? 

What did you not believe as a minor that you do believe now?

What role does religion play in your life (if any)? Has it ever (not) played a role?

How important is it that your life partner share your religious beliefs? Why?

What ethical or moral dilemmas have you faced? How did you respond?

Have you ever given money to a stranger who asked for it? 

Have you ever “paid it forward”? Or has anyone helped you to pay it forward?

How comfortable are you with lying? When have you told a lie and not regretted it?

How do your religious or spiritual beliefs differ from your parents/guardians?

Have you ever looked up to a religious leader only to be disappointed by them? 

How would you sum up your view of the afterlife — or your life’s purpose?

What do you think are the biggest strengths of your personality? 

What do you think are your greatest weaknesses?

When did you learn you’re an introvert or an extravert? 

Is your best friend an introvert or an extravert? 

What personality traits do you admire in other people? 

What personality traits have gotten you into trouble in the past? 

sitting on the floor while typing on laptop

What role does procrastination play in your life? 

What is your personal credo or mantra? When or how did you choose it?

When faced with a problem, do you rely more on your head or your heart?

How do you respond to criticism? When have you responded badly?

What motivates you? Are you driven, or do you just go with the flow?

How productive or organized are you? How does your workspace look? 

What would happen if you discovered a hidden door in your bedroom that led to a magical world?

Imagine you could swap lives with your favorite celebrity for a day. How would you spend your time in their shoes?

If you could travel back in time and witness any historical event, which one would you choose and why?

You wake up one morning to find that you have the ability to read minds. How do you use this newfound power?

What if you discovered that your pet could talk? What kind of conversations would you have?

Suppose you found a genie in a bottle who granted you three wishes. What would you wish for and why?

You stumble upon a mysterious old book in a library. When you open it, you’re transported into the story. What happens next?

If you could create your own superhero, what powers would they have, and how would they use them to save the world?

Imagine you’re stranded on a deserted island with only one object of your choice. What would you bring, and how would it help you survive?

You receive an invitation to attend a secret society’s meeting. What happens when you arrive?

What if you could live in any fictional world from a book or movie? Which one would you choose, and what adventures would you have?

Suppose you had the power to invisibility for a day. How would you use this ability?

You discover a mysterious key that can unlock any door. Where would you go, and what would you discover?

Imagine you’re given the opportunity to create your own country. What would you name it, and what laws would you establish?

These narrative prompts are an excellent tool for enhancing your storytelling skills and sparking your creativity. They provide a starting point for your writing journey and encourage you to explore new ideas, characters, and plot lines. 

By incorporating prompts into your writing routine, you will unlock your imagination and develop your writing abilities. Try these ways to use narrative writing prompts effectively:

  • Use prompts as a warm-up exercise to get your creative juices flowing before diving into your main writing project
  • Challenge yourself to write short stories or flash fiction based on the prompts to practice concise storytelling
  • Expand on a prompt to create a longer piece, such as a novella or novel, by developing the characters, world-building, and plot
  • Incorporate elements from multiple prompts to create a unique and complex story
  • Share your prompt-inspired stories with fellow writers or in writing workshops to receive constructive feedback and improve your craft

By regularly engaging with narrative writing prompts, you’ll find your writing skills growing and your creativity flourishing.

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Vibrant Teaching

Teaching Resources Creator and Blogger

20 Prompts for Narrative Writing That Spark Creativity

prompt-for-narrative-writing

Using prompts for narrative writing motivates kids and gets them excited to write. Read on to learn more about narrative writing, mentor texts, ideas, and assessments. Plus you will find 20 fun prompts for narrative and personal narrative writing. These will be sure to spark student’s creativity and imagination!

What’s Narrative Writing?

Narrative writing tells a story using a beginning, middle, and end.  It includes elements such as characters, setting, problem, and solution.  The author’s purpose is usually to entertain or teach a lesson.  Narrative writing can be fact or fiction but the process is the same.  When it’s a real story from the author’s life, it is considered a personal narrative.  

Examples for Narrative Writing

There are so many wonderful examples of narrative writing.  Some are even written as personal narratives.  Below you will find a list of mentor texts for elementary school.  It’s helpful to immerse students in the genre before and during a narrative writing unit.  These books model different strategies that kids can try in their writing.

Narrative Writing Mentor Texts:

  • Owl Moon by Jane Yolen
  • Come on, Rain! by Karen Hesse
  • Those Shoes by Maribeth Boelts
  • Fireflies! by Julie Brinckloe
  • Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems
  • Jabari Jumps by Gaia Cornwall
  • Enemy Pie by Derek Munson
  • Blackout by John Rocco

what-are-prompts-in-writing

Narrative Writing Teaching

There are many features to include in narrative writing, but it depends on the grade level being taught.  For the lower grades, it’s important to start with the concept of beginning, middle, and end written in sequential order.  Then you can expand to the introduction, body, and conclusion using details.  Other important elements are character, setting, problem, and solution.  As the student’s abilities increase the number of sentences will grow and expand to paragraphs.

For the older grades, you can introduce plot structure.  It follows the beginning, middle, and end format but on a higher level.  This story arc includes exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution.  Use the diagram below to see how these features overlap.

Plot Structure

diagram-of-plot-structure

Topics for Narrative Writing

The possibilities are endless when it comes to narrative writing ideas.  Kids can create a fiction piece or write about an experience in their life.  Check out some writing prompt ideas below for narrative and personal narrative writing. You might also like this blog post about opinion writing prompts: 20 Prompts for Opinion Writing That Motivate Kids

Writing Prompts for Narratives

  • I was taking my friend’s picture in front of the volcano when all of a sudden . . .  
  • What if you were given 3 wishes but couldn’t use them on yourself.  Tell a story about what you would wish for and why.
  • Write a story called, “The Luckiest Day of My Life.”
  • Imagine you went to the zoo and could take home any animal for the day.  Tell a story about your time together.
  • Write a silly story that uses these words: airplane, grapes, elephant, and book.
  • You have just been shrunk down to the size of an ant.  Write a story including the good and bad things about being so small.
  • Think about your favorite character from a book.  Tell a story about getting to meet them for the first time.
  • What would happen if you lived during a time when there was no electricity?  Write a story about your school day.
  • Finish this story: The pirates set sail on their ship in search of . . .
  • Suppose you were teacher for a day.  Write a story about the changes you would make.

prompt-for-narrative-writing

Writing Prompts for Personal Narratives

  • Have you ever been so proud of yourself for learning something new?  Write a story about a time this happened.
  • Write a story about a time you felt your heart race.  What happened and how were you feeling at the end?
  • What was your most memorable vacation?  Tell a story from part of that trip and why it stands out in your mind.
  • Have you ever done something you knew would get you in big trouble?  Write a story about a time this happened and how you felt about it.
  • Write a story about the strangest thing that has ever happened to you.  Why was it so unusual?
  • What was your most memorable moment from this year?  Write a story telling why it’s so special.
  • Tell a story about a time when you were so excited and couldn’t wait for an event to happen.
  • Write a small moment story about a time you had with your favorite person.
  • Write about a time that you lost something important.  Tell whether or not you found it.
  • Think about the worst day you ever had.  What made it so terrible and did it get better by the end?

prompt-for-narrative-writing

Rubrics for Narrative Writing

I often hear from teachers that one of the most difficult parts of teaching writing is how to assess it.  Assessments should be accurate and helpful for both the student and teacher.  When it comes to narrative writing, there are many different approaches.  Some teachers prefer to do a more informal assessment for daily writing pieces and then a formal assessment for the final copy.  Informal assessments can be completed with written comments or student-teacher conferences.

It would be very difficult to use a rubric for every narrative writing a student completes in their notebook.  Instead, most teachers prefer to choose one to three writing pieces to assess with a rubric.  These assessments are ideal for benchmarks, progress reports, and report cards.  Below you will find three types of narrative writing rubrics.  Check out this blog post to learn more about student-friendly, teacher-friendly, and time-saving rubrics: 3 Types of Writing Rubrics for Effective Assessments

writing-rubrics-2nd-grade

Narrative writing enables kids to be creative and use their imagination. They can write a fiction story or about a real event from their life. Writing prompts are a helpful tool to get kids engaged and ready to get started. Did you grab your Free Writing Prompt Guide yet? I love using prompts for morning work, writing time, centers, or as a homework assignment. The possibilities are endless! Be sure to try these prompts for narrative writing with your students!

Genre Based Prompts

prompt-for-narrative-writing

Related Articles:

  • 20 Prompts for Opinion Writing That Motivate Kids
  • What is Narrative Writing
  • A Complete Guide to Narrative Writing
  • Personal Narrative Writing for Elementary School
  • Narrative Writing: How to Teach a Story Arc That’s as Exciting as a Roller Coaster

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Narrative Writing Prompts: 50+ Ideas for Your Literary Masterpiece

Narrative writing is the style of writing used in fiction and creative nonfiction, such as memoirs. It's the telling of a story, with a beginning, middle, and end. As such, becoming proficient at narrative writing is essential if you want to make a living writing.

Even if you want to write only as a hobby, you'll need to be more than passingly familiar with this kind of writing. Luckily, this article will help you do just that. First, we'll discuss a bit more about narrative writing, then dive into some narrative writing prompts to get the ideas flowing.

  • Kinds of narrative writing.
  • Who narrative writing prompts are for.
  • List of narrative writing prompts.

Table of contents

  • Different Types of Narrative Writing
  • Who Should Use Narrative Writing Prompts?
  • Linear Narrative Prompts
  • Non-Linear Narrative Prompts
  • Viewpoint Narrative
  • Descriptive Narrative
  • Finding Your Market Niche

There are several types of narrative writing that are used in fiction and some nonfiction books. The most common type is the linear narrative, in which the story progresses in a logical manner. Most fiction is of the linear narrative type .

There's also the non-linear narrative, in which the story jumps around through time. A couple of well-known non-linear story examples include movies such as Pulp Fiction , Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind , and Memento .

Then you have the viewpoint narrative, in which the story is written from the narrator's point of view. Memoirs are examples of viewpoint narrative works, but there are also many first-person point-of-view works of fiction.

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Finally, you have the descriptive narrative, in which a scene, person, place, or thing is described with detailed description using the five senses. A good story will contain enough description to immerse the reader in the story.

We've grouped the creative writing prompts below according to these narrative types. You can pick a prompt from each and get writing, or you can choose only ones that are interesting/pertinent to whatever work-in-progress you're currently involved with.

But before we get to the prompts, do you really need to practice narrative writing?

Whether you're a middle school or high school student, a young writer or an old hand, practicing your craft can only help your writing. While it's true you may remember narrative writing exercises from your elementary school days (no matter how long ago they were), that doesn't mean these exercises can't help you today.

The best writers work on their craft constantly. Like anything else, writing skills need to be sharpened and honed. And one of the best ways to do that is through the various types of narrative writing.

Narrative writing prompts can also help you overcome writer's block so you can get back to writing, whether it's a horror story or a narrative essay. Getting the creative gears turning is great for overcoming creative blocks.

So it doesn't matter where you are in your writing career, narrative writing prompts can help!

Narrative Writing Prompts

These prompts provide a fun way to sharpen your writing skills. You can choose one narrative prompt at a time, or work on multiple to really make things interesting.

Make sure to include a beginning, middle, and end for these linear prompts. They should tell a story in which the main character has to solve a problem or overcome some obstacle , whether physically, emotionally, or both.

1. Write a short story about a fantasy character who gets stuck in our world and has to find their way back home.

2. Write a scene in which a kid has to get home for dinner across a treacherous landscape and through a gauntlet of imaginary monsters and evil sorcerers.

3. Pick three tropes from your favorite writing genre and use them to inform your story. (Example: Horror story (genre), vampires, mad scientist, and a questionable ally.)

4. Write about a character who goes on a blind date that either goes really well or really poorly.

5. Write about a character who wants nothing more than to ride a Ferris wheel, but has a phobia of balloons.

6. Write about an art thief going to great lengths to steal a piece of art.

7. Write about a police officer who must talk someone out of doing something drastic and terrible.

8. Write a scene about a woman meeting a date at a coffee shop and running into her ex.

9. Write about a woman who must brave a violent storm to get home to her children.

10. Write a story detailing a harrowing visit to another country.

Get creative with these prompt ideas. Non-linear narrative prompts are often told from multiple perspectives and/or through the use of epistolary means (i.e. letters, journal entries, news reports, etc.).

11. Write about a fictional character through ripped-out pages from a journal that another character finds.

12. Write a story about a group of friends who go camping and end up getting assaulted by strange creatures. But piece the story together from the point of view of two or more characters.

13. Recount the end of a relationship from the POV of the two participants. Is there a misunderstanding at work, or do both people have the exact same story about why the relationship ended?

14. Write about a family who experiences an earthquake in different parts of the city.

15. Write a scene in which a cop and a criminal are matching wits in an interview room.

16. Start with the end of a story you know well, and then write it backward.

17. Write a story about a character with amnesia who remembers events out of order.

18. Explore a major historical event through the eyes of fictional characters who were “there.”

19. Start in the middle of a story about a long journey, then use flashbacks to fill in essential plot elements.

20. Using an unreliable narrator , tell the story of a disastrous music festival.

Viewpoint narrative can be completely made up or a product of your own personal experience. You can always combine fiction and personal narrative for a great writing exercise . If you're having trouble with writer's block , then the following prompts may be the easiest way to get your writing back on track.

21. What's your favorite memory from childhood? Write it down in as much detail as possible.

22. What's the proudest moment of your life so far? Use it as a starting point to craft a scene in which the moment gets even better.

23. What drew you to creative writing? Describe what inspired you to become a writer.

24. Think back to a day in 7th grade when you had a great day. Describe the day and what made it so great.

25. Write a comedic scene about your family on vacation.

26. Have you ever broken the law? Don't answer that. Instead, write a fictional story in which you do break the law.

27. Think of a famous person who gives you inspiration. Write about what you would do if you ever met them.

28. Write about what you would do on your dream vacation.

29. Write a short story about becoming a superhero.

30. Write a story from the viewpoint of a fictional character planning something nefarious.

31. Write a romantic story about meeting the love of your life.

32. Write a journal entry from the viewpoint of a character who has just accomplished their biggest goal.

33. Write a story about a day in the life of someone from a different cultural background.

34. Write a personal narrative in which you become a professional athlete in your favorite sport.

35. Write a story in which you're a rock star or a movie star.

36. Write a story from the POV of a character struggling to change the world for the better.

37. Write a first-person story about a police officer cracking the big case.

38. Write about a time you tried and failed at something. Explore your feelings and the aftermath.

39. Write about the weirdest thing that's ever happened to you.

40. Write about a near-death experience you've had.

In descriptive narrative, plot is secondary. It's more about getting the details down using all five senses . This can really help strengthen your fiction writing by helping readers feel immersed in the world of your story.

41. Describe a haunted house in detail.

42. Describe a fantasy creature you've made up or one from existing lore.

43. Write about the neighborhood park, including people who frequent it.

44. Write about a breathtaking building you've always liked.

45. Write about a landfill.

46. Write about a fantasy world in which dragons, demons, and elves exist.

47. Write about a building you're intimately familiar with.

48. Write about a spooky forest.

49. Write about a person (either real or fictional) without leaving any details out.

50. Describe the most beautiful sunset or vista you've ever seen.

While most of these writing prompts are mere exercises to strengthen your writing, you may find that they result in a story idea or two. So whether you use them as journal prompts for creative, stream-of-consciousness writing or as a way to come up with stories doesn't really matter. What matters is the writing activity you get out of them. Each hour you spend writing (and not just staring at the screen or surfing social media) adds to the 10,000 hours it takes to become an expert at something.

But what do you do when you want to put your writing out into the world? Well, if you want to make some money from your craft, you'll need to find the right market for your work.

Just as getting to know your characters is important for writing a good story, getting to know your market niche is essential for getting your story in front of readers . There are a couple of ways to do this, but only one that leaves you more time for actual writing. And that means using Publisher Rocket , made by the team here at Kindlepreneur.

With Publisher Rocket, you can get data in seconds that would otherwise take you hours if you were to comb through Amazon yourself. The main PR tools allow you to:

  • Learn what keywords Amazon customers use to search for books like yours — and how many searches a given keyword (or phrase) receives per month.
  • See what's working for other authors in your genre with data on book price, monthly sales, ranking, and book cover styles.
  • Find niche categories with the right amount of demand and competition for your books.
  • Gather keywords to use in your Amazon Ad campaigns.

Check out Publisher Rocket here to learn more.

Dave Chesson

When I’m not sipping tea with princesses or lightsaber dueling with little Jedi, I’m a book marketing nut. Having consulted multiple publishing companies and NYT best-selling authors, I created Kindlepreneur to help authors sell more books. I’ve even been called “The Kindlepreneur” by Amazon publicly, and I’m here to help you with your author journey.

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45 Narrative Writing Prompts for Every Writer

Narrative Writing Prompts

The art of storytelling is timeless, offering windows into worlds both known and imagined. Narrative writing prompts can serve as a catalyst, igniting the flame of creativity and guiding authors on mesmerizing journeys of narrative exploration.

Here are 45 narrative prompts to inspire captivating tales:

  • A stranger leaves a mysterious package at your doorstep with a note saying, “Protect it at all costs.”
  • You inherit an old clock that seems to have the power to turn back time—but only by five minutes.
  • After a thunderstorm, every person in town develops a peculiar ability.
  • A secret door in the library leads to an alternate universe where stories come alive.
  • Every year on your birthday, a postcard arrives from a location you’ve never visited.
  • You find an untouched, ancient city hidden deep in the Amazon rainforest.
  • An anonymous diary appears on your bed every morning, narrating your day in advance.
  • Your reflection in the mirror starts to communicate with you.
  • A rare comet passing Earth grants wishes, but with unforeseen consequences.
  • After adopting a stray dog, you realize it can detect untruths.
  • An old family heirloom holds the key to a treasure buried during a war.
  • Every photograph you capture shows an additional person that wasn’t present.
  • A lighthouse on a distant cliff seems to communicate messages through its light.
  • After a meteor shower, a crystal-clear lake now shows people’s deepest desires.
  • A childhood toy reappears, leading you on a quest you’d imagined as a kid.
  • At a family gathering, an unknown elderly relative shares tales of a parallel family lineage.
  • An abandoned railway station becomes active again at midnight.
  • A tattoo artist in town has the power to make inked wishes come true.
  • A local café serves beverages that let patrons relive memories.
  • A snow globe displays not just winter scenes but also hints at future events.
  • A vintage radio picks up broadcasts from the past.
  • A peculiar phone booth allows callers to speak to their younger selves.
  • After a solar eclipse, animals start exhibiting human traits.
  • Every time you write in a particular notebook, the previous owner responds.
  • A peculiar storm changes the color of everything it touches.
  • An amusement park ticket grants access to your childhood memories.
  • A dreamcatcher not only captures nightmares but also reveals their origins.
  • A midnight train journey where passengers must trade memories for tickets.
  • A forgotten childhood friend reappears, but they haven’t aged a day.
  • A music box plays a melody that transports listeners to its origin.
  • A necklace allows its wearer to hear the whispers of trees.
  • A beach where the sands show visions of historical events.
  • A fountain that grants age reversal, but only once.
  • Every time you paint, the scenes begin to manifest in reality.
  • An ancient tree in a park tells tales of the city’s past.
  • A map leading to an island where forgotten dreams reside.
  • An opera with the power to change a spectator’s life based on the performance.
  • A pawnshop where customers trade objects for memories.
  • A diary that reveals the unknown stories of strangers you cross paths with.
  • A bakery where pastries let consumers taste emotions.
  • An elevator that transports passengers to significant moments in their ancestry.
  • An umbrella that shields its holder from more than just rain.
  • A candle that, when lit, illuminates hidden secrets.
  • A street performer who can pull real objects from his paintings.
  • A forgotten alley where one can meet characters from discarded book drafts.

Conclusion:

In the grand tapestry of storytelling, these narrative writing prompts provide the threads of inspiration. Whether you’re a seasoned writer or someone taking their first steps into the realm of narrative creation, may these prompts offer a wealth of tales, memories, and dreams waiting to be penned.

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A Full List Of Narrative Writing Prompts To Boost Your Writing Process

  • March 14, 2022

Narrative writing prompts are the beginnings of stories, an idea to work on, or sometimes even a picture or image to inspire writers. Teachers often use them to inspire personal narrative writing.

Personal narrative writing prompts can be used by students, writers, or anyone at all to write a personal narrative. Personal narratives are personal stories that are usually written in first-person and tell the story of something that has happened to the writer.

They are invaluable tools to help students write a story based on their own lives. These ideas can lead to a passion for writing for many students in a classroom setting.

Personal Narrative Prompts

Writing personal narratives can be difficult because there is so much that occurs within a person’s life, not just in milestones but emotionally and psychologically.

Narrowing down a topic with no prompts can take time and lead to frustration, especially for students in a writing or English class who are just learning the writing process.

Rather than asking them to write a story out of thin air, asking them to describe a memory or experience about a time they cannot forget can inspire a student to really put themselves into the story.

The aspiring writers can connect with it in a way that they otherwise wouldn’t if you simply told them to write about any ideas they had.

Learning to Write from Prompts Early On

Personal narrative stories are often assigned as early as middle school. Students writing their own stories and personal experiences with the aid of a writing prompt can reflect on their own lives and write about it, at the same time, and improve their writing skills.

Personal narratives are used to improve the writing skills of middle school students because when students write more technical or dry papers, such as procedural writing, they often have trouble connecting with the work.

Unless you plan to write user manuals as a writer, you most likely won’t get many creative jobs from writing “how-to” papers that procedural papers demand.

Narrative writing prompts, writing skills, how to write an interesting story

Teaching Students

If you’re a teacher and you’d like to teach students or lead students to be able to write fictional short stories, a great place to start is with personal narrative prompts.

Students can write a fictional story based on a writing prompt and have a successful moment as a writer, especially if they already have experience with personal writing prompts.

Using personal narratives as inspiration for a fictional story will invite students to get creative and use descriptive language about something that they are already familiar with.

Students can also fictionalize their own experiences in this way and write about a traumatic event but translating painful memories into short stories , which makes for a healing and therapeutic experience.

Personal Narratives Do More Than Improve Writing Habits

Including narrative writing prompts in your lesson plans as a teacher is an excellent idea if you’d like to help students reflect, deal with the challenging moments in life using creativity as an outlet, and improve the skills of a young writer.

When students write anything creative, they improve not only as writers but as thinkers, and that’s the goal of nearly every middle school grade level teacher.

Personal Narrative Writing Prompts

Giving personal narrative prompts to students and asking them to turn them into short stories is a great assignment to add to lesson plans.

You can assign a wide variety of prompts and topics, from asking students to write about their favorite song, to asking them to make themselves the main character in a story about their favorite memory.

The possibilities are truly endless. Thinking about a time that proved to be significant, can inspire a wonderful narrative writing piece and lead to students reflecting and learning to connect with their writing.

Attaching strong emotion to a story or a character can help to lend a story weight, and when you draw off of your own personal experiences, a story can go from a dull and flat narrative to a thought-provoking and emotional, immersive experience.

Examples of Personal Narrative Writing Prompts

Personal narrative writing can be about anything that the writer has experienced, felt, or been through. It can be about a time that really impacted or changed the person, or it can be about something light and trivial.

Drawing off of your own experiences as a writer often makes the writer care more about the content, which is what makes personal narrative prompts such powerful tools for teachers and students.

The following are some examples of personal narrative writing prompts that can be assigned to anyone.

You don’t have to give them to your students. You don’t have to be a teacher. You don’t really even have to be a writer.

It’s healthy to reflect upon your own life, about a time that meant something to you. Having personal narrative prompts can be a great way to provide yourself with self-care if you choose a prompt each day and journal about it.

Topics for Personal Narrative Writing

Feel free to add to this list or expand upon it. The possibilities are truly endless when it comes to topics to write about in narrative writing. Every event, experience, need, dream, desire, fear, and goal, is a story waiting to be written.

  • Write about an old house you or a friend have lived in. Was it scary, or was it cozy? What about it made you feel that way?
  • Who was your role model growing up? What about that person who you look up to?
  • What is/was your favorite subject in school? Do you enjoy school? 
  • Describe the worst thing that has ever happened to you. How did you react to it?
  • What is the scariest thing you’ve ever had to do? 
  • Who are you closest to in your family? 
  • What is your favorite book? Why do you like it so much? 
  • If you could change one thing about the world, what would it be?
  • Write about a time in history that interests you most? Explain why.
  • What makes a good friend? 
  • What is your favorite place to relax by yourself? 

Ideas for a Personal Narrative

Personal narratives often evoke a vast array of emotions for both the reader and the writer., whether you are writing about an experience that had a positive outcome or a circumstance that affected you in a negative way.

Personal narratives are often very detailed and told in first-person . Below are some ideas that you may use to jump-start your personal narrative writing:

  • Write about how you succeeded in something you thought was impossible. 
  • Write about a defeat where you expected to win.
  • Think of a contest or a club you participated in when you were a student. How did this milestone affect you?
  • Reminisce about a moment when your idea led to the establishment of something important.
  • Tell a story about a time in your life that you wish would not happen to anyone else. How did you recover from that event?
  • Recall a most memorable moment which caused you a lot of fear and whether or not you were able to overcome it.
  • Consider a story in your life when a friend or your significant other showed loyalty to you or completely betrayed you.
  • Try to remember a happy or sad circumstance in your family that occurred years ago.
  • Narrate a time when you had a culture shock from visiting another place.
  • Tell a story about a problem you experienced which until now has not been solved.
  • Narrate a story where you witnessed something remarkable, peculiar, or creepy.
  • Tell a story related to your greatest accomplishment in life and what you had to sacrifice to get there.

Personal Narrative Examples in the Real World

Throughout history, people have been using personal narratives to explain events that occurred. Often with no reader in mind at all, people have documented and told the stories of events that have helped to shape the world that we live in and know now.

Imagine where we’d be if Lewis and Clark had not documented their journey. Think about the history we’d have if Anne Frank hadn’t written down her experiences during the Holocaust.

Explain to students what an impact this sort of writing has and how it has enabled all of society to discover things that we otherwise may not have known.

Sure, the Holocaust happened with or without one Jewish girl’s diary. Still, that diary made it possible for us to be able to create powerful personal images from the memory of one small child. We still have this sort of “diary writing” in use today, just in a different form.

Technology Gives Us an Online Diary

Technology has given us the internet, and with that wonderful tool, we are able to post our own narratives in real-time and give the entire world a chance to read our short stories. Personal narrative writing can help us to describe things to people outside of our own culture and experiences.

Narrative writing prompts, story starters

Through the use of a blog, website, or social media, we can share our ideas, a moment that meant something to us, a significant event that happened that changed us profoundly, and a look at how family life is evolving and shaping the way we live.

Students can be shown through the use of personal narrative that they have a voice and that when they write a story at school, that narrative does more than help them pass the class.

The Use of Prompts in School

When you ask students in your classroom of any age, whether it’s elementary, middle, high school, or college, to describe personal experiences or write a story that can describe the way an event made them feel, you are opening up the door for a writer to learn that ideas can come from any moment.

There is a story in every small experience, each family is its own story, and each person is its own story.

When you ask your class to write about just one moment, they are forced to put thoughts down in an organized fashion and turn it into a narrative of what happened, rather than the scattered rendition of it that lives inside the writer’s mind.

Using prompts in the classroom allows teachers to point to a writer’s internal story and personal history as inspiration. The use of details to help a reader who did not experience these events will enable a writer to become more skilled and well-rounded.

The point is to write about a time that meant something to the writer and can be conveyed to the audience in a way that makes them feel something.

Many times, a personal narrative takes on a casual tone and helps an audience to better connect with it. This can be a valuable way for young or beginning-level writers to learn how to write in a tone that will invoke feeling from an audience.

It’s more than just the subject matter that makes readers feel something. For example, in a blog, the writer addresses the audience most of the time in the same way you would speak to a friend.

The casual tone of a personal narrative makes the audience feel like you’re all friends.

When a writer is striving for that connection, it’s much easier to explain why their favorite place is a dark closet, a coffee shop, their bed, a shopping mall, a church pew, or some other personal and sometimes vulnerable secret and personal thing.

The more details that you use when you write about a time that affected your life, the more the audience will understand the feelings and thoughts associated with that memory.

Personal narrative writing is truly a multi-faceted learning experience. It teaches reflection skills, tone, narrative elements, and so much more.

Where to Find More Writing Prompts

Many instructors find that beginning the class with a writing prompt is a great way to get creative juices flowing, get a classroom ready for learning, and connect with the students. There are many ways to develop writing prompt ideas, especially personal ones.

Think about your own life and the events and memories that shaped you. Ask yourself if these are common experiences or if they are exclusive to your life.

If they’re fairly common experiences, like the feeling you got when you learned to ride a bike, then ask everyone in the classroom to write about their own experience with this topic.

Participate in Your Own Assignments

Feel encouraged to also take part in the assignment and demonstrate either before the task is given or after the narrative writing process has wrapped up so that your pupils can witness an example written by their instructor.

This will not only teach them the mechanics of narrative writing. It will also help them to connect to you as their teacher and open up new lines of communication and understanding, which can make a student feel safer to share personal experiences in their writing.

Where to Find Narrative Writing Prompts

The internet is a plethora of writing ideas. Writing prompts can be searched for and found easily by performing a simple Google search.

Another fantastic option is to buy a physical copy of a book of writing prompts . These can be found online for purchase and at most bookstores.

If you are a writer or aspire to be a novelist, having a book of writing prompts can help you jump-start your creativity when you begin your writing process each day. The benefits of good writing prompts are endless.

Fictional Narrative Writing

As you enter the world of fictional narrative writing, feel free to use your imagination and completely release all of your creative juices. Here are some prompts you can utilize for fictional narrative writing:

  • Write a story about an earphone that tells its owner what will happen the next day.
  • Consider a situation where a schoolgirl draws something that could solve a recent crime. The catch is she was never a witness. Keep the plot going.
  • Create a plot where teenagers of today go back to the time when there was no Internet.
  • Suppose a reunion of friends leads to the discovery of the long-lost treasure. 
  • Imagine a teacher goes missing on a school day and her diary entries suggest that someone close to her has been sending her death notes. However, the one who has been sending the death notes isn’t the criminal.
  • Write about an investigator who is the accomplice of an evil villain.
  • Visualize a writer finding an old letter sent to her parents about her being a jinx.
  • Imagine an introverted boy who is bothered by his own ability to remember minute details in his surroundings. This skill however, will be what allows him to save his family.
  • Write a story where you visited a place and they believed you to be a member of the royal family. The twist is that you are with your biological parents, who do not have any royal blood at all.
  • Write about a fictional world where all significant events are considered opposite to how we experience them. For instance, a birthday is not a celebration but instead a day of great gloom.
“The best way to predict the future is to invent it.” Alan Kay

Fairy Tale Writing Prompts

What could be more enchanting than to write a fairy tale story? A fairy tale lets you create delightful scenarios which appeal to readers of all ages, especially children. Here are some fairy tale writing prompts that may entice you into writing an entire plot:

  • Conceptualize a fairy tale where the prince is a coward.
  • Suppose, on your way home, you found a shopping bag full of items in front of your door. The next thing you know, they are all magical and begin interacting with you.
  • Write about a character you do not wish to be in your life. Make that character the villain of your fairy tale story.
  • Create a story about a cursed princess who transforms into different animals every single waking hour, starting from 6:00 a.m each morning.
  • Imagine a schoolboy tracing the whereabouts of his parents through magical potions.
  • Visualize that you discovered your best friend as an evil princess, trying to take revenge on the school bullies. You are the only person who knows it. What would you do?
  • Construct a fairy tale story out of your favorite love song. Consider the song’s message as the theme of your story.
  • Browse through online shops, and make their bestsellers the magical items possessed by a king.
  • Create a story where the king and queen unwillingly part ways and find their way back together after a decade.
  • Imagine a story where all the things being written by the protagonist come true in real-time.

Superhero Writing Prompts

As a child, you may have believed that superheroes can fly, have supernatural powers, or are immortal. As you grow older, you may have discovered that heroes are not how you have once imagined them. However, heroes exist in many different ways, and stories about them are still captivating. Below are some helpful superhero writing prompts:

  • Write a story about a superhero who is hot-tempered. Explore how this trait affects the superhero’s way of saving lives.
  • Imagine a group of scientists trying to experiment with a superhero’s antibodies.
  • Visualize a scenario where a superhero was wrongfully accused killing a victim whom he tried to save from the real villains.
  • Consider a scene where the current hero dies, and the world needs another. How would another superhero rise up?
  • Write a story about a hero with claustrophobia who has to rescue a significant person from an enclosed space.
  • A superhero is in a dilemma whether to save a loved one or save the majority. If the hero saves her loved one, the majority dies and vice versa.
  • Suppose a superhero discovers telekinesis one day when he is almost kidnapped. How did he discover it and is he able to use it to save himself?
  • Weave a story where the black sheep of a family turns out to be the greatest superhero of this generation.
  • Create a story where the villain is the superhero’s first love. The superhero is still in love with her and which makes being a superhero incredibly difficult.
  • Put together a narrative writing where the superhero is an alien who assumed a human body to protect the people of Earth.
  • Write about how the superhero’s allergies are triggered whenever he goes to different places to save people.

Narrative writing can be challenging especially if you are not inspired. However, we can draw from various events, experiences, even people we connect with in life to glean some personal narrative prompts to a start a basic short story and perhaps progress into a full length novel.

If you find yourself stumped, we hope that the narrative writing prompts shared here can help you improve the writing skills of your students or inspire you to pick up your pen or tap on your keyboard to start writing on what may be your bestselling work.

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  • 51 Prompts for Narrative Writing to Spark the Imagination
  • Teaching English
  • James Prior
  • No Comments
  • Updated January 29, 2024

Narrative writing is an important part of any English student’s development and can form a key component of language acquisition. These 51 prompts for narrative writing invite students to recount personal stories, describe memories, and use their imagination.

writing prompts for a narrative

Being able to teach writing is often a challenge, but it’s one of the many good teaching qualities you’ll need to help your students find success with their language acquisition. Narrative writing plays a key role in this. It allows students to use their imagination to practice using previously learned vocabulary and grammar. and helps improve student’s writing skills.

To get you started, we have included a mixture of prompt ideas here. Some will be more suitable for adult students and others are intended for younger learners. So, get stuck in and start inspiring those stories!

Table of Contents

Personal Narrative Writing

Personal narrative writing is a form of writing in which the author recounts a personal experience or story. It typically involves the use of a first-person perspective and focuses on the author’s thoughts, feelings, and reflections on the events described. The goal of personal narrative writing is to engage the reader by providing a vivid and detailed account of a specific moment or series of events from the author’s life.

Personal narrative writing skills tend to become more important later in life when you’ll need them to apply for a job. However, it’s still vital that students practice this form of writing from a young age.

You can use these personal narrative writing prompts to get students to describe a personal experience or something that left an impression on them.

Prompts for Personal Narrative Writing

  • Write about a time you overcame a challenge at work. Tell the story of the challenge and write about what you did to overcome it.
  • Write about a time when you played the role of teacher. Tell the story of what you did that day.
  • Think about a time when you worked really hard to get something. Tell the story of what you had to do to get it and what it felt like when you finally obtained it.
  • Write about the accomplishment you are most proud of.
  • Write about where you see yourself in 10 years. What position will you be in? How will life look?
  • Write about the most influential person in your life. How have they influenced you?
  • Write about a time when you influenced someone else. How did you influence them and what was the outcome?
  • Think about your favorite boss. Write a story about a time when they did something that left a lasting impression on you.
  • What is your dream job? Write about why it is your dream job.
  • Write about a professional achievement you are proud of. What is this achievement? How did you accomplish it?
  • Tell a story about a day when nothing went right for you. How did you overcome this?
  • Write about the person you look up to and explain why you look up to them.
  • If you could meet anyone in the world, who would it be and why? Write a story about meeting that person.
  • Write about your best friend. How do you know them? What do you like about them? What do you like to do with them?
  • Think about the first holiday with your friends. Write about where you went, what it was like and what happened on the holiday. If you haven’t been on holiday with your friends yet, write about the sort of holiday you would like to have with your friends.
  • Write about your favorite family holiday. Where did you go? Who was there? Why was it your favorite?
  • If you got lost in a foreign country and didn’t know the language, how would you communicate? Write a story about how you would manage this if you ever experienced it.
  • Write a story about a time you experienced an embarrassing incident and describe how you dealt with it.
  • Everyone has a favorite time of the year. What is your favorite time of the year and what do you like to do then? Write a story about your favorite time of the year.
  • Write about your favorite holiday you celebrate. Why is it your favorite holiday? What are your traditions?
  • Tell a story about your dream place to live. What would it be like to live there?
  • Write a story about a special day you had, one which you will always remember.
  • What is your favorite thing you do for fun? What do you like about it?
  • Write about your best childhood memory.
  • Write a story about a memorable day you had at school.
  • What was your favorite subject in school and why?
  • Write a story about a place you’ve always wanted to visit. What would you do there?
  • Write about your favorite film. What is the film and why is it your favorite?
  • What is the best gift you ever received? Who gave it to you and why do you like it? Do you still have it? If not, what happened to it?
  • Write about a time a family member had an important impact on your life. What did they do and how did it impact you?

Fictional Narrative Writing

Fictional narrative writing involves creating stories that are not based on real events but are products of the author’s imagination. In fictional narratives, the writing process involves writers inventing characters, settings, and events to tell a story. The goal is to entertain, engage, and sometimes convey a deeper meaning or message.

Fictional narrative writing can take various forms, including short stories, novels, novellas, and even scripts for plays or films.

This style of writing is commonly taught in elementary school or middle school where students are often encouraged to use their imagination to write a short story.

You can use these fictional narrative writing prompts to get your students to engage their creative writing skills.

Prompts for Fictional Narrative Writing

  • Write a story about what it would be like if animals could talk.
  • Imagine you had a time machine. Write a story about where you would go.
  • Write a story about trading places with your favorite movie star.
  • What would happen if aliens visited Earth? Write a story about their day on Earth.
  • Imagine you wake up one day and a friendly alien is in your bedroom. The alien wants to be shown around your neighborhood. What would you do and where would you take the alien? Write a story about your day with the alien.
  • What it would be like if you could fly? Write a story about this.
  • Write a story about what it would be like if you were invisible. Where would you go?
  • One day you got stuck in a shop late at night and the mannequins came to life. Write a story about what happened that night.
  • Imagine you live 200 years in the future. What is it like and how different is it compared to today? Write a story about the future.
  • Pretend you lived in the time of the dinosaurs. Think about how your life would be a write a story about it.
  • Imagine you woke up one morning and you had switched places with a cat. What would it be like? Where would you go? Write a story about your day as a cat.
  • Imagine a world where nobody had to work. What would it be like? What would you do? Write a story about a world where nobody had to work.
  • Imagine you found a portal that allowed you to travel anywhere you wanted within seconds. Where would you go and what would you do there?
  • What would your life be like if you became friends with a genie who would grant you any wish you wanted? Write a story about what would happen if you were friends with a genie.
  • One day you are in a remote forest. In the distance, you notice trees walking around and as you get closer you hear that they are talking to each other. What would you do? What would happen if you met talking trees? Write about the experience.
  • Imagine that your hearing was much better than everyone else’s and you could hear things 200 meters away. What might you hear? How might it change your life? Write a story about a person with special hearing powers.
  • Imagine you had a flying bike and you could go anywhere you wanted for one day. Think of where you would go and tell the story of how you got there and what it was like.
  • One day you see a mysterious spacecraft drop a glowing box in your street and you decide to investigate. What’s in the box and what does it do? Write a story about what happens when you open the box.
  • Imagine a world where money didn’t exist. What would people do? How would you buy or sell things? Write a story about a world where money doesn’t exist.
  • One day you find an abandoned cave. Inside the cave, you find secret treasure with special powers. What powers does the treasure have and how do you use them?
  • If you could be someone else for the day, who would you be and why? Write an account of how your day would be.

These prompts for narrative writing are all great for sparking the imagination of your students and getting them to start writing. The next step is to get them to structure their ideas and learn how to write a conclusion . And remember, they don’t always need to use “in conclusion”. There are over 55 other ways to say in conclusion and you should encourage some variation.

We hope that you liked this list! If you have any prompts for narrative writing of your own that you use and would like to share, feel free to post them in the comments.

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50 Creative Narrative Writing Prompts to Ignite Your Imagination

Victory Ihejieto

  • February 21, 2024
  • Freelancing Tips

Table of Contents Hide

What is narrative writing, best creative narrative writing prompts for elementary, creative narrative writing prompts for high school, creative narrative writing prompts middle school, narrative writing prompts for students, fictional narrative writing prompts, recommendations.

Prompts for creative narrative writing are effective instruments that stimulate writers’ imaginations and foster creativity.

These writing prompts provide authors a place to start as they build captivating stories by letting them experiment with different characters, settings, and storylines.

They allow carrying the story in unexpected places while simultaneously establishing a structure for storytelling.

Through the use of creative narrative writing prompts, authors are forced to step outside of their comfort zones and try out different genres and styles.

These writing prompts might assist overcome writer’s block by generating original ideas and offering a novel viewpoint on narrative.

For writers who want to improve their craft and broaden their storytelling abilities, creative narrative writing prompts are a useful resource. They can be utilized as daily exercises or as inspiration for longer projects.

This article has a compilation of over 50 Creative Narrative Writing Prompts to Ignite Your Imagination. Check them out!

Narrative writing is a powerful tool that allows writers to create compelling stories that captivate readers and evoke emotional responses.

It does more than just retell events; instead, it digs deeply into the motivations, feelings, and ideas of the characters to weave a complex tapestry of experiences that the audience can fully immerse themselves in.

Authors can take readers to other places, eras, and points of view through narrative writing, allowing them to experience the world from a fresh perspective.

The capacity of narrative writing to emotionally connect with readers is one of its fundamental features. Writers can create a sensory experience that engrosses readers and gives them a sense of participation in the story by skillfully combining descriptive language with vivid pictures.

In addition to keeping readers engaged in the narrative, this emotional connection helps them sympathize with the characters and their hardships, which promotes a better comprehension of human emotions and experiences.

Narrative writing, at its core, is a transforming process that allows people to share a common story, so bridging gaps between them. It is more than just storytelling.

By creating gripping narratives with vivid characters and captivating storylines, authors can influence readers’ opinions, pose provocative questions, and motivate behaviour changes.

Read ALSO: 107+ Creative Writing Prompts For Middle School Students

Why use Creative Narrative Writing Prompts?

For writers of all skill levels, creative narrative writing prompts are an indispensable resource that provide a host of advantages.

  • Inspiration: Writing exercises offer a springboard for ideas or a starting point. They can serve as an inspiration to authors who are having trouble coming up with ideas or experiencing writer’s block.
  • Exploration: Authors are encouraged by prompts to write about themes, genres, people, and places that they might not have otherwise thought of. This investigation expands writing horizons and stimulates creativity.
  • Practice: Developing one’s writing skills requires consistent practice. Writing prompts provide writers with organized chances to hone their narrative, character, dialogue, and descriptive writing abilities.
  • Flexibility: Prompts can be modified to accommodate different writing objectives and tastes. They can serve as starting points for longer projects or as quick exercises or stories.
  • Overcoming Fear: The blank page might terrify some authors. It’s simpler to get started writing when you have a direction and are less anxious thanks to prompts.
  • Writing prompts promote experimenting with various narrative approaches, vocabularies, and styles. It’s a low-stakes setting where writers can push themselves.
  • Building Community: Prompts are a typical beginning point for group activities in many writing communities and workshops. Writing prompt responses to one another promotes writerly friendship, feedback, and teamwork.
  • Talent Development: Writers can hone particular writing abilities, such as world-building, pacing, character development, and story structure, by taking on a variety of prompts.
  • Productivity: By offering daily or weekly ideas to keep authors motivated and accountable, writing prompts can assist writers in developing a regular writing habit.
  • Self-Reflection: Writing responses to various prompts and investigating them can help authors gain a deeper awareness of their own passions, assets, and areas in need of development.
  • Write a story about a character who looks in their backyard and finds a secret portal to another realm.
  • Tell the tale of a person who wakes up and has to put together what happened after losing all recollection of the previous twenty-four hours.
  • Envision a society in which feelings are traded like goods. What impact does this have on everyday life and relationships?
  • Write a story about a time traveller who has to undo the effects of unintentionally altering a momentous historical event.
  • Tell the story of a group of survivors surviving in a post-apocalyptic world where machines have taken over sentience.
  • Write a story that takes place in a universe where everyone, save the protagonist, is born with a special magical skill.
  • Describe a civilization in which dreams are valued as commodities. What occurs if someone exhausts themselves?
  • Write a story about a character who inherits an ancient, enigmatic mansion that is haunted by the ghosts of its previous owners.
  • Describe the experience of someone who finds they have the capacity to speak with animals.
  • In a future where humanity has colonized other worlds, imagine the unanticipated difficulties that arise from otherworldly cultures.

Read ALSO: Chinese vs Japanese Writing: A Side-by-Side Comparison

For high school students, here are interesting creative narrative writing prompts for them:

  • Write about a world where music is forbidden, and one individual dares to defy the ban.
  • Describe a character who possesses the power to bring their drawings to life.
  • Tell the tale of a scientist who accidentally creates a potion that grants immortality.
  • Create a story set in a dystopian society where citizens’ thoughts are monitored and controlled by the government.
  • Write about a group of adventurers on a quest to retrieve a legendary artefact that holds the key to saving their kingdom.
  • Imagine a world where mythical creatures coexist with humans, but their existence is threatened by environmental changes.
  • Describe a character who discovers they can manipulate time, but soon realizes the consequences of their actions.
  • Tell the story of a person who finds a map leading to a hidden treasure buried deep in the jungle.
  • Write about a city where the streets come alive at night with magic and mystery.
  • Imagine a future where robots have replaced humans in the workforce, leading to widespread unemployment and social unrest.
  • Describe a character who can see glimpses of the future but struggles with the burden of knowing what’s to come.
  • Tell the tale of a group of unlikely allies brought together by fate to overthrow a tyrannical ruler.
  • Create a story set in a world where everyone is born with a tattoo that reveals their destiny.
  • Write about a person who discovers they have the ability to enter books and interact with the characters within.
  • Imagine a society where people are sorted into factions based on their personality traits, and one individual doesn’t fit into any category.
  • Describe a character who, unless they can end the cycle, is cursed to repeat the same day again and over.
  • Describe the tale of a sorcerer who finds out they are the last in a long line of people whose job it is to keep the world safe from evil.
  • Write about a future in which humans can upload their consciousness into virtual reality thanks to advancements in technology.
  • In a future where humanity is forced to find a new home among the stars because Earth is no longer livable, picture this.
  • Describe a character that has the capacity to hear other people’s thoughts but finds it difficult to control this power.
  • Tell the story of a person who discovers a mystery thing that gives them amazing skills but has a fatal cost.
  • Write a tale about a town where everyone lives with a secret, and a newcomer poses a threat to them all.
  • Write a narrative about a party of adventurers who discover a lost civilization beneath the ocean.
  • Imagine a society in which magic exists but is forbidden by a dishonest administration.
  • Tell the story of a character who finds they are the one chosen to vanquish an evil that has been threatening the planet for a long time.

Read ALSO: 140 Exclusive Writing Prompts For Adults

  • Tell the tale of a person who can travel between parallel universes and who has to deal with the fallout from their decisions in each one.
  • Write about a civilization in which recollections are traded, bought, and sold on the underground market.
  • In a world where sickness has been abolished by genetic engineering, imagine also that there is a difference between those who are genetically modified and those who are not.
  • Describe a character who, upon the full moon, is cursed to change into a new beast.
  • Tell the story of a rebel group that is up against an oppressive government that has complete control over society.
  • Write a story that takes place in a world where everyone, save the protagonist, has a guardian angel.
  • Write a story about a person who finds a hidden underground metropolis that is home to surviving members of a vanished civilization.
  • In a future in which sentient robots and humans coexist, imagine a situation in which a single person befriends an AI.
  • Describe a character who can telekinesis but finds it difficult to control.
  • Tell the tale of a person who discovers a doorway to a different dimension and has to avoid its perils to return home.
  • Write about a civilization in which reading is outlawed and one person goes to great lengths to protect literature and information.
  • Imagine a society in which the government rigorously regulates time travel, yet it is still possible.
  • Describe a character who learns they are descended from a mythical hero and that they have to live up to their destiny.
  • Tell the story of someone who, overnight, acquires the ability to speak every language in the world.
  • Write a tale that takes place in a future when global warming has wreaked havoc on the environment and people must adjust to survive in a hostile new environment.

Read ALSO: 50 Exclusive 4th Grade Writing Prompts That Are Printable For Free

Here are some fictional narrative writing prompts to inspire your storytelling:

Lost in Time: A young archaeologist finds an antiquated relic that allows them to travel back in time to a crucial historical period. They must avoid the perils of the past and learn the truth about the artifact’s enigmatic beginnings as they attempt to travel back in time.

The Forbidden Library: A curious adolescent discovers a hidden library full of knowledge that is prohibited in a society where books are outlawed. They discover a plot that has the potential to destroy their society as they investigate its mysteries further.

The Carnival of Dreams: Every year, an enigmatic carnival makes an appearance in the town and promises to fulfill its guests’ wildest dreams. But the magic of the carnival has a sinister cost, as a group of friends quickly learns.

The woodland Guardian: A lone guardian keeps the last remaining woodland in a realm beset by darkness safe from harm. However, the guardian must go out on a treacherous quest to defend their home and bring the land back into balance as a vicious tyrant threatens to completely destroy the forest.

The Clockwork City: A young inventor discovers a plot that might topple the ruling class of the steampunk metropolis, which is run by clockwork and steam. They have to uncover the truth before it’s too late, with the aid of a courageous journalist and a former robber.

The Memory Thief: A young girl learns she has the ability to take memories from other people in a world where memories are traded for money. But she has to go on a perilous journey to recover a memory that could save her dying sister when she unintentionally takes it, lest it be lost forever.

The Starlight Academy: A group of youngsters realize they have tremendous powers beyond their wildest imaginations at a prestigious academy for talented students. However, when they learn the dark secrets of the academy, they will need to work together to fend off an impending threat to both themselves and their world.

Creative narrative writing prompts are designed to stimulate creativity and inspire writers to explore new ideas and storylines.

For additional tips, guides, and resources on honing your narrative writing skills, explore our website’s blog section dedicated to helping writers unlock their full potential.

Of course! Feel free to share your creations with friends, family, or online communities to showcase your talent and receive feedback from fellow writers.

You can use these prompts as often as you like—daily, weekly, or whenever you feel stuck or in need of inspiration for your next story.

By using narrative writing prompts, you can practice storytelling, character development, and plot creation, ultimately enhancing your overall writing abilities.

Whether you’re an experienced writer looking for new ideas or a novice writer eager to explore different genres, these prompts will kindle a fire inside of you that can only be put out by writing the most captivating stories you can imagine. So grab a seat, reader, and join us as we explore this wealth of storytelling gems that are just waiting to be unearthed and brought to life by your vivid imagination.

  • Vibrantteaching.com – 20 prompts for narrative writing that spark creativity
  • Kindlepreneur.com – Narrative writing prompts
  • 50 Exclusive 4th Grade Writing Prompts That Are Printable For Free
  • 140 Exclusive Writing Prompts For Adults
  • 107+ Creative Writing Prompts For Middle School Students
  • Chinese vs Japanese Writing: A Side-by-Side Comparison

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WEEKLY WRITING PROMPTS

Join (probably?) the world's largest writing contest. Flex those creative muscles with weekly writing prompts.

Showing 2114 prompts

Heavenly bodies, set your story in a world where astrology and the movements of celestial bodies deeply impact the lives of inhabitants..

LIVE – Fantasy

People have gathered to witness a once-in-a-lifetime natural phenomenon, but what happens next is not what they expected.

LIVE – Mystery

Imagine an origin myth that somebody might use to explain an eclipse, or some other celestial event.

Write a story in which a character navigates using the stars..

LIVE – Adventure

Set your story during a total eclipse — either natural, or man-made.

LIVE – Fiction

writing prompts for a narrative

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🏆 Featuring 12 prize-winning stories from our community. Download it now for FREE .

Begin or end your story with a character taking a selfie.

Write about a character who sees a photo they shouldn’t have seen., write a story about a character who risks their life to take a photo., start your story with a character staring at a picture they don’t remember taking., center your story around a photo that goes viral., subscribe to our prompts newsletter.

Never miss a prompt! Get curated writing inspiration delivered to your inbox each week.

Write a story where time functions differently to our world.

Write a story about a character who wakes up in space., write a story from the point of view of a non-human character., write a story with a strong sense of place. how is the setting of your world the same as, but different to, our own, write a story imagining 'what if' one historic invention had never happened. how would our world be different now, start or end your story with a character who gets trapped inside a museum overnight., write about two characters who meet and/or fall in love in a museum., write about an art thief who is struggling to commit the perfect heist., write about someone who accidentally destroys a museum’s most valuable artifact., write about a gallery whose paintings come alive at night., win $250 in our short story competition 🏆.

We'll send you 5 prompts each week. Respond with your short story and you could win $250!

Contest #245 LIVE

Enter our weekly contest.

This week's theme: Heavenly Bodies

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Contest entries, closes at 23:59 - apr 12, 2024 est, recent contests ✍️.

#244 – Oh Snap!

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RBE | Short Stories | 2023-02

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Creative Writing Prompts

When the idea to start a weekly newsletter with writing inspiration first came to us, we decided that we wanted to do more than provide people with topics to write about. We wanted to try and help authors form a regular writing habit and also give them a place to proudly display their work. So we started the weekly Creative Writing Prompts newsletter. Since then, Prompts has grown to a community of more than 450,000 authors, complete with its own literary magazine, Prompted .  

Here's how our contest works: every Friday, we send out a newsletter containing five creative writing prompts. Each week, the story ideas center around a different theme. Authors then have one week — until the following Friday — to submit a short story based on one of our prompts. A winner is picked each week to win $250 and is highlighted on our Reedsy Prompts page.

Interested in participating in our short story contest? Sign up here for more information! Or you can check out our full Terms of Use and our FAQ page .

Why we love creative writing prompts

If you've ever sat in front of a computer or notebook and felt the urge to start creating worlds, characters, and storylines — all the while finding yourself unable to do so — then you've met the author's age-old foe: writer's block. There's nothing more frustrating than finding the time but not the words to be creative. Enter our directory! If you're ready to kick writer's block to the curb and finally get started on your short story or novel, these unique story ideas might just be your ticket.

This list of 1800+ creative writing prompts has been created by the Reedsy team to help you develop a rock-solid writing routine. As all aspiring authors know, this is the #1 challenge — and solution! — for reaching your literary goals. Feel free to filter through different genres, which include...

Dramatic — If you want to make people laugh and cry within the same story, this might be your genre.

Funny — Whether satire or slapstick, this is an opportunity to write with your funny bone.

Romance — One of the most popular commercial genres out there. Check out these story ideas out if you love writing about love.

Fantasy — The beauty of this genre is that the possibilities are as endless as your imagination.

Dystopian – Explore the shadowy side of human nature and contemporary technology in dark speculative fiction.

Mystery — From whodunnits to cozy mysteries, it's time to bring out your inner detective.

Thriller and Suspense — There's nothing like a page-turner that elicits a gasp of surprise at the end.

High School — Encourage teens to let their imaginations run free.

Want to submit your own story ideas to help inspire fellow writers? Send them to us here.

After you find the perfect story idea

Finding inspiration is just one piece of the puzzle. Next, you need to refine your craft skills — and then display them to the world. We've worked hard to create resources that help you do just that! Check them out:

  • How to Write a Short Story That Gets Published — a free, ten-day course by Laura Mae Isaacman, a full-time editor who runs a book editing company in Brooklyn.
  • Best Literary Magazines of 2023 — a directory of 100+ reputable magazines that accept unsolicited submissions.
  • Writing Contests in 2023 — the finest contests of 2021 for fiction and non-fiction authors of short stories, poetry, essays, and more.

Beyond creative writing prompts: how to build a writing routine

While writing prompts are a great tactic to spark your creative sessions, a writer generally needs a couple more tools in their toolbelt when it comes to developing a rock-solid writing routine . To that end, here are a few more additional tips for incorporating your craft into your everyday life.

  • NNWT. Or, as book coach Kevin Johns calls it , “Non-Negotiable Writing Time.” This time should be scheduled into your routine, whether that’s once a day or once a week. Treat it as a serious commitment, and don’t schedule anything else during your NNWT unless it’s absolutely necessary.
  • Set word count goals. And make them realistic! Don’t start out with lofty goals you’re unlikely to achieve. Give some thought to how many words you think you can write a week, and start there. If you find you’re hitting your weekly or daily goals easily, keep upping the stakes as your craft time becomes more ingrained in your routine.
  • Talk to friends and family about the project you’re working on. Doing so means that those close to you are likely to check in about the status of your piece — which in turn keeps you more accountable.

Arm yourself against writer’s block. Writer’s block will inevitably come, no matter how much story ideas initially inspire you. So it’s best to be prepared with tips and tricks you can use to keep yourself on track before the block hits. You can find 20 solid tips here — including how to establish a relationship with your inner critic and apps that can help you defeat procrastination or lack of motivation.

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The Daring English Teacher on Teachers Pay Teachers Secondary ELA resources Middle School ELA High School English

Narrative Writing Prompts to Assign Your Students: 10 Writing Prompts for Narrative Essays

Narrative Writing Prompts to Assign Your Students: 10 Writing Prompts for Narrative Essays

While I am a huge advocate of assigning writing to students at the beginning of the school year , middle school ELA and high school English teachers can assign narrative writing at any point in the year. In this blog post, I’m going to share 10 narrative writing prompts with you!

Teaching students about narrative writing and assigning a narrative writing project helps students work on their creativity, while also focusing on important literary elements. I explain to my students that just like the short stories that we read and analyze in class, they also need to create a setting that enhances the lot. Just like the short stories we read and analyze in class, they also need to fully develop the protagonist and antagonist.

Once students see this connection, they become stronger readers and writers. To help with this concept, my narrative writing teaching unit helps walk students step-by-step throughout the process.

Here are 10 narrative writing prompts to consider using in your classroom.

Personal narrative prompts.

When I choose one of these personal narrative writing prompts, since I teach high school, I also explain to my students that they most likely will be able to use some of what they’ve written for a college admissions essay or scholarship essay.

  • Write about a time when you worked hard toward accomplishing a goal. Tell the story about the goal, why you set the goal, the steps you took to accomplish the goal, and how you felt once it was accomplished.
  • Write about the accomplishment you are most proud of. In your narrative, explain your accomplishment, describe why you are most proud of it, and tell the story surrounding it.
  • Write about a time when you experienced hardship or failure. In your narrative, elaborate on the hardship. Explain the events and your feelings surrounding the hardship or failure, and how you have grown from the experience.
  • Write about your best childhood memory. In your narrative, tell the story of that memory.
  • Write about an event from your past that has shaped the person who you are today. In your narrative, tell the story surrounding that event and explain its significance on who you are today.

Fictional Narrative Prompts

Fictional Narrative Writing Prompts for the Secondary ELA Classroom

  • The day started out like any other. However, as soon as I woke up, I quickly realized…
  • Two characters explore an area in a field. During their explorations, they find a secret passage, a sort of tunnel to a new dimension. The characters step into the tunnel and are immediately transported to…
  • Choose your favorite fictional character from any fairy tale or superhero story and write an alternate story for that character.
  • The clock was tickly so slowly. It seemed as if time was moving backward and now forwards…
  • Cautiously, she/he/they opened the door and stepped inside. There was no going back now…

Teach Narrative Writing in Your Secondary ELA Classroom

Engage your students in this exciting and comprehensive narrative writing unit!  This standards-based narrative writing unit includes materials for both a personal narrative and a fictional narrative and includes everything you need to teach narrative writing to your middle and high school students, including both the print and digital files!

Walk your students step-by-step through the writing process with the materials in this unit. From brainstorming and organizing to peer editing, this narrative writing unit has it all!

Here is what fellow teachers say about this narrative writing unit!

Narrative Writing Prompts for the Secondary ELA Classroom

“This was an excellent resource for narrative writing in my special education class. My students use the Amplify ELA curriculum, but struggle with writing. Our first unit was in writing narratives, so I chose this resource to help break down the parts of their story by focusing on characters, settings, conflict, and planning out the plot separately. The result was more well thought out responses to their prompt. The slideshow for instruction was also well made and easy to read. Thank you!”

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Extremely satisfied

“ I used this as part my short story writing unit with my grade eights. It was an excellent way to set up their stories. I wanted to make sure my students really know all parts of their story before sitting down to writing their first draft. This resource really helped them get to know all aspects of their story.”

“ Teaching narrative writing is definitely NOT my strength! However, this resource made it so much easier!! Piecing together our stories by plot elements was so effective in getting my students on the path to creating some awesome stories! I will never teach narrative any other way! This is it!”

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The Write Practice

Top 100 Short Story Ideas

by Joe Bunting | 128 comments

Do you want to write but just need a great story idea? Or perhaps you have too many ideas and can’t choose the best one? Well, good news. We’ve got you covered.

Below are one hundred short story ideas for all your favorite genres. You can use them as a book idea, as writing prompts for writing contests , for stories to publish in literary magazines , or just for fun!

Use these 100 story ideas to get your creative writing started now.

Editor’s note: This is a recurring guide, regularly updated with ideas and information.

100 Top Short Story Ideas

If you're in a hurry, here's my 10 best story ideas in brief, or scroll down for the full version.

Top 10 Story Ideas

  • Tell the story of a scar.
  • A group of children discover a dead body.
  • A young prodigy becomes orphaned.
  • A middle-aged woman discovers a ghost.
  • A woman who is deeply in love is crushed when her fiancé breaks up with her.
  • A talented young man's deepest fear is holding his life back. 
  • A poor young boy or girl comes into an unexpected fortune.
  • A shy, young woman unexpectedly bumps into her soulmate.
  • A long journey is interrupted by a disaster.
  • A young couple run into the path of a psychopath.

The Write Structure

Get The Write Structure here »

Why Creative Writing Prompts Are Helpful

Below, you'll find our best creative writing prompts and plot ideas for every genre, but first, why do we use prompts? Is it just a waste of time, or can they actually help you? Here are three reasons we  love writing prompts at The Write Practice:

1. Practice the Language!

Even for those of us who are native English speakers, we're all on a language journey to go from beginners to skilled writers. To make progress on this language journey, you have to practice, and at The Write Practice, believe it or not, we're really into practice! Creative writing prompts are easy, fun ways to practice.

Use the prompts below to practice your storytelling and use of language. The more you practice, the better of a writer you'll become.

2. When you have no ideas and are stuck.

Sometimes, you want to write, but you can't think up any ideas. You could either just sit there, staring at a blank page, or you could find a few ideas to help you get started. Even better if the list of ideas is curated from our best plot ideas over the last decade that we've been publishing lessons, writing exercises, and prompts.

Use the story ideas below to get your writing started. Then when your creativity is warmed up, you'll start to come up with your own ideas!

3. To develop your own ideas.

Maybe you do have an idea already, but you're not sure it's good. Or maybe you feel like it's just missing some small piece to make it better. By reading other ideas, and incorporating your favorites into your   story, you can fill your plot holes and generate creative ideas of your own.

Use the story ideas below to develop your own ideas.

4. They're fun!

Thousands of writers use the prompts below every month, some at home, some in classrooms, and even a few pros at their writing “office.” Why? Because writing prompts can be fun. They get your creativity started, help you come up with new ideas of your own, and often take your writing in new, unexpected directions.

Use the plot ideas to have more fun with writing!

How to Write a Story

One last thing before we get to the 100 story ideas, let’s talk about how to write a great short story . (Already know how to write a great story? No problem. Just skip down to the ideas below.)

  • First, read stories. If you’ve never read a story, you’re going to have a hard time writing one. Where do you find great stories? There are a lot of places, but check out our list of  46 Literary Magazines  we’ve curated over here .
  • Write your story in a single sitting. Write the first draft of your story in as short a time as possible, and if you’re writing a short story , try to write it in one sitting. Trust me, this works. Everyone hates being interrupted when they’re telling compelling stories. Use that to your advantage and don’t stop writing until you’ve finished telling yours.
  • Read your draft. Read your story through once, without changing anything. This will give you a sense of what work it needs going forward.
  • Write a premise. After reading your first draft, get your head around the main idea behind your story by summarizing your story in a one sentence premise. Your premise should contain four things: a character, a goal, a situation, and a special sauce. Not sure what that means or how to actually do that? Here’s a full premise writing guide .
  • Write, edit, write, and edit. Good writing is rewriting. Use your second draft to fill in the plot holes and cut out the extraneous scenes and characters you discovered when you read the first draft in step #2. Then, polish up your final draft on the next round of edits.
  • Submit! Real writers don’t keep their writing all to themselves. They share it. Submit your story to a literary magazine , an anthology series , enter it into a writing contest , or even share it with a small group of friends. And if it gets rejected, don’t feel bad. You’ll be in good company.

Want to know more? Learn more about how to write a great short story here .

Our 100 Best Short Story Ideas, Plot Ideas, and Creative Writing Prompts

Ready to get writing? Here are our 100 best short story ideas to kickstart your writing. Enjoy!

10 Best General Short Story Ideas

Our first batch of plot ideas are for any kind of story, whether a spy thriller or a memoir of your personal life story. Here are the best story ideas:

  • Tell the story of a scar, whether a physical scar or emotional one. To be a writer, said Stephen King, “The only requirement is the ability to  remember every scar .”
  • A group of children discover a dead body. Good writers don’t turn away from death, which is, after all, the  universal human experience. Instead, they look it directly into its dark face and describe what they see on the page.
  • A young prodigy becomes orphaned. Orphans are uniquely vulnerable, and as such, they have the most potential for growth.
  • A middle-aged woman discovers a ghost. What do Edgar Allen Poe, Ron Weasley, King Saul from the Bible, Odysseus, and Ebenezer Scrooge have in common? They all encountered ghosts!
  • A woman who is deeply in love is crushed when her fiancé breaks up with her. “In life every ending is just a new beginning,” says Dakota Fanning’s character in Uptown Girls.
  • A talented young man’s deepest fear is holding his life back. Your character’s biggest fear is your story’s secret weapon. Don’t run from it, write about it.
  • A poor young boy or girl comes into an unexpected fortune. Not all fortunes are good. Sometimes discovering a fortune will destroy your life.
  • A shy, young woman unexpectedly bumps into her soulmate (literally bumps into him). In film, this is called the “meet cute,” when the hero bumps into the heroine in the coffee shop or the department store or the hallway, knocking her books to the floor, and forcing them into conversation.
  • A long journey is interrupted by a disaster. Who hasn’t been longing to get to a destination only to be delayed by something unexpected? This is the plot of  Gravity ,  The Odyssey , and even  Lord of the Rings .
  • A young couple run into the path of a psychopath. Monsters, whether people who do monstrous things or scaly beasts or a monster of a natural disaster, reveal what’s really inside a person. Let your character fall into the path of a monster and see how they handle themselves.

Now that you have an idea, learn exactly what to do with it.  Check out my new book The Write Structure which helps writers take their ideas and write books readers love. Click to check out  The Write Structure  here.

More Short Story Ideas Based on Genre

Need more ideas? Here are ideas based on whichever literary genre you write. Use them as character inspiration, to start your own story, or borrow pieces to generate your own ideas. The only rule is, have fun writing!

By the way,  for more story writing tips for each these plot types, check out our full guide to the 10 types of stories here .

10 Thriller Story Ideas

A thriller is any story that “thrills” the reader—i.e., gets adrenaline pumping, the heart racing, and the emotions piqued.

Thrillers come in all shapes and forms, dipping freely into other genres. In other words, expect the unexpected!

Here are a few of my favorite thriller story ideas :

Rosa Rivera-Ortiz is an up-and-coming lawyer in a San Diego firm. Held back by her ethnicity and her gender, she works twice as hard as her colleagues, and she’s as surprised as anyone when she’s requested specifically for a high-profile case. Bron Welty, an A-list actor and action star, has been arrested for the murder of his live-in housekeeper. The cop heading the case is older, ex-military, a veteran of more than one war, and an occasional sufferer of PTSD. Rosa’s hired to defend the movie star; and it seems like an easy win until she uncovers some secrets that not only make her believe her client is guilty, but may be one of the worst serial killers in the past two decades… and he knows she found out .

It’s the Cold War. Sergei, a double-agent for the CIA working in Berlin, is about to retire when he’s given one final mission: he’s been asked to “defect” to the USSR to help find and assassinate a suspected double-agent for the Kremlin. Sergei is highly trusted, and he’s given to understand that this mission is need-to-know only between him and very few superior officers. But as he falls deeper into the folds of the Iron Curtain, he begins to suspect that his superior officer might just be the mole, and the mark Sergei’s been sent to kill is on the cusp of exposing the leak.

It is 1800. A lighthouse on a barren cliff in Canada. Two lighthouse keepers, German immigrants, are alone for the winter and effectively cut off from the rest of the world until the ice thaws. Both Wilhelm and Matthias are settled in for the long haul with warm clothes, canned goods, and matches a-plenty. Then Wilhelm starts hearing voices. His personal belongings disappear from where he’d placed them, only to reappear in strange spots—like the catwalk, or dangling beneath the spiral stair knotted in brown twine. Matthias begs innocence. Little by little, Wilhelm grows convinced that Matthias is trying to convince him (Wilhelm) to kill himself. Is the insanity real, or is this really Matthias’ doing? And if it is real, what will he do to defend himself? There are so many months until the thaw. 

thriller story ideas

20 Mystery Story Ideas

Enjoy a good whodunit? Then you’ll love these mystery story ideas .

Here are a few of my favorites:

Ever hear the phrase, “It is not who fired the shot but who paid for the bullet?” This is a philosophy Tomoe Gozen lives by. Brave and clever, Tomoe follows clues until she learns who ordered the murder: Emperor Antoku himself. But why would the emperor of Japan want to kill a lowly soldier?

Mystery writer Dan Rodriguez takes the subway every day. Every day, nothing happens. He wears earbuds and a hoodie; he’s ignored, and he ignores. Then one evening, on his way home from a stressful meeting with his publisher, Dan is startled out of his funk when a frantic Middle-Eastern man knocks him over at a dead run, then races up the stairs—pursued by several other thugs. The Middle-Eastern man is shot; and Dan discovers a mysterious package in the front pocket of his hoodie. What’s inside, and what does he need to do to survive the answer?

A headless corpse is found in a freshly-dug grave in Arkansas. The local police chief, Arley Socket, has never had to deal with more than missing gas cans and treed cats. His exploration of this weird murder digs up a mystery older than the 100-year-old town of Jericho that harkens all the way back to a European blood-feud.

story ideas

20 Romance Story Ideas

Ready to write a love story? Or perhaps you want to create a subplot with a secondary character? We've got ideas for you!

Hint: When it comes to romance, a sense of humor is always a good idea. Have fun! Here are a few of my favorite love story ideas :

She’s a cop. He’s the owner of a jewelry store. A sudden rash of break-ins brings her to his store over and over and over again, until it becomes obvious that he might be tripping the alarm on purpose—just to see her. That’s illegal—but she’s kind of falling for him, too. Write the moment she realizes she has to do something about this crazy illicit courtship.

Colorado Animal Rescue has never been more challenging than after that zoo caught on fire. Sally Cougar (no jokes on the name, or she’ll kill you) tracks down three missing tiger cubs, only to find they’ve been adopted by millionaire Bryce Champion. Thanks to an antiquated law on the books, he legally has the right to keep them. It’s going to take everything Sally has to get those tiger cubs back.

He’s a museum curator with a fetish for perfection. No one’s ever gotten close to him; how could they? They’re never as perfect as the portraits, the sculptures, the art that never changes. Then one day, an intern is hired on—a young, messy, disorganized intern, whose hair and desk are in a constant state of disarray. The curator is going half-mad with this walking embodiment of chaos; so why can’t the he stand the thought of the intern leaving at the end of their assistantship?

20 romance story ideas

20 Sci-Fi Story Ideas

From the minimum-wage-earning, ancient-artifact-hunting time traveller to the space-exploring, sentient dinosaurs, these sci-fi writing prompts will get you set loose your inner nerd.

Here are a few of my favorite sci-fi ideas :

In a future society, neural implants translate music into physical pleasure, and earphones (“jacking in”) are now the drug of choice. Write either from the perspective of a music addict, OR the Sonforce agent (sonance + enforcer) who has the job of cracking down.

It’s the year 5000. Our planet was wrecked in the great Crisis of 3500, and remaining human civilization survives only in a half dozen giant domed cities. There are two unbreakable rules: strict adherence to Life Quality (recycling doesn’t even begin to cover these laws), and a complete ban on reproduction (only the “worthy” are permitted to create new humans). Write from the perspective of a young woman who just discovered she’s been chosen to reproduce—but she has no interest in being a mother.

So yeah, ancient Egypt really was “all that” after all, and the pyramids turn out to be fully functional spaceships (the limestone was to preserve the electronics hidden inside). Write from the perspective of the tourist exploring the ancient society who accidentally turns one on.

sci-fi story ideas

20 Fantasy Story Ideas

Need a dose of sword-in-the-stone, hero and/or heroine packed coming-of-age glory?  We love fantasy stories!

Here are a few of my favorite fantasy story ideas:

Bored teenaged wizards throwing a graduation celebration.

Uncomfortable wedding preparation between a magic wielding family tree and those more on the Muggle side of things.

A fairy prince who decides to abandon his responsibilities to become a street musician.

Just try to not have fun writing (or even just reading!) these fantasy writing prompts.

fantasy story ideas

The Secret to Choosing the Best Story Idea

Stories, more than any other artistic expression, have the power to make people care. Stories have the ability to change people’s lives.

But to write a great story, a life-changing story, don’t just write about what your characters did, said, and saw. Ask yourself, “Where do I fit in to this story? What is my personal connection to this story?”

Robert Frost said this:

If you can connect your personal story to the story you’re writing, you will not only be more motivated to finish your story, you might just be able to change the lives of your readers.

Next Step: Write Your Best Story

No matter how good your idea, writing a story or a book can be a long difficult process. How do you create an outline, come up with a great plot, and then actually  finish  it?

My new book  The Write Structure  will help. You'll learn how to take your idea and structure a strong plot around it. Then you'll be guided through the exact process I've used to write dozens of short stories and over fifteen books.

You can learn more about   The Write Structure  and get your copy here.

Have a great short story idea?  We'd love to hear it. Share it in the comments !

Choose one of these ideas and write a short story in one sitting (aim for 1,000 words or less!). When you're finished, share your story in the practice box below (or our latest writing contest ) for feedback from the community. And if you share, please be sure to comment on a few stories by other writers.

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Joe Bunting

Joe Bunting is an author and the leader of The Write Practice community. He is also the author of the new book Crowdsourcing Paris , a real life adventure story set in France. It was a #1 New Release on Amazon. Follow him on Instagram (@jhbunting).

Want best-seller coaching? Book Joe here.

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Work with Joe Bunting?

WSJ Bestselling author, founder of The Write Practice, and book coach with 14+ years experience. Joe Bunting specializes in working with Action, Adventure, Fantasy, Historical Fiction, How To, Literary Fiction, Memoir, Mystery, Nonfiction, Science Fiction, and Self Help books. Sound like a good fit for you?

128 Comments

Bruno Coriolano

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” —Robert Frost

Joe Bunting

Great quote, right?

nolan

i like porn

Your site is just awesome!

EndlessExposition

My latest project has been working on a TV-format screenplay. In TV writing, there are B storylines, which are plot lines that span the course of a season (or several seasons). Each episode, however, has an A storyline, which is the plot of the events in that particular episode. Each A storyline is essentially a short story, and churning them out is surprisingly difficult! Lately I’ve been outlining episodes for my own story. I’ve just completed one that I particularly like, and would love to hear what you all think!

The Vampire Cat

The episode opens with Leiko telling the rest of the crew The Dream of Akinosuke. She finishes the story and they all head off to bed. Leiko walks Shannon to her room. On the way, Shannon asks Leiko if the events of the story were the main character’s dreams or if they were real. Leiko replies that for the Japanese the line between dreams and reality is very thin. They say goodnight and part ways.

The next day, the crew touches down on planet Lorraine. Their mission is to rob an auction house of a valuable piece of art if their client is not able to purchase it. They attend the auction. The client is outbid, so that night they return to the auction house to steal the sculpture. While looking for it, Leiko uncovers a dimension hopping machine, which she assumes to be a piece of junk. The crew is surprised by the auction house’s guards. Shannon is shot in the fight. Leiko tries to help her, but is intercepted by a guard. They fight, and Leiko falls inside the dimension hopping machine. She falls against a lever. The doors to the machine close and it begins spinning very fast. Leiko is thrown to the floor and the impact knocks her unconscious.

When she awakes, Leiko is no longer in the machine or the auction house. She is in a 16th century Japanese barracks, surrounded by soldiers. Furthermore, she is dressed like them and they address her as Soda. When she catches a glimpse of her reflection, she realizes to everyone else she looks like a Japanese man. Unsure if she is dreaming or not, Leiko decides to play along. She hears from the other soldiers that the prince of the region is seriously ill, and thinks maybe with her advanced medical knowledge she can help. She sneaks into the castle to see him. On the way, she passes a group of court ladies. The most beautiful of them smiles at Leiko and her eyes flash yellow. Leiko shakes it off, assuming she must be seeing things. She reaches the prince’s room and is shocked to find Shannon lying close to death, surrounded by attendants. She is discovered and thrown out, but she begs to be told what’s happened to the prince, and is informed he has a mystery sickness no doctor can diagnose. It is feared he will die. The prince’s attendants suggest that if she is so worried about her sovereign, she should pray for his health. Before she leaves, she uses to her dagger to look at Shannon’s reflection, and sees that her reflection is in fact that of the prince. Leiko feels the whole situation is somehow strangely familiar, but unable to put her finger on why, she decides there is nothing for it but to follow the attendants’ advice.

That night she goes to the holy quarter and bathes at the well before praying to the statue of Buddha for the prince’s/Shannon’s recovery. A voice calls to her, and she looks up to see a figure in a window above her. The figure asks her to come up. Leiko goes into the building and finds a priest who introduces himself as Ruiten and tells her he has been brought to the castle to find the source of the prince’s illness and asks for her help. Leiko finally realizes why this all seems familiar to her – she is in the story of The Vampire Cat of Nabeshima, playing the part of the young soldier Ito Soda. She makes a conjecture: the dimension hopping machine really worked and has brought her to the spirit world. Shannon, after being shot, is dying, and her spirit has taken the place of the prince in the story. If Leiko saves the prince, she saves Shannon. Ruiten agrees that this may be possible. Leiko agrees to help him. Knowing how the story goes, she now has a hunch as to what is causing the prince’s sickness.

Leiko goes back to the castle, and straight to the house of the court ladies. She digs under the verandah and finds exactly what she thought she would – the body of the beautiful lady, with puncture wounds in her throat.

The next day, Ruiten obtains permission for Leiko to keep watch over the prince with his attendants. That night, all the attendants fall asleep. Leiko keeps herself awake by stabbing herself in the leg. Later in the night, the beautiful lady comes to the room. She says her name is O Toyo, and she is the prince’s favorite companion. Under Leiko’s watchful eye, she cannot harm the prince, so she leaves.

The next morning, Leiko goes to confront the false O Toyo. They fight. Before Leiko can kill her, the false O Toyo shifts to her true form – a demonic black cat – and escapes the castle. Ruiten sends soldiers after her. Just then, there’s a scream from the prince’s room. Leiko and Ruiten rush from to the room and are told the prince is dead. Leiko pushes her way to the bed and, taking Shannon in her arms, pleads with her to wake up. In course of this, Leiko realizes she’s in love with her friend. Suddenly Shannon opens her eyes and says Leiko’s name.

Leiko wakes up in the med bay of the Perseus, surrounded by the crew. Shannon is in the bed next to her, weak but alive. Leiko gets up to tend to her. Shannon asks if one of the crew was holding her, because she could have sworn she felt like she was lying in someone’s arms. Kaya jokes that she must have been having a good dream. Leiko remarks that maybe it was something more.

This is great! Seriously, I really enjoyed it. Now you have to write it! 🙂

Chineomohhamad

Hey Sunny! Loving this website

Abaneish

Opps that was my grandma 🙂 But she right

Evolet Yvaine

Do you know of any Romance magazines that offer short story romances or literary magazines dedicated to just romance? Just curious.

I’m not familiar with any, but try googling “romance literary magazines” or “romance short stories” and I’m sure you’ll find some. Reply back if you find any that are particularly promising.

John Doe

I just want to say, there are so many good stories on this website. This show the amount that you have helped all these people, maybe one day I will add myself to those people, thank you.

Elle

http://www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/by-writing-genre/romance-by-writing-genre/romance_markets

Nada ahmed

بدأت تمطر ورأيت الناس يسرعون للإختباء من قطراته فابتسمت لذكرى جميلة عبرت خاطرى ..تذكرت امى عندما كانت ترقص تحت المطر بفستانها الوردى..الهى كم كنت أعشق هذا الفستان عليها..كان يناسب بشرتها الفاتحة ونحولة جسدها .جذبتنى من يدى يومها واخذنا ندور فى حلقات لا تبدء ولا تنتهى. شعرت ببرودة يديها تصعق يداى وبرودة المطر تبلل وجهى أحسست وبالسعادة تغمرنى لانك اخيرا بجانبى واخيرا تبتسمين اشتقتك يا اماه ..أشتقت لتفاصيلك وابتسامتك. أشتقت لمعنى وجودك جانبى ..المطر يهطل، أعلم أنك لو كنت الأن معى لجذبتينى ورسمنا بأقدامنا دوائر حتى تبتل عظامنا ..سأرقص لك فقط وسأبتسم لك فقط. بدأت عيون الناس تتجه نحوى ..تستنكر فعلتى ولكنى لا أفعل شئ.انا فقط أخبر أمى إنى بخير وأنى أشتاقها..ولكن للمطر طعم غريب يا أمى. له طعم ألم فراقك ،طعم الحياة بدونك ؛هو المطر وهى الحياة ولكن طعمهما مؤلمين يا أمى

LaCresha Lawson

I’m writing a “Thriller.” I’m very excited. A short story. Thank you. Right on time as usual!

Fun! Good luck LaCresha.

rosie

I’m wondering about “the sagging middle” in story structure right now. I’m happy with my beginning and ending, but the middle isn’t as dynamic as I want it to be. Does anyone have any experiences or advice about this? (It’s a 25 000 word story that’s due for a competition in about four months.)

Hey Rosie. We have a few resources on that. First check out our structure and plot cheatsheet: https://thewritepractice.com/plot-structure . Then, a great guest post on story structure with a hole in it: https://thewritepractice.com/story-hole . And I always recommend Save the Cat, which is a book for screenwriters, but is also very helpful for story structure in general: http://amzn.to/1TNpv2F . Highly recommend it.

Eliese

The story grid is a good site and podcast for story structure. 🙂

But longer than 15 min but here it is.

I rub my fingers into the soft fuzz on the big brown chair. I can make designs if I move my fingers up or down. A dot makes one eye. Then another. A line for a smile finishes my chair picture. ‘Why would Daddy take money and blow it into the wind?’ I wonder as I draw.

A wet spot lands by the mouth, making the brown turn dark. I try to wipe it away, but the face disappears instead. I lay back in the chair, bumping my twin brother and making the dim room spin. My pink and orange stripe shirt is soft as I wipe my eyes. James’s tears fall to the chair like rain, his mouth open like one of the squishy balls we play with. His cry is loud. I join the noise.

Mommy’s hair, as dark as the wet spot on our chair, poofs around her face. Her green eyes seem small with her eyebrows close together. Teeth and gums show as Mommy screams like a roaring lion. Daddy points a finger at her nose. He looks so big. He yells, trying to be louder than her. James and I try to cry louder than them. Maybe they will hear us. Maybe they will stop.

Mommy lets out one last angry scream and tries to push Daddy away. A long red line comes on his arm. Red water comes out of it. Daddy’s eyes widen. His face turns red. He grabs Mommy by her arms, lifts her, and pushes her to the door like a rhinoceros. The wood breaks as they go through.

The noise has stopped, except for sirens in the distance. I curl into a ball in the chair, James’s knee sticking into my back, and close my eyes.

James and I get to sleep in the same bed tonight. It’s strange having Daddy read and tuck us in by himself, but he tells us Mommy will be home soon. I still don’t understand why she went to jail. I thought jail was for bad guys, but Daddy says everything will be ok.

The lights go out bringing shadow monsters. I hug my brother.

Bit longer than 15 minutes, but here it is

‘Scars’

The noise has stopped, except for sirens in the distance. I curl into a ball in the chair, James’ knee sticking into my back, and close my eyes.

Ghost

This was so good! You have a really good writing style!

Tom

“The wall, he decided, will always be there”

He awoke, or at least it seemed he did, for he could not tell if he had been dreaming or if he were dreaming now. He pushed the woollen, scratchy blanket away from his body. There were no sheets, and his skin stuck to the plastic mattress that smelled of others sweat and urine. After prying his flesh from the tenacious bedding, he managed to sit up. He was more tired than he had remembered. He was still dirty and thirsty and his eyes hurt as they squinted in the dim hazy light. He drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. For long moments, he sat that way fearing punishment for doing anything that might be wrong.

Eventually, however, his eyes grew accustomed to the shadowy light and he began to see things. Across from him he could see a wall. He wondered how long the wall had been there. The question struck him as absurd. The wall he decided would always be there. In this confusion, he meditated on the hardness before him until a thought of beauty entered his mind and the nakedness upset him. “There are no pictures…it has no pictures hanging from it.” Lacking the courage, or cowardice, to look away he continued staring blankly until his sight improved still further and he found something within the wall that excited him. “I forgot…about…colour…I can see the colour now!” He tried to give the colour a name. “Dirty…” he thought. “Filth.” he said out loud. “It is a filthy colour.” he whispered silently to himself.

Quickly, the excitement left him and he began to grow tired of looking at the wall, even the colour began to bore him. The boredom gave him a sense of courage and he became bold. He decided to explore. Cautiously he moved his eyes to the right where he saw…a corner, Then the head began to turn to follow the lead of the eyes. They continued past the corner until they gazed upon something he recognized.

He hated what he saw, the familiar object that hid in the shadows…the thing that kept him here. He glared at it, but the closed and bolted door remained unmoved. It was then that he turned back to the wall he had grown to know and the boredom…he had grown to love.

Justin

incredible first sentence!

Marie Ryan

Incredible first sentence and incredible last sentence. Shivers up my spine. Thank you.

jakey the snakey

3 words…. copy and paste

Camellia G

Omg how why are people so good at writing stuff?!?!?

abigail

idek!?!?!!! i’m a freshman in high school and i can’t even write a simple short story.

TerriblyTerrific

Give it time…

Brianna

This was a wonderful read ^_^ Short and enticingly written. Drew me in right away with that first bit, and especially the way it was all tied together by that first sentence. Lovely!

Mihau

I know it’s been two years but it’s still very good and still deserves praise. I like this trippy atmosphere, you managed to convey it very nicely.

Bridget at Now Novel

Some great story ideas here. You could even combine some of them in interesting, tenuous ways for a multi-location epic.

Thanks Bridget! Absolutely. And there’s nothing I love more than a good epic.

George McNeese

These are great ideas. I like the idea of prompts. Though sometimes, I get stuck when I write from a prompt. And sometimes, I’m not able to write a story in one sitting. I have to think about how I want the story to play out. I might have done it once, and they were pretty short. But most of the time, it takes a couple of sessions. That’s how I’m wired, I suppose.

Trinity

Ten years of therapy, about a million different types of pills and three psychiatrists have helped me enough to write this. I was eleven when it happened, my older sister, Quinn, was almost sixteen, and my best friend was ten. I’ll never forget it… I doubt anyone ever will.

It was a warm summer day, early June, my best friend, Harper was over and we were playing in the backyard. We were laughing and singing along to a song that I couldn’t tell you the name of now. It was the middle of a normal day, but that’s what they always think just before everything goes wrong. Well, anyways,Harper and I amused ourselves doing everything and nothing for a while before we decided that we wanted to go to upstairs and bug Quinn, who we thought was doing her online drivers ed. courses. We raced up to her room, giggling like the little girls we were. When we got to her room, Harper grabbed the doorknob and tried to fling the door open, but it was locked. That should have been my first sign that something was wrong, Quinn never locked her door, we weren’t allowed to. We yelled, laughing, “Let us in! Let us in!” We giggled and knocking on her door again and again. There was no response, so I remember grabbing the key my parents always had, it opened all of the doors to me and my sibling’s bedrooms… I wish I would’ve known what I know now. I wish I wouldn’t have opened that door.

That day was the last happy day for a long time. I remember everything clearly, the breeze ruffling my short hair, the sound of Harper screaming the lyrics to our favorite song at the top of her lungs. I especially remember the thing that has haunted me for the past ten years. I remember my sister’s lifeless body lying in a pool of her own blood on her bed. I remember the look on her face being more peaceful than I’ve ever seen it. I remember screaming as I stared at the image of Quinn, her wrists bleeding and her skin pale. I remember the sound of Harper frantically dialing 911 and I remember the ambulance arriving. I remember the paramedics calling my parents and hearing my mom’s piercing scream from the phone. I remember the paramedics forcing me out of Quinn’s room, while I kicked and screamed at them, begging them to let me stay with my sister. It was the last time I saw her face. I remember collapsing in my dad’s arms. That was the first time I heard him cry, it wouldn’t be the last.

She was already dead when the ambulance got there. Suicide, they said, she killed herself. It took a long time to convince myself that it wasn’t my fault. If I had only went to see her sooner I could’ve saved her. The funeral was closed casket and everyone cried. I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was too numb. I don’t remember much of the funeral, it was just a blur of black and navy blue, with the occasional apology thrown in there. I never got why everyone apologized, it wouldn’t bring her back.

I was just a little girl and there I was with my childhood torn away from me. I was a younger sister and then I was an only child. A piece of me has been missing from me ever since that die and I doubt I’ll ever get it back again.

Caleb Pratt

This was based on the boy or gets an unexpected fortune. I flushed out the typos, but its okay. Check it out! 😀 Caleb Pratt

Mistaken Divinity

My bar drinks of the wooded timberland were one of the most profound expeditions in my walk into becoming a god. I cupped the glass of cool bud light, and sipped it up at the mini bar table. I rested my hand on the wooden counter top, my fans and companions gambling each other on some high level daredevil match.

“Hey, Lexan, where you at,” I turned to see my friend Rodriguez. Fun man to have around with. He was had long grey hair, even for a guy. I pushed off the table and stood straight. I kept my hand in my pocket.

“You have a lot of realty in the new diversion your causing. Sherman hasn’t even sighted any more Divine Partakers, let alone, any Christian circumspect.”

“I know I know, but… we are, what they are… except the for the grace,” Rodriguez said.

“Right,” I narrow my eyes down towards the ground. I didn’t want to hear what he had to say about us Mormons being what the Christian Community isn’t. I mean, there almost all extinct, if not a hundred percent. We are the erected believers… who are in sure denial of the forthcoming of any later day saints.

“So where is your ceremonial magic been taking you,” Rodriguez said. “Anyhow I could help in the cemetery on Route 430?”

“Uhh… I mean… yeah unless you have a cloak and a specialized dagger. I’d have to get you one of those. You’ll be all dressed like a Celtic.”

We laughed.

Rodriguez was a good friend of mine. Much older though. I was in my teen years and he was in his fifties.

“Man, Lexan, you need to grow a beard. Your seventeen years old… yet you look like you’ve graduated college. What happened to your power to manipulate appearance? Funny… its a shame Christians don’t have this kind of power… even heathens can’t do anything we can.”

“Yeah I can tell Rodge. Tell me, why haven’t you been practicing your divinity? You seem a little out of shape to be wrestling with angles and demons….”

“Well I… yeah I mean, sure. Lets say I’m kind of in a predicament.”

“What…?”

I lay my back against the counter.

“Well, down on Armenia Rd. there was a cross fight between me and some other foe. Not sure what to suspect of him, but the “man-woman” was between two others working for her, or he… I don’t know.”

I rest my chin on my thumb and index finger. I realize and hear there are other phenomena of some other cultist group here in Sherman. Our cult is wacky on its own. Though I don’t know what to think of this “he-she man” thing….”

Escee Noah

BZZZZZ! BZZZZZ!

‘I heard you! Shut up!’

‘Enough, you asshole!’

WHACK! Pieces of metal and plastic shattered on the wall.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she muttered softly as she fights her every being not to shed a tear. Alas, she lost once again.

It’s been days since she last saw light. The shadows on the walls seemed permanently etched. Her sanctuary once filled with love, lust, and happiness, now wreaks with despair, anguish, and palpable desperation.

‘How did I get here?’ she thought. The same desperate thought she’s been clutching onto for days. Or maybe weeks? Months? Years?

It doesn’t matter. To Emma, time no longer exists with this unrelenting pain.

Once in a while, the light would sneak through the thick, heavy curtains. And Emma would almost succumb to a hint of a smile until it haunts her again.

His resilient hands on her supple breasts. His soft lips caressing her neck and slender sternum. His sturdy chest against her trembling body. His whole palpitating manhood devouring her salacious being. Every ridges of Paul haunt her. Now, it all has to be distant memories. Unshakeable, soul crushing memories.

After what seemed like a lifetime of horizontal desolation, she finally mustered some strength to sit at the edge of her bed. She slowly opened her bulging eyes, and finally saw the mess she was in. Rotting pieces of food in cardboard boxes, sea of crumpled tissue strewn with nauseating piles of laundry, and dismantled pieces of her once chirpy alarm clock scattered all over her dingy floor.

As she moved her gazed from the floor, she noticed the dent on her pristine white wall. She couldn’t help but stare. ‘That dent will be there for a long time,’ she thought.

With a throbbing grunt, Emma slowly stood up and shuffled towards her once chirpy alarm clock. She picked up the pieces and followed the faint light peeking through her bathroom door. As she turned the door knob, more tears rolled down her cheeks. It was excruciating, but this time it was different. The door closed and the room was dark once again.

Miss.Bridget

“His resilient hands on her supple breasts. His soft lips caressing her neck and slender sternum. His sturdy chest against her trembling body. His whole palpitating manhood devouring her salacious being. Every ridges of Paul haunt her. Now, it all has to be distant memories. Unshakeable, soul crushing memories.”

Stella

He had left his Gameboy behind. There was nothing to do without it, nothing to do but kick his feet and stare at the dull blank walls. Even annoying Di-Di had lost its colour. He didn’t care what Ma or Papa said. He had to get his Gameboy back.

He pushed into the room. Ah Boy, wait outside ah. Don’t come in! Papa had seemed firm, but he was old enough now to know how to get out of trouble. He would run to Ma, hide behind her legs, maybe tearfully declare that he would run away from home because Papa was so mean. Anyway, Papa seemed so busy with Ah Gong nowadays. He wouldn’t bother to cane a little boy like him.

Where had everyone gone? He couldn’t have been in the corridor for so long. The room that was once packed full of relatives was empty. It was only Ah Gong left in the hospital bed.

Immediately he noticed that the mask over Ah Gong’s nose and mouth was gone. Who had removed it? Without the strange alien-octopus-thing perched on his face, Ah Gong looked like the grandfather he remembered. He moved closer to get a better look.

As he approached the bed he realized the mask was lying on the chair. The inside was stained with a rustlike substance he did not recognize. He held up the mask to the light, and rubbed the stain with a cautious index finger. A powder came off in his hand. With a shiver of disgust he realized it was dried blood.

“Di-Di!” He didn’t know if he was terrified or excited. Where was his brother? Ma had always rushed to daub up any blood in their house – whether from Di-Di falling when learning to ride his bicycle, Di-Di scratching him during one of their many fights, Papa tripping over a wire and later needing stitches in his forehead. He couldn’t pass up this golden opportunity to share with his brother: the chance to investigate blood without an adult present.

The Gameboy lay in the room, forgotten.

Wrote on ‘a group of children discover a dead body’. In case it wasn’t obvious.

Dejon Dequonihjuan

“I do like llamas very much,” said Charleston, “In fact, they even have names.” “You are one freaky man, Charleston.” stated Larry

Aaroc

Very well said!!

Iflis Richenstar

Jeremy Reynolds had a party one day. He decided it would be a special theme. Deez Nutz, he decided would be a fitting title for a beach party.

rainbowcliffords

*I am only 14 so please, don’t mind me if there are any mistakes. I am still in the process of learning, but I tried really hard*

He could write. He could write and he knew it. No one else knew. He’d never show them his pieces; his collection of fantasies and mysteries. He wanted his friends to know. No, he wanted the world to know. But he was fearful. He was fearful of his stories failing, of him failing.

Abram had written many short stories and novels, all of them printed in manuscript and hidden in a black lock-box under his bed. He was unmarried, for he didn’t need any other love than that of his trusty typewriter and parchment. Writing was frowned upon, in his country. Books were burned. Even the classics. They were all burned in a pile on the streets.

He wouldn’t risk it. He didn’t want that fate for his books. He worked to hard. He spent too much time revising and perfecting the novel; there was no way he would let them die.

Sighing, Abram cracked his knuckles and stood. He yawned and walked over to his bed, where he bent down and grabbed the lock-box from beneath the bed. Abram had kept the key underneath the mattress, in case anyone were to find this box that contained all of his treasured secrets.

He opened the box he hadn’t opened in many years. Removing the pieces of parchment, he sat on floor, listening for the sounds of Nazi vehicles who somehow sensed the unpublished books. But none came. There was only silence, which, to Abram’s surprise, seemed to grow stronger as each second passed.

Before he knew it, Abram had been sitting on his hard floor for hours, thinking. Thinking about what he knew not. He just knew he was thinking.

Abram stood slowly; carefully as if he was trying not to disrupt the dust that covered the dark floor. Walking over to his desk, he left his lock-box open; something he’d never done in the years past. He sat and placed some more parchment into the typewriter and began writing, or typing, you could say. But this time, something was different. Abram wasn’t writing just for fun, he was writing for purpose. This time, he thought, this time, I will be published and my work may fuel the world. And with that, he revealed his talent to the world.

malberga

Thank you so much!!

Samurai

much thanks <3

LAIE AKANA

I’m sorry I’m late but I just wanted to say this story is fantastic! Soon enough this will become a book! I’m from Hawaii and all I do is write and draw all day… Keep up the work and never give up! God bless and aloha!

Pranaydiya Verma

Yours was the best story that I read on this page…

thank you!!!

Very empowering!!! I was also around your age when I started writing on this site.

Anyways, that short story was so full of meaning. We just happened to be doing an essay on the value of literature in English class so this really fit in nicely for me with that. Lovely! 🙂

oh thank you sooo much!! I greatly appreciate it!!

LilianGardner

I enjoyed your story. Thank you for sharing. I especially liked how Abram developed his talent, and despite the fear of having his manuscripts destroyed, he decided to publish his work. Well done and well told.

Jonathan

I have noticed some tiny grammatical mistakes in your Story and correct it for you as I know that this short Story has potential to go very far. Here is the corrected version: He could write. He could write, and he knew it. No one else knew. He’d never show them his pieces; his collection of fantasies and mysteries. He wanted his friends to know. No, he wanted the world to know. But he was fearful. He was fearful of his stories failing, of him failing.

Abram had written many short stories and novels, all of them printed in manuscript and hidden in a black lock-box under his bed. He was unmarried, for he didn’t need any other love than that of his trusty typewriter and parchment. Writing was frowned upon, in his country. Books were burnt. Even the classics. They were all burned in a pile on the streets.

He wouldn’t risk it. He didn’t want that fate for his books. He worked too hard. He spent too much time revising and perfecting the novel; there was no way he would let them die.

He opened the box he hadn’t opened in many years. Removing the pieces of parchment, he sat on the floor, listening for the sounds of Nazi vehicles who somehow sensed the unpublished books. But none came. There was only silence, which, to Abram’s surprise, seemed to grow stronger as each second passed.

Abram stood slowly; carefully as if he was trying not to disrupt the dust that covered the dark floor. Walking over to his desk, he left his lock-box open; something he’d never done in the years past. He sat and placed some more parchment into the typewriter and began writing, or typing, you could say. But this time, something was different. Abram wasn’t writing just for fun, he was writing for a purpose. This time, he thought, this time, I will be published, and my work may fuel the world. And with that, he revealed his talent to the world.

I hope my effort has helped!

Is it OK if I put this on a website I’m making. It will get me money I need to have. You said your only 14, 9 months ago, so you could be 15, well I’m only 12. I need to learn to save up and this will help me. Everything I said here is true, please help me. Also, this is a great story and that is why I chose your to be on my website.

3am_moon_and_stars

dude thats like literally directly stealing someone’s work for money that only goes to you. Just write your own story instead of stealing someone else’s.

Admit it. I am probably some dude who can’t even make a website, well I am, so don’t worry.

This is the story I am working on now. I wrote it a long time ago, but I am upgrading it now. Changing all the errors, making the vocabulary more sophisticated:

In a valley close to a river where melt-water splashed and where rhododendrons and roses bloomed, where linnets flew with doves above the clustered trees, lay a cave, mostly hidden by the immense pines and the crag. In the cave, out of reach from the sunlight, was a portal. The portal’s frame was the darkest shade of gold, with glowing orange lines carved into it. Glowing flecks of bright blue glow in the darkness of the cave. The portal lay un opened, but the frame still glowed in the shadows of the sombre cave.

In a desert of torturing, immense heat, where scorching light, too blistering to be called sunlight, burns the dehydrated ground, was a tunnel, buried under the sand. In the tunnel there was an ever-growing fortress of burnt leaves and sand with over-boiled water dripping the top. This is all that remained of the desert, nothing could survive in the world above, nothing except from the portal. The fortress was built around the portal; the portal was the darkest shade of black, with red around the rims of the frame.

The sound of water hitting the cold tiles that topped the floor brought a sense of entertainment to the girl sat in the small room covered in a mixture of scars and bruises, awaiting the next blow of the hammer upon her fragile body which shivered in the night air and soft breeze which entered via the half barricaded window. Again and again, almost as if it was a cruel rhythm the metal tool came down, never missing a hit, always landing upon her chest. The storm brewing outside was bad enough without the maniac and his hammer. These are soft blows for a man of his build, she thought, she was certain he intended to make this last all night long. She wanted to struggle, to scream! But the leather bindings made it impossible, who cares anyway, she thought, no one near this basement would care.

The sticky taste of iron filled her mouth, blood. Her body started to shudder, shock. By this point the inmate hitting had dropped the hammer and injected another load of hydrocodone, such a waste of such an effective pain killer. At last she tried to struggle, but even with the drugs numbing the sharp pain shooting trough her body she still couldn’t gain the strength to fuel her ineffective hope of escaping the inmate, after all, even if she did escape, in a mass breakout like this? She could die in a more demanding way.

With my free hand I felt the imperfections, holes, scratches, patches of long since dry blood that covered thee wooden operation table I lay on. How old was it? Thirty years? Forty? Who cares, it had to be old to be in the basement of Twin Rivers Asylum. This psychiatric institution had housed many atrocities, after all, Nazis built this asylum, catered the inmates…put them to work. We are only barely off the English channel; here in Channel Island’s Twin rivers asylum we have many an inmates. Young and old, French and British, they are all welcome here, hell, we have a Swedish inmate, talks to himself all day and night, his names Toby Buchman, we call him Toby-Talkative, how very fitting being his nurse I should die by his hand…

Ouch, be gentler Toby. Even through my drugged up husk of a body I felt that one. I and the staff thought you were joking when you said you were very strong, looks like you weren’t joking…

For such a shrivelled blotch of bones you have surprisingly good and when it comes to instrument of torture, your quite strong, why wouldn’t you be? Killing young women is why your here, Toby, you are one hell of a sociopath, brilliant mind, you’re like a more sadistic Hannibal Lecter minus eating his victims after all, I’m so helpless you could take a couple of bites out of me as I lie here, in the dark basement…

Fun fact, a goldfish’s attention span is three seconds, the average lunar eclipse takes 11 minutes to pass, and a wooden hospital bed from 19th century takes an average of 63 hits to break trough, 54 if you incorporate a body which weighs approximately 130lbs, and guess how much I weigh.

Suddenly I heard the wood buckle under the next hit a glorious hit as well as my straps loosening. Come on Toby, you brilliant old sociopath, you can do it, one more well made hit could send me free. What could go wrong? Toby stood motionless on the spot for a moment later Toby took another blow. I couldn’t breathe. The pain was so intense I felt every cell in my body explode in a chain reaction. The pain was so intense that it felt like a piece of heated iron had been pressed onto my skin. Despite that, a strange sort of calm fell over me: I was dying. I wasn’t coming back from this. Part of me thought, All right. Make it count. I wobbled on one foot about to run to the door, but unfortunately Toby kicked me at the wall. He was so strong, I thought All froze the leaves on the trees didn’t clatter, Toby didn’t stink anymore, Then it was gone all the memories of life returning to me. Then it all went away, my life was It was the end, nothing could stop that now…

I awoke in a bed, in a white room with a marble floor and a silver carpet at the foot of the bed; the wall behind her was a fancy, white wallpaper, decorated to look like a real wall. The wall on the left of the bed and in front of the bed were normal and white, on the right of the bed was a window, now covered, with a beige curtain. In the bed- where the girl lay were multiple cushions, all lay side by side at the top of the bed; the blanket covering her was soft and light. On the sides of the bed were two bed-side cabinets, one with a lamp and the other one with a vase, holding tulips and rhododendrons, on books by her favourite author, many she didn’t recognise. Promptly, she got up noticing there was a small, white table- shaped as a cylinder, with a transparent glass top; also noticing the chair behind it too. The chair was a traditional, leather armchair with four small metal legs holding it up. Then she turned to the door. It was white made, smooth and made out of oak, with a metal handle, a small, square keyhole under it.

As soon as I placed my hand on the door handle, it flew open with a tall, handsome man in the way with bright blue hair shaped as a fire and red eyes. “Welcome, Kayla to Valhalla. Where are you off so fast” he shouted with glee. “I was going out,” Kyla said trembling on the spot. “I didn’t think this is where I should be.” “In this hotel we are all dedicated to make you feel like home, for you will be staying here for the rest of your life. Sorry for my wrong vocabulary, you are already dead. For the rest of the time you need to practice.” “What !?” she yelled. “Are you saying I’m dead” “Yes I am,” the man asked confused.”May I introduce you to your new home”

So the two walked through what seemed to be a endless tour, but eventually came to an end. “And this is the dining room where you have dinner… Here is your breakfast room you can freely come here and invite friends if you are feeling lonely…” “So you are saying this is the place where all people go if they are an extremex and if they died they come here and become an extraextremex” “Yes,” said he.”And also that you are our leader because you can see what specie people are also take away their powers if needed.” “Can I take away the powers of sociopaths or weaken them with my mind beams whatever things.”

“Yes, you can but if you do that you will be weakened too. Also that is a high level trick, you are not high level- no offense” “Offense taken,” said Kayla, with her head down. So they continued on their tour and went walking through all the different floors and introducing Kyla to all the different people and members of staff. On they went about the limits of people and a lot of different stuff. After time, they started her training.

“Focus on me, ” Blaze was explaining to her how to see what specie he was.”Do not think of anything else. Not the colour of my nose, not what room we are in just on me the thoughts and memories of me. Now listen to the sound of my voice. You should be in a universe of darkness; are you?” “Yes I see black in the background and there are flying things in it.” “Yes those are my thoughts.” “I can also see images swirling around” “Those are memories” “I can also feel heat and cold environment when I move around. Are those your emotions” “Yes, the heat is happiness and the cold is anxiety or sadness. Now let’s focus on the specie part. To determine if I’m an Extraextremex, a normal Extremex or even an Oigreog. If I am an Extraextremex then you will not feel motion. If I was an Extremex then you would sense tingling and if I am an Oigreog then you’ll sense shaking. Which one do you sense?” “I sense tingling and shaking so you are one of the Oigreog in the times when Extremex where starting to populate the world. This that means you are an Exremog or an Exoiig” “I am an Exoiig. I have not died yet.” “But how are you here?” “Because I was the first Exoiig alive. I made this place” “But how?” “I used my powers to do it. That is why all the walls are shades of red, orange and yellow.” “Why didn’t you make mine a different colour.” “Because I need to keep track of what specie everyone is. I used Conjuration and Mysticism to make sure that every specie got the same shade of red or whatever.” They blabbered on about what it was like when Oigreog ruled the world, what Black Magic could do and how to control Extraextremex powers…

Kayla went to bed with the thoughts of how the world was made and how it transformed into this planet, when at the start it was billions of monsters – the Oigreog – fought and then somehow transformed into normal people who never fought in their lives. She also didn’t understand how there was only one person who had the power to see what specie one was… She woke with her hair curled up covering her face.

Once she tossed the hair off her face she noticed there was a book on her bed-side cabinet beside the lamp. When she picked it up, she noticed it was a book called “The Arts of Necromancy and Enchantments”. She soon noticed it was the book Blaze used to learn Black Magic. She was filled with a mixture of joy and shock. Then the door flew open. A small brown-haired boy was standing in the way. “Hi,” he said, holding a hand out to shake, “I am Logan, someone from you floor” “Hi,” Kayla said, shaking his hand, “I’m Kayla, an Extraextremex” “Do you want to go and have breakfast” “I guess so” said Kayla.

In the hallway, my neighbours were starting to emerge. Thomas Jefferson Jr looked about my age. He had short curly hair, a lanky frame and a rifle slung over one shoulder. His blue wool coat had brass buttons and chevrons on the sleeve – a U.S. Army Civil War uniform, I guessed. He nodded and smiled. ‘How you doing?’

‘Um, dead, apparently,’ I said. He laughed. ‘Yeah. You’ll get used to it. Call me T.J.’ ‘Kayla,’ I said. ‘Come on.’ Logan pulled me along.

We passed a girl who must’ve been Mallory Keen. She had frizzy red hair, green eyes and a serrated knife, which she was shaking in the face of a six-foot-seven guy outside the door marked X.

‘Again with the pig’s head?’ Mallory Keen spoke in a faint Irish brogue. ‘X, do you think I want to see a severed pig’s head every time I step out of my front door?’

‘I could not eat any more,’ X rumbled. ‘The pig head does not fit in my refrigerator.’ Personally, I would not have antagonized the guy. He was built like a bomb-containment chamber. If you happened to have a live grenade, I was pretty sure you could safely dispose of it simply by asking X to swallow it. His skin was the colour of a shark’s belly, rippling with muscles and stippled with warts. There were so many welts on his face it was hard to tell which one was his nose. We walked past, X and Mallory too busy arguing to pay us any attention.

We entered a small elevator and the doors closed, making the elevator sound. “One question: How does everyone get here.” “People called Collectors fly around the world collecting souls of dead Extremex. I am a Collectors.”

‘And you?’ I asked. ‘How did you become a Collector? Did you die a noble death?’ She laughed. ‘Not yet. I’m still among the living.’ ‘How does that work exactly?’ ‘Well, I live a double life. Tonight, I’ll escort you to dinner. Then I have to rush home and finish my calculus homework.’ ‘You’re not joking, are you?’ ‘I never joke about calculus homework.’ The elevator doors opened. We stepped into a room the size of a concert arena. My mouth dropped. ‘Holy –’ ‘Welcome,’ Logan said, ‘to the Feast Hall of the Slain.’

Rows of long tables, like a stadium, curved downward from the nosebleed section. In the center of the room, instead of a basketball court, a tree rose taller than the Statue of Liberty. Its lowest branches were maybe a hundred feet up. Its canopy spread over the entire hall, scraping against the domed ceiling and sprouting through a massive opening at the top. Above, stars glittered in the night sky.

Eh

What’s supposed to be your point? If you are receiving money from something YOU DO NOT OWN then it is obviously theft. YOU DO NOT PUT SOMEONE ELSES WORK ON YOUR OWN WEBSITE AND USE THAT MONEY FOR YOURSELF. That is just pathetic, really. I hope you honestly realise what your doing here, because its seriously stupid.

niggy

kys nigga my bitch loves the cocaine nigga gucci gang nigga iwill fuck your bith tongiht nigga, drose out nigga fag nigga

stupid

I am very disappointed that there is not 100 of the story idea selection

Marlene Samuels

I’m glad to see Joe’s book, Let’s Write a Short Story! is still availalbe and going strong! I purchased it as soon as it was published, still refer to it quite regularly to remind myself of some important but often over-looked elements of short story. Although my work has been published a number of times, we’re never too experienced to learn and to be reminded of what makes for a great story.

A short story idea: When I was very young, one of my best friends learned she had been adopted. We all know that people really can and do say some incredibly stupid things to children. Because my mother had very blond hair and blue eyes and both my hair and eyes are dark brown, strangers often said to me,”And just whose little girl are you?” I began to wonder whether I, too, was adopted and my parents simply weren’t telling me. What if, as an adult who never questioned your origins, you learned you had been adopted. Conversely, because I myself DO have an adopted child, what if you were told you were adopted but in fact, learned you were not. Write a short story!

Jayden

here’s my story

Uncle joe was talking to his 5 year old nephew jane about how he’s getting old and how she’s going to have to start doing all the chores in the house joe is a little challenged in his life because he was bullied and doesn’t know how to control his anger. he gets in an argument with jane and Joe felt anger go through his mind his temper over flows and he got so mad he started hitting her. 2 years later she was still helping around as Jane’s face would turn red and she would start throwing tempers and joe would hit her. Over the years her fachel expiration started to change form because of all the hitting. Joe heard a scream of dying devastating noise outside and went to go see what it was he lifted up a bucket and under it was the phone book. Since he had anger issues he decided to call the evil scientist and ask him to fix bullying once and for all after he went to the evil scientist house something went wrong he came back as the demon he unlocked his nephew’s room there she was. she was crying.Jane slowly turned around she was mad crazy. He ordered her to clean the dishes. Since she was so mad crazy she didn’t listen to him and she smacked him across the face the Demons face turned red he felt like someone pierced him with a needle he got so mad that he trapped her in the mirror. She was screaming for help but it just circulated around in the mirror as she was she was trapped there another duplicate appeared it was a boy. He said his name was michael. He was 7 years old the evil demon erased the kids memories and put them in a microchip. Then he put him on the streets. Someone had found him and brought him home and He had been with his new parents for years.He was great at figuring anything out a after a while he found out about his uncle Joe. Since he was so good at researching things he even found directions to his uncle’s house so he decided to go on an adventure to find his uncle joe/the Demon once he found uncle Joe he wasn’t at all happy.

Joe hit Michael and he fell to the ground and fainted .when he was just slightly awake he found a microchip it said Michael’s memories michael picked it up Joe was coming towards him with a knife

Michael woke up right away and put the microchip to his chest if he dies Jane will vanish for ever Joe stabbed Michael in the chest.luckily the microchip blocked the knife from stabbing him and the microchip went into his chest it felt like a rainbow bursting through his skin the light went into his eyes and he got his memories back. He knew everything he knew that his clone was abused and everything he was ready to sacrifice himself for his clone so he ran inside the house and did bloody jane spinning around in circles and said bloody jane bloody jane bloody jane.

He trapped himself in the mirror and Bloody Jane was back Jane through her self out of the house and went to Joe in and punched him on the floor and they had a sword fight and Joe died and bloody Jane turned into the evil bloody demon.

(I like to write with comic characters (Peter Parker, ect.) so here we go… Based on the scars short story idea)

“Where did these come from?” I flinched and hurried to cover my back and arms up. “They’re old… They don’t hurt anymore…” I frowned, remembering the pain from each one of the marks that stained my skin forever. “That’s not what I asked…” I flinched as he slid the thin jacket off my shoulders to get a better look at them. I didn’t meet his eyes as he traced over them. Long and thin lines from knives. Round ones from cigars or cigarettes. Jagged ones from glass. The giant one that curled from just below my neck, all the way around my body before stopping at my right hip. I remembered the pain from each one, the cause of each one, the people who caused each and every one of them… “Pete, It’s a really long story…” We had been dating for about a month and I didn’t want to scare him away with my sob story. “I want to know.” His voice was soft as he had me sit on the bed facing him. I looked at him for a while, trying to sort my thoughts out. We had been friends since we were six, but I had hidden everything from him. He had no clue, and I wish he still wouldn’t… I took a deep breath and began to tell the story. “I’ve kept this from everyone… Please let me tell the whole story before you ask questions or leave me. I wouldn’t blame you if you did…” “Go ahead, I’ll let you finish. But I promise, I won’t leave you.” He grabbed my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll see… It began when I was six. My parents weren’t the best as you know… They weren’t home much. Mom went out drinking until she was hammered, Dad went out on “business” calls. He would leave almost every night, coming home with perfume on him. Mom didn’t want to believe it. She was in denial, believed that he still loved her as he did in the past… She would come home smashed and would start sobbing. I tried to help as much as I could, but I didn’t know much. I would let her hug me, and would do my best to comfort her. I learned fast that I needed to take care of her. She would wake up with a hangover and the best I could do was give her one of my favorite juice pouches and a cookie. She would start crying again and tell me that I was such a good girl. Remember when I missed school for a week?” “Yeah, the teacher said you were really sick.” “Dad and mom got into a fight. They were screaming at each other, I didn’t know what to do… I ran away from home, I went to my cousin’s house. I got to stay there the week even though he called mom. When I got home, Dad was gone and mom was passed out on the couch surrounded by empty cans of alcohol. Dad never came back after that, and mom got increasingly depressed. I didn’t know what was happening, Dad wouldn’t come home, mom was sad, I learned how to do things for myself quick because I had to support myself and mom. When I turned seven the nice elderly woman from next door began to teach me how to cook, and clean. I would make her little crafts to sell in her shop as a “payment” for the lessons. Mom barely noticed I was gone for an hour afterschool. She tried to be there for me, she would ask me how my day was, and would constantly give me hugs. I thought life was going good, that everything would be okay. Then when I was eight, everything went downhill…” He squeezed my hand slightly. “Dad came back to the house. He… He said nasty things to mom. I didn’t understand that well back then but as I grew older I understood what he said to her. He.. broke her… She wouldn’t talk anymore, refused to eat, refused to drink… After I came home from the sleepover at your house, I saw her… She, She was hanging from the ceiling, tears running down her face.” Pete looked horrified, pulling me into a hug as I continued. “The elderly woman heard my scream, and rushed over to see me staring at my mother screaming and sobbing. She called the cops, quickly getting her to the ground, checking her pulse. I was taken to the woman’s home, the police announced her dead and found a letter…” “I knew she passed but didn’t know what happened exactly…” Pete’s voice was quiet. “Dad got custody over me. He didn’t like the fact that I looked like mom. He… He did things. He let his ‘friends’ do things. I was nine at the time, and he sold me to his ‘friend’ for the night. Gave him 10 bucks to have his way with me. I tried to fight back but…” Pete looked livid. “I felt sick, the bad thing is that I couldn’t feel anything. I was numb, emotionally and physically. You and the others were the only ones that made me feel something… It continued until I was twelve, I had tried to fight but it was pointless. One day, Dad had enough of it. He slapped me, kicked me, cut me, burned me… He let his ‘friends’ have their way with me. The reason I began to miss more and more school was because of him. I got lucky sometimes and was able to sneak out and see you. He would add a new mark to the collection each time. Then when I was fifteen, he got drunk. He.. Had his way with me, then threatened to kill me if I said anything. Aunt May was the one to notice, the one day I came over she saw a glimpse of them… I confided in her, I didn’t want you to know because you would look at me differently. Or give up on me and that would have killed me… Dad found out when May called the cops on him. He was not happy, the longest scar was his attempt to kill me. The police did a search, and the court plead him guilty. I was in the hospital that month I missed school… My cousin got custody of me, then the accident happened, and I got my abilities. That’s pretty much it… I guess you’ll be leaving then?” I lowered my head, waiting for the rejection. “I told you. I’ll never leave you. I love you too much to do that. I’m glad you told me…” He pulled me into a tight hug, kissing the top of my head. “Really?” I teared up a bit. “Really.” He held me as I cried. I really felt loved for once in my life… All I know is that it felt good to get that off my chest. “I don’t care about the marks. Because these scars make you look even more beautiful to me.”

Sharmi

( I have no idea if I did this right and I’m quite sure I might have made few mistakes but it’s worth a try)

Sometimes there are instances when you can see your own life flashing before your eyes and it gets you thinking ” Is this where I want to be? Is this the place I still want to be in another 5 years?”

I had a minor problem, a fault perhaps. I was surely and indefinitely addicted to Alcohol. Don’t get me wrong it was not that type of addiction where one would kill for a bottle of beer or something far more stronger that leaves that burning sensation down your throat and a sting behind your eyelids. It was a addiction where when I didn’t know what to do-how to react- specifically, I turned to my new found companion. It didn’t shout back at me, didn’t call me names, didn’t say that I was a worthless mistake.

Infact it welcomed me with open arms and I embraced the feeling of not caring. Sure it was a great weight off my shoulders just to forget everything for a moment and just…… be. But then I’d wake up regretting every single thing I did the night before. Trust me that plus having a blasting headache ? not the best hangover tonic.

Now here I am in front of my car trying to think yet failing since I can’t even think straight to even start thinking about thinking.

That’s when I feel it. something poking at the back of my head. A shadow looming behind me.

”Leave the keys on the ground and turn away without a second glance and you won’t get hurt.” His vice was rough and he reeked of old garbage and dried up voldka.

There I see it again. All The time I’ve spent wasting away drinking without actually doing what my 21 year old self was supposed to be doing.

I took my parents money for granted and had the time of my life. A Audi sports car, expensive designer clothes, latest IPhone, all the girls I could ever imagine. And yet I felt hollow. An empty nutshell disguised as a perfect fruit.

This is the moment I change that. This is the moment the fight back. I’m not going to whole away anymore. I won’t be that worthless mistake any more. I am Rane Alexander after all and I won’t let a label define me. I’m going to get past this hazy fog and I’ll see the horizon again.

So I turned back and grabbed the man by his arm and sling him over hard sending the gun skidding across the dim lit parking lot.

” Not today” I breathed.

Nice…well done. I thought the ending was empowering…

Emma Palmer

Standing Still

I would like to tell you a story about a girl. There was nothing special about her at all-she was simply a girl. Every day she lived in pain. She lived in her shared room feeling so alone. Everything was white: the walls, the beds, the furniture. There was no creativity in the room, no evidence of the girl’s individuality-no posters, no color, nothing. Although, she did have one orange throw pillow that she didn’t want nor like. She hated the bland, bland room. Until she was forced to live in this room she saw white as a symbol of purity, harmony, and peace. Now she saw white as a toxic color, something that wasn’t even really a color at all, something that was devoid of emotion. Every day the girl took a shower in an attempt to wash away her skin that had been tainted by the room, but that simple act of cleansing soon became tiresome and it eventually stopped working. The girl felt dirty, impure, and alone. She was afraid-so afraid. She was afraid of being alone in her shared room in a shared house of seven people. She was afraid of not being heard, of not being able to speak. She didn’t know how she felt and she didn’t know how to express it. One day, the girl stepped into her shower, and stared at the white walls and the white floors and the white curtain and the whiteness of it all and she felt numb. She felt as if the blandness of her room and of her life had finally driven her emotionless. She stood there, feeling every singular drop of water sting her skin as if she was on fire and she felt nothing. Nothing-the absence of anything-shouldn’t feel as if the world was being torn apart around her, it shouldn’t feel as though everyone and everything were pitted against her, and yet this is the way the girl felt. She forgot that she was in the shower, where she was supposed to feel refreshed and cleansed, and she forgot herself. She leaned her head against the shower wall she wondered why the walls looked as if they were in so much pain. It was as if the very walls around her were feeling just as she felt. She stood and she thought. She wondered how long she would be able to stand there, with her head resting on a cold, hard surface. She stood in the shower too long, she stood there until the hot water turned cold and even past that. She stood there until she felt as though the pain building up inside her couldn’t take it any longer. And then, she moved. She placed one hand against the tile wall and she pushed, testing her strength-the wall remained still. She thought about how meaningless her life was and how she couldn’t possibly do anything important or memorable and she felt selfish. She felt selfish for wanting to be important. She felt as though all of her thoughts were not her own and that society had simply conditioned her to think them and she felt nothing. She felt trapped. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, no friends to run to, nothing. She felt alone. Her worst fear was unfolding as she began to panic. She thrashed in the shower as she desperately gasped for air, feeling nothing. Maybe she should stop gasping for air, maybe she should just give up. But no, she had to keep fighting. She turned and she turned the dreaded water off and it stopped. Just like that, it stopped, and she felt nothing yet again. She stood there, water dripping down her body, and she thought. She thought about how many mistakes she made and how many lies she’d told. She regretted everything. She wanted to stop feeling. She wanted to undo all of her wrongdoings and she wished she could fix the people she’d broken. She wished so desperately to fix herself. She stopped, she told herself to snap out of it and she felt nothing. She turned and she pulled back the bland, white curtain. She slowly took a step and then another. She stood right outside the shower and let herself feel the cold, rigid air on her skin because feeling something was better than nothing, right? She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself to shield her small, fragile body from the cold. She stood there outside of the shower, and she felt vulnerable. She felt neglected. She felt as if nobody cared at all. She truly thought that she had no one. She sat down on the cold tile bathroom floor and she felt defeated. She felt as if she could no longer go one. She stared at the water dripping from the faucet and she thought about how easy it would be to corrupt these white walls with her own blood just as they had tainted her with pain and sorrow and misery. She sat for what felt like hours and she thought. She realized that she couldn’t do what she so desperately wanted to do because she was just too afraid. She thought about spilling her own blood, just to leave at least a little bit of herself in that lonely room that would never truly be hers. She came so close-oh so close-to giving up, but then she remembered. She remembered a person and how that person made her feel. She remembered a smile like no other. She remembered arms that held her so tight and close that she actually felt safe. She remembered a face, a gorgeous face, that lit up the moment its eyes layed on her. She remembered feeling loved, so she stood up, turned to the door, walked into the white room, and the girl lived on to see another day, another sunrise, and another beautiful moment.

And I have a secret-that girl, that terrible terrible girl, is me.

I have a blog and have uploaded 190 articles and short stories averaging 1000-1400 words. 70% were political. My writing is purely a hobby although I did send one story to a publisher and they wrote that they liked it but being an unknown author I would be required to contribute £2,500 towards the cost of publishing this children’s picture book which was 800 words long. Is this normal?.

So far I have had 43,000 hits worldwide on my blog I am now writing fiction for girls aged between 12-17 and children’s picture books..

I have a blog and have uploaded 190 articles and short stories averaging 1000-1400 words. 70% were political. My writing is purely a hobby although I did send one story to a publisher and they wrote that they liked it but being an unknown author I would be required to contribute £2,500 towards the cost of publishing this children’s picture book which was 800 words long.

IS THIS NORMAL?.

Miss.Bridgit

Is this normal ?

I will get up off the chair and head for the PC, I will type two lines. At this stage they are nothing but the release of vague reflections triggered by my imagination. I may not use them but they have to escape the clutter and disarray of my thoughts and be planted like a seedling. Those two lines on a blank screen when germinated can blossom into an article, a story or a book; the blank computer screen is not unlike the painter’s blank palette waiting for the first glimmer of his/her artistry. A line of text can do the same, although it need not even be a line of text, one word can suffice.

The first line read “It was the evening of the annual Concert and Dance at……….. ” I turned the Pee Cee off and I went to bed. The next day the story took root and blossomed… ….

I will get up off the chair and head for the PC, I will type two lines. At this stage they are nothing but the release of vague reflections triggered by my imagination. I may not use them but they have to escape the clutter and disarray of my thoughts and be planted like a seedling.

Those two lines on a blank screen when germinated can blossom into an article, a story or a book; the blank computer screen is not unlike the painter’s blank palette waiting for the first glimmer of his/her artistry. A line of text can do the same, although it need not even be a line of text, one word can suffice.

The first line read “It was the evening of the annual Concert and Dance at the Denham College” I turned the Pee Cee off and I went to bed. The next day the story took root and blossomed… ….

Those two lines on a blank screen when germinated can blossom into an article, a story or a book; the blank computer screen is not unlike the painter’s blank palette waiting for the first glimmer of his/her artistry. A line of text can do the same, although it need not even be a line of text, one word can suffice. The first line read “It was the evening of the annual Concert and Dance at the Denham College.

I turned the Pee Cee off and I went to bed. The next day the story took root and blossomed… ….

Dori Acuff

Here a poem…

Roses are red Violets are blue I love you Do you love me?

Times I sit and think of you In hope as you think of me Your smile just makes me melt As I know my makes you melt.

I know you think I’m silly But you love me for it.

I hope this puts a smile on your face As it does my as I wrote it.

The sky is blue, the grass is green and the sun is warm just like my heart that beats for you. You make me smile more then the beautiful flowers that bloom under the warmth of spring and you put a sparkle in my eyes more then the stars shine in the night sky. You light my path better then a full moon in a clear night sky.

You are beautiful and I love you too.

It lights up my heart to see the words I write to you. I never thought I would ever meet someone like you. I have told you things happen for a reason and so they do. I want spend every waking moment to show you how I feel. My heart belongs to the moat amazing woman I know. Baby, that is you. I know here lately I’ve been hard to love but I promise things will get better. You are my rock and sanitary you keep me going when I think I can’t. I love u with all my heart, mind, body and soul. You’re my FOREVER. Just one more thing to say.

Don’t give up on me because I will make all your dreams come true in one way or another. I will love you until I take my last breath. Just keep on loving me for I know I am you’re Forever Love…..

That is the biggest poem I’ve ever seen

Arikateku

Merp, I like this

Chris Jones

Beware: Bad language. These are two dispicible people being told honestly.

————-

Stew bent down and grabbed the dead man’s feet. “Because they’re faggots, that’s why. Why you care?”

Phil bent over and grabbed the dead man’s shoulders. “I just don’t think we should generalize people like that. That’s all.”

“One. Two. Three. Up.” They lifted the dead man off the pavement and shuffled over to the trunk of their Volkswagen. “I don’t give a fuck what you don’t think, they’re still dick-suckers. On three again. One. Two. Three.” They tossed the man into the trunk. Stew grabbed the dead man’s legs and contorted them in such a way that his fat ass fit inside, then he tossed a sheet over the body and slammed the trunk shut. “Queers, Phil. God ain’t got no love for a man sucking off another man.”

Phil was wiping his hands with a kerchief. When he was done he stuffed it back in his back pocket. The left one. “Maybe God doesn’t care, neither? Maybe we’re the ones, as a society, making a bigger deal out of it than it really is.”

Stew licked his thumb and rubbed it on his left tail light, smearing a dot of blood and making it worse. “Gimme’ a rag, would ya’?” Phil fetched a rag out of the backseat of the VW and tossed it to Stew. He spit on the rag and then wiped the taillight raw. “It’s in the fuckin’ bible, man. God said a man and a woman, not a man and a man. Now, don’t get me wrong, I got no problem with women dating women. I mean, come on, it’s sexy as hell. But two guys wagging their weiner’s in each other’s faces? Fucking gross.”

Phil stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it, closing his eyes and inhaling. He opened his eyes and exhaled. A kid on a bike rode by, tossing a newspaper wrapped in a blue bag on the edge of the driveway. Phil watched the boy as he pedaled away, dumping papers on every driveway down the street. “Maybe the bible does say that,” he said, turning back to Stew. “Why’s it our business, though? Long as they keep it between them, how’s it hurting you?”

“It’s the principle of the motherfuckin’ thing,” Stew said, tossing the rag to Phil.

Phil sidestepped out of the way and let the rag fall to the ground. “Fuck off, dude. I don’t want his fucking blood on my new suit.”

“Well at least put it in the trash.” Stew wiped his hands down his pants, at which Phil cringed, then walked over and opened the driver side door. “We gotta meet Don in half an hour and we’re runnin’ late. Let’s go.”

“Stop for a taco?” Phil asked, bending over and grabbing the rag between two fingers.

“Sure. I’m starving.”

I Tried This is what i have so far…:

Isra Sonnet liked the quiet. Which was why she wished she were back home with her parents back in California, her cousin Eric was snoring very loud on the top bunk of the beds. She tried to block out the noise, but he seemed to be getting louder, and louder with each snort. Having enough of this, Isra grabbed her pillow and climbed up with it.

Holding steady onto the ledge of the bed, she smacked him with it. Hard.

Waking up with a start Eric looked at Isra annoyed.

“What is wrong with you? I was trying to sleep!” He flings the pillow on by his face,to the floor.

“You’re loud enough to wake the dead. Stop snoring like an old man.”

“If you’re so mad about it go sleep somewhere else…” Eric says drifting back to sleep, too tired to argue.

Sighing Isra climbed back down to her bunk bed. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Eric would start snoring again. Gathering her pillow from the floor and the blanket from her bed, she walked out of the room closing the door behind her.

Now, it was quite dark in the house. Though, Isra knew her way around the house from memory. She was careful to go down the stairs, and not to make too much noise to wake Eric’s parents.

In the living room Isra made herself comfortable on one of the couches. Placing her pillow down and wrapping herself in the warmth of her blanket comforted her. She sighed in relief. Now she could finally sleep.

Arianna

I really like it. It’s very detailed in my opinion. I’ve read a book like that called… “Wish”. I want to publish all six of my books when I get older. I’M ONLY NINE so maybe when i’m in my 20’s

isabelle

dont worry about your age. you can be just as good as any other writer. i am only twelve and i am almost finished writing my book that i am hoping to publish. go for your dreams, dont let your age stop you.

Erin J Scorgie

I’m 16 and have published my first book, best experience of my life, I am very close to publishing my 2nd book and sooo excited! Don’t worry about your age, the younger the better I say! You go girl and good luck with your writing career. You are a very gifted young lady! Xx

Kawiria

If you want to publish your books, why not now? There isn’t a law against young authors. I’m not much older than you, but my book is being published this year. All you need is the money to publish–that’s the REAL hard part for a younger writer.

DumDumDeeDoooo

Hey, don’t worry, I’m eleven and I deeply enjoy writing, and I’m looking to get a book published very soon. There’s no law forbading youngsters from getting books published… In fact, becoming a young author is one of the VERY BEST things you could do to benefit you in the future.

Quiet_Kitten

Yea I’m 11 and I’m gonna start writing stories on an app called Wattpad

Rachel Sanpaka

It’s a great way to get feed back and to start sharing your stories.

Arigato

The temperature was searing. Tara squinted her eyes as wavy lines of heat danced in the distance. Michael shuffled out of the taxi behind her and bent to drop 30 pesos in the driver’s expectant hand. “Why did we have to come all the way to Acapulco just to get our teeth cleaned?” Tara whined like a child dreading the dentist. “We’re not just getting our teeth cleaned”, Michael explained, “I need 4 crowns, you could use some fillings, and dental work is so much cheaper in Mexico. Plus, it’ll be like a vacation as soon as we’re finished. I have 3 days of the most romantic stuff planned for us, just wait.” Tara smiled at the thought of what Michael’s idea of “romantic stuff” could be. It was 9:15 am Thursday, if all went to plan, they would be partying on the beach Friday night. The shop they had been dropped off in front of was a modest, stucco covered building with one dark window bearing a small sign that read “Dentista”. They were 45 minutes early for their appointments but hopefully that meant they would be done sooner. 30 minutes and 16 pages of paperwork later, they were ushered down a brightly lit corridor to a room containing an x-ray machine. Once finished there, they were led to adjoining rooms. Each contained nothing more than a large, green dental chair, procedure light, and metal rolling cart filled with shiny, sharp instruments. “The dentist will be right in,” said the plump assistant in a thick Mexican accent. Since the office saw so many tourists, the staff all spoke in English, and this reassured Tara that it wasn’t so bad after all. She was looking up at a poster of an aquarium filled with fish that was taped to the ceiling when the dentist strode in. He was tall, about 6 feet, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a brilliantly white smile. While peering at her x-ray films, he rattled off a list of work that she needed, and she agreed, not really understanding just wanting to get it over with. The plump assistant appeared and placed a mask over Tara’s nose and mouth as she crooned, “To make you comfortable!” The last thing she noticed before she lost consciousness was the poodle print scrubs the assistant was wearing. Tara woke up being shaken by Michael. “Come on let’s go, I’ve been finished for an hour.” She groggily sat up and placed her hand to her warm, swollen cheek. The assistant was back, handing Michael prescriptions for pain killers and giving him instructions not to eat for 2 hours. They stepped outside into the bright sun and began walking slowly towards the nearest intersection where they could hail a cab. After a short taxi ride they arrived at Hotel Catedral, a quaint, boutique inn on the outskirts of the city. The room was cramped, but clean, and after a quick shower, they both laid down and quickly fell asleep. The next 2 days were spent drinking, lounging on the beach, and making love. Tara awoke late Sunday morning and started packing. While she would miss relaxing on the beach, she couldn’t wait to get back home to her apartment. Her stomach had been bothering her on and off throughout the trip and she thought it may have been the water she was drinking. They took a taxi to the airport and the trip home was uneventful except for a few severe stomach pains Tara had on the flight. She took a few more pain pills and they eased up enough for her to take a nap. They barely had time to walk through the door when Tara felt a sudden urge and bolted to the bathroom. “Are you okay?” Michael called from the hall. “Fine, just gimme a minute!” Tara snapped, and Michael went in to the living room and laid down on the couch. When Tara had finished in the bathroom, she stood up and saw something strange in the toilet. It looked like what appeared to be several small balloons floating in the water. “What the…” Tara stared confused, and called for Michael to come into the bathroom. He popped his head in the door and looked at her questioningly. She pointed to the toilet and he shook his head as if to say, “I’m not going in there.” Tara walked to the sink and grabbed a pair of tweezers sitting near the mirror. When she reached towards the toilet, Michael yelped, “What are you doing?!” “Shush, hold on!” she said. She pulled back the tweezers and pinched in the end was one of the balloons. She carried it to the sink and quickly rinsed it off. Michael came closer and said, “That came out of you?” ‘Yeah, gimme something to cut it open.” He produced his pocket knife and she proceeded to make a small slice down the center of the balloon. A white powdery substance spilled from the cut. “Oh my god, it looks like drugs! Tara exclaimed. “How did this get inside me? It must have been the dentist! I told you we shouldn’t have went down there for dental work! What are we gonna do?” “Maybe we should go to the emergency room and get checked out? Michael suggested. “Ok but we should just say our stomachs are hurting and not say anything about the drugs. We don’t want them thinking it’s ours and taking us to jail.” After spending 4 hours in the ER, a CAT scan and bloodwork, the couple was assured that they were in perfect health and probably ate something bad. They headed home, relieved there were no more foreign objects in their bodies but worried about what to do about the dentist. “He can’t get away with this, said Tara excitedly, he probably does this to tourists all the time!” “But if we call the police and tell them our story, they might think we’re involved somehow,” said Michael. They arrived back at their small Austin apartment and decided to eat some dinner and think the matter over some more without rushing to alert the police. After all they were safe at home and had no plans on leaving the country any time soon. Maybe they could just put this whole thing behind them like a bad dream. A crazy story to tell the grandkids. Once the dishes for dinner had been washed and Tara was settling down on the sofa next to Michael, a knock sounded at the door. “Who could that be? “Michael asked. He got up, slowly walked to the door, and peeped through the eyehole. On the other side of the door were 3 well-dressed Latino men. The one standing closest to door was dressed in black pants and jacket with a tucked-in turquoise shirt. He spoke first. “We know you’re in there and you have something that belongs to our boss.”

Crystal Fresneda

I wrote two stories so far Murderous Twins (Mystery) and Pregnant at 18 (Drama n Romance) total words for both 27000

Christine

THANK YOU FOR THIS. I LOVE TO WRITE AND I NEEDED INSPIRATION!!!

Husnain sheikh

My First Story.. I woke up late that morning, too excited to sleep at first and then I don’t remember when I dozed off to sleep early morning. Bright sunlight hit my half open eyes and I jumped off from the bed. It was 8:00 am already.

“Mama … why didn’t you wake me up? Has he left already?” Mother smiled “Its Sunday! Didn’t felt like waking you up from deep sleep you were in, besides you must have been dreaming, there was beautiful smile on your face. And don’t worry Papa won’t go without you.”

I was super relived and ran to hall, where my dad was ready, waiting for me. “We are going to City, right?” He simply nodded and smiled “Now get ready else we will miss the bus”

I ran to bathroom for shower and within seconds was out and in front of mirror combing my hairs. “Dry them properly, your hairs are wet, you’ll catch cold”

But here I was holding my dad’s hand and pulling him out of the door. We took bus from the bus stop and were on our way to City.

Finally the day had arrived when I was going to get my first Bicycle. It all started when my dad promised to get me Bicycle if I score good marks in final exam next year. All my friends had their own bicycle. Even my juniors had their own.

I patiently waited for one year to get my dream bike.

On the result day I was very nervous. When there was announcement that I stood first in 5th C, I jumped up in air and almost snatched my report card from our class Teachers hands.

I was telling everybody on my way back that I was going to get bicycle, since I stood first in class. After reaching home I told mom about the result and she was very happy. Then dad came back from work in the evening, he was very happy to hear about my results and patted on my back.

“So you are going to get me Bicycle” I said with glimmer in my eyes. “Let’s see” he simply said taking off his shoes

I was almost broken in tears to hear those words. He had not said no but neither did he say yes. I broke down “this is not fair, you promised”.

Next day, mom broke the news to me that finally I am going to get my Bike this Sunday.

Squeezing sound of halting break of bus brought me back to present. “We have reached, Lets go” said dad.

We reached the Big Bicycle store in Gol market. There were so many bikes, I just couldn’t take my eyes off. I picked the one with Marron color. Salesman explained the features to me. I looked at dad expectantly, he nodded and I hugged him.

Dad went in to meet the shop manager, I waited outside to see my bike being assembled by the worker. I saw dad having conversation with the shop owner. I don’t know what was wrong but dad came out.

“Let’s go now we will come next week, and take this Bike home” dad said with his fingers in my hairs. I couldn’t believe my ears. After waiting for almost a year I am getting my bike and now he is saying to wait for one more week.

I threw his hand away in disgust and ran away to hug my bike and started crying. Dad tried to convince me that He had assumed the Price of Bicycle to be lot less. And now he doesn’t have enough cash to buy this bike.

But I refused to budge down. I was so much carried away by anger, I couldn’t see the nervous face of my father. It must have been really awkward for him to face this situation.

“Okay. Let me see what can be done!” he went in. I waited outside partly sobbing and partly smiling.

Few moments later dad came out smiling. I knew he had bought the bike and we were going to be taking it home today. This was happiest day of my life.

It took me few years to understand that my dad had sold his ring that day to fulfill my wish!

Marsha McCroden

This is what I’ve got so far:

Capt. Lee asked for interrogation volunteers. The Interrogation Rooms were full and there weren’t enough interrogators. Lt. Jones volunteered. She told him thee was a suspect in Interrogation room D. Should be easy — a straight-up homicide. Just tape the confession.

Entering IR D, he saw an inconspicuous middle-aged man. Inconspicuous? Maybe 100 years ago.

Lt. Jones introduced himself and sat down. He sat down and said he was there to get the man’s side of the story. Then he turned on the recorder. The man looked at him with amusement. “Do you really want my confession” he asked. Jones said he needed the man’s name and address first. “All right. I am Daniel Alan James, address 132321 Atlantic Avenue, Plot D3.”

Jones looked up sharply. “That’s a cemetery. Your real address please.” I get the nuts, he thought.

“I am not ‘pulling your leg’ as you so quaintly think. That is my address.”

“As to my confession. In 1869 in Palm Beach, I burgled May Palmer’s house I got a sackful of jewelry. I also hacked off her head. Sternly he looked at Jones. “You kept that back. He acted like that fact should have been publusged,, like he wanted credit for it.

“In 1920, in Miami Beach, I attended a speakeasy. I abducted a somewhat plump girl, Cynthia Handel, and eventually disposed her of in the Dismal Swamp.” Chuckling, he continued. You could say the alligators had a fine meal that night.

In 1936, Cleveland, Ohio. I presume you’ve heard of the Torso Murders there? The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run? It was never solved. Poor Eliot Ness — he wanted so badly to be Mayor of Cleveland and not just Safety Director. That case would have given him the Mayor’s office. I denied him that.””I

Above the gables of the orphanage roof, a tremulous, gentle sound began to keen. It began quietly, as oh so fragile a thing. I held my breath where I had awakened in my bed to keep from drowning it out- the sound of a human singing through a violin.

I knew exactly who it was that sang. She had come in just that day, eyes wide, mouth closed, and a violin case clutched to her chest like it was the only thing she had left in the world. I was older than her and so in a different dormitory, but still the sound found its way, sorrowfully, lovingly, through the still night air.

The sound of it made me want to cry, as it stirred in me a pain I’d long ago learned to shove away, the origin of which was the only thing that me and the little virtuoso child shared. It unfurled itself deep within me, reaching out for the sound as it grew, grew louder and more powerful as the beginning upset turned to something more violent, something filled with righteous indignation at what had happened to her… to… to me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I curled into my pillow as I fought the onslaught of emotions. The anger, the injustice, the harrowing *grief*. It all slashed and dove and resonated through the air- through my soul. I curled around the reopened wound, feeling the unreleased cry of pain inside of me. But the tears still fell. They were like rain.

Suddenly the vibrancy in the tone fell flat. The last ringing note was undulating through the air, twisting with fading passion, as a quieter, stiller strain took its place. Dispirited and exhausted, the muted notes struggled to find me, and I imagined them getting lost. It was both a relief and a loss as I felt the raw emotions drain away. It felt… hollow. It was like how I usually felt only much, much worse, the sheer weight of it making it a pain all its own, although it signified the absence of it. It was a rock I couldn’t push off my chest, or a vacuum inside of me. It *hurt*.

Still, my eyes dried as I listened to the dispassionate, lilting notes. They bumped into each other with pattern but no passion. The lack of colour in it compared to everything else the little violin girl had played almost made me want to cry again- for her this time, instead of me. I wanted to comfort her. To tell her that she could find a family here again… even if it wasn’t the same.

But then- then something magical happened. I heard something in a note shift. Just ever so slightly, regaining some of its lost fullness. My heart jumped against my rib cage at it, like a baby bird too eager to be out of the nest. The sound broadened and deepened, spinning and growing to an unimaginable size and intensity, filled with such thought and memory as one can only know inside themselves. I couldn’t imagine that something of such monumental size was coming from such a tiny person and her instrument- no, her partner. Her friend. It had to be her friend to join her in all this.

The graceful creature grew and grew on when I thought it could grow more. Time had lost all meaning to me as it tapered and streamlined itself into something lighter- losing its weight and despair- but not its memory. That stayed. I could feel it within me, too- the warmth that was spreading through the song. It touched at my fingers and toes, the tip of my nose, and the center of my belly. I let out a breath as the weight- the vacuum, whatever it was- released, no longer afraid of it or drowning out the soaring melody that cozied into the corners of the resting place of me and so many others that had experienced what this other child was experiencing right now.

But I knew, as the music carried on through the night, a peaceful balance between love and light and sorrow, that she was going to be just fine. We were all going to be just fine.

zainab

This inspired me so i tried it came up with this so far

Things have been difficult lately. Even breathing seems to take a lot of effort. But grief often shuts people down. And everything seems to blur out. You must be wondering what broke me? Nothing just the same old heartbreak that broke souls in every time period.

That night I made my way Aden’s house. We had been dating for almost four years. He had asked me to marry him a week ago and I had to ask my parents if they accepted they’re daughter to get married at 21. To my surprise my parents had said yes and I was on my way to blow Aden’s mind with the amazing news. I rang his doorbell several times even though I knew where they key to the door was kept but manners were still important. After fifteen minutes of standing out the door my mind started exploding with thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking about. Aden’s car was still parked in the garage which meant that he was still home. I rushed to get the keys from under a plant pot and opened the door. Aden’s house was a mess but Aden was a clean freak. I made my way to Aden’s room and gently opened the door to see my whole world crashing in front of me.

Aden lay in bed with another women pressed to his side as they slept. No words, no tears just an apology. Just two words “ I’m sorry “ and I ran down the stairs, across the street and away from the person I had given my everything.

You see every person leaves a mark behind. But Aden , Aden left behind the deepest scars.

Mark Robson

(please don’t judge, I’m only 12. And btw I’m a girl. I’m using my dad’s account)

It’s dark. My own shadows drown me. This is nothing new to me though, I’m not shocked or scared. Just lonely. Nothing to look forward to I’ll thing myself sitting and think, hoping. I don’t know how long this lasts, seconds, minutes, hours. I can’t sense the time passing, I don’t fully understand it. I don’t know how I got here or when I’ll leave. My life feels like it has no meaning. But yet, somehow I feel like I’m waiting for something, this longing for something to happen. But at this moment in time…I’m not really sure. I must have had more than this life, I must have lived in something different, color, happiness, friends, family….love…maybe, or is that me dreaming?

Have I lost my mind completely now. Maybe I’m not even here, In this darkness. Am I just mad? Why am I even asking…I’ll never get an answer. Sitting here hoping dreaming will do me no good! I must fight back. I’m not sure what I’m fighting for but if I do have a motive to fight then it must be worth it. Without thinking I lunge into the dark clouds. Fighting, not with any weapons but just by my longing for whatever is outside this lonely cage. The chains of my fear and uncertainty tug at my arms pulling me back but using all my force I shake them off and continue forward through the endless darkness…This place must end. There must be an ending for me, more than this dark realm. I jump forward, ready to scream as I hit the floor but I don’t have to. I didn’t fall…Am I..floating?

No, I don’t feel like I’m standing. I feel something on my hand but I can’t see what it is or even move to shake it off. Then I suddenly realize. The thought that I’ll no longer be lonely, this thing I feel, it’s a person. These thoughts, my feelings they allow me to take control. I slowly open my eyes. It all shoots my at once colour…light! I’m lying down on a bed, a hospital bed. My memories come soaring back. I look over to my right hand and see the lady holding it, in shock, but smiling brightly. It’s my mother! And in what seems like the longest time ever…I smile.

Courtnie

Clark stood at the window and watch as the first snow started to fall. He thought back to when he was a little boy and how he loved to go outside and play in the snow. The snowmen him and his sister would build, the snowball fights him and his friends would have. Then his smile changed to a sad face. He remember the last first snow fall that happen when he was a kid. That was the last time he was happy about seeing the snow. Clark’s father Ernest was at the local convenience store, when two mask men came in to rob the place. One of the robbers told Ernest to give him his wallet. He did but a long noise from the back of the store in scared the robber that he jumped and the gun he had pointed at Clark’s father went off and shot him in the chest.

Clark was home in the bed, but he jumped up out of his sleep, he felt that something was wrong. He got out the bed and went looking for his mother. When he got to the end of the hall he saw his mother at the door talking to some police. She turned when she heard the floor Creek. ” Clark honey, what are you doing up”? His mother asked with blood soaking red eyes . ” mother is everything alright? ” with every step he took closer to his mother he knew that what ever reason the police was at his house it wasn’t good. Every since that Dreadful night Clark, the night his dad was killed, he has hated the snow. It always seems to remind him of that night. It’s like all the good times he had in the snow was replace by the death of his dad, his hero, the man he wanted to grow up and be. They never did find the guys that robbed that convenience store.

Pradeep

Conceited Conflict

Simon did not die…

The inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee had been enough to persuade him to walk straight into the little beach-side shack without as much as a second thought. He had made a mental note to thank Danny–his colleague and friend–for suggesting the place for a quick getaway.

People close to Simon knew that he savored these small pleasures of life: a peaceful evening relaxing at the beach, the blushing horizon as the sun set for the day, the scents of the tropical sea, the areca nut trees swaying to the music of the breeze, the waves at the shallow end lightly caressing his feet, the warm texture of the sand slipping away beneath his toes, children running around flying colorful kites… cocoa-rich dark chocolates, and fresh coffee.

And why not? After all, he thought, what was life without these? Nothing but a stressful grind, it was. To fight the distressing official battles day in and day out. To struggle to defeat the unethical schemes of the back-stabbing lot who lurked among colleagues and friends. To come back home to the nagging demands of a materialistic spouse. All that did nothing good for the soul.

It was late evening when Simon had walked toward the shack. When he got closer, he had noticed two men standing engulfed by the dark shadows behind the shack. Although he could not discern their features, and they were speaking only in whispers, their body language had betrayed the fact that they had been exchanging an agitated conversation.

As Simon was about to enter the shack, one of the men thrust a wad of money into the other’s hand. The other man briefly regarded the bundle before stuffing it into his trouser pocket.

A drug deal, likely–Simon had thought–or some other such shady business. How could these people come to such spectacular and peaceful places and engage in such disreputable and squalid acts? What a disgusting lot!

He had shaken his head to clear his thoughts, and inhaled deeply as he entered the shack. Freshly brewed coffee! He had smiled as he sat at a small, round, plastic table in a corner. All other concerns would have to wait for half an hour, at least.

Outside, unknown to Simon, the deal had been concluded. The men had followed up by exchanging a small vial of some sort. Then one of them had raised the hood of his jacket over his head and walked away swiftly without turning back, with his hands in his pockets. The other man had vanished into the darker shadows behind the shack.

The next afternoon…

Although–when it concerned professional life–Danny lacked severely in the department of moral and ethical values, he was regarded in their circles as a gem when it concerned friendship. He had rushed to the hospital at once when Simon’s wife had called. Dysentery–she had told him, repeating the doctor’s diagnosis–perhaps acute food poisoning. Very severe symptoms. Quite unbearable. Must have been something he ate yesterday.

Danny had stayed on at the hospital with Simon’s wife to lend her moral and emotional support. He wanted to make sure–he had said–that she got all the help she needed; he wanted to make sure that Simon recovered all right.

The third evening…

Simon rested motionless on a bed at St Sebastian Hospital. Motionless. Still. He wasn’t even breathing. He was finally free of all suffering.

Epilogue 1…

Normally, convincing a chemist and obtaining the required substance might have been the biggest challenge. On this occasion, however, a well-maintained friendship with a pharmaceutical assistant had proved quite rewarding.

The rest was simple to plan and execute. Simple did not mean without risk, but in this case the desired reward would be sufficient compensation for the risk.

The dosage would be just right. The doctor would have only the patient’s symptoms to go on, which would be easily mistaken for those of common diseases such as food poisoning or dysentery.

It would all be over even before anyone suspected foul play. Even if other signs did manifest afterwards, there was no incriminating evidence.

Epilogue 2…

Simon had felt the first signs of fatigue when he was almost half way back home from his getaway spot. He had believed that the nausea was caused by travel-sickness. Later that night his condition had become worse, and next morning he had tried home remedies for diarrhea. By afternoon, he had started discharging blood, and had to be hospitalized immediately.

Danny had stood by his bed in the hospital, looking in his weak eyes, holding his hand reassuringly. Behind those heavy eyelids, in those weak eyes about to close, Danny had seen a faint spark of realization. The reality of the deal he had witnessed behind the coffee shack had dawned on Simon. I wish you understood, my friend–Danny had thought–that it was nothing personal, that everything is fair in professional rivalry. In any case, it was too late now. There was no turning back.

Don’t strain yourself trying to talk–Danny had said–Just close your eyes, let go and relax.

— End —

(I’m only 12 so don’t judge me, I tried :D)

I’m alone. I’m surrounded by darkness. I’m lonely, I have no-one except silence to keep me company. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here…Minutes, hours….days? They mean nothing to me, I don’t know how time passes and why it matters. I’m too close to giving up. Surely my life must mean something. I can’t have been made to just be nothing, to exist only feeling, loneliness and fear. The fear of being forgotten, by this world, by myself. If I’m not already.

There must be meaning for me, something bugger, better. It’s all I want, all I ever dream about. A life with meaning, color, happiness…family. But that’s just a dream. That can’t be real, I have no memories out of this place why would I be suddenly be gifted such happiness. Is this it? I am going mad? Have I been here so long just lost my mind? No. That can’t be. I can’t give up, I must try….try escape this realm of darkness. I stand up, shaking slightly. No, I must be strong! I run forward, not sure where I’m going. Not sure if this place even ends.

I start hearing voices, they’re speaking to me… “stay…strong…everything’s going to be ok” I hear the voice saying. It was comforting, gentle and kind sounded. It sounds familiar….I run faster, using all of strength. I race through the darkness, wind smacking my face until I come to what looks like the edge. It was a drop, so deep I couldn’t see the bottom. Without thinking, using all my desire, the want to be somewhere with meaning and happiness I lunge forward and jump.

I…I didn’t fall. I’m alive, I think. I don’t feel like I’m standing. Wait, am I floating? No, don’t be silly. I’m…lying. I feel something touch my hand but I don’t have strength to even shake it off. I can’t see anything…Then suddenly reality hits me. I slowly open my eyes…It all hits me at once: Color, sound, people. I look over to my right hand to see who was holding it. She was crying but smiling at the same time. It was mother. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I smiled.

Lykke

“I’m borrowing one of your geese.”

Asta jumped in her seat by the fireplace, woken from her accidental nap. She whirled in her seet to see Jeppa, the slightly unhinged neighbour, filling the doorframe. He looked like any regular farmer, brown coveralls and pipe dangling from the side of his mouth, but sported a permanent wide-eyed stare that made the children (and everyone else) wary of him. Asta had half a mind to go back to sleep and let Jeppa be Jeppa, but curiousity got the best of her.

“Pardon?” She asked, slowly getting up, her arthritis crackling in her knees. “You’re borrowing what?”

“I’m borrowing one of your geese,” He repeated, unblinking. Then he turned on the spot, as if the conversation was over and done with.

“But why?” Asta exclaimed, hopping after him on stiff legs into the front yard. Three of her large, snowy geese were drowsily waddling through the hole in her white fence as Jeppa marched over and seized one of them by the neck. The other two hurried into a nearby hedgerow, abandoning their brother to fate. Jeppa stood there for a moment and admired the view over Asta’s fields, completely obvious to the furious flapping and hissing of the goose.

“What are you doing? Let go of him!” Asta cried, but Jeppa remained blissfully ignorant to the chaos he created.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Jeppa sighed happily, still unblinking. Then, remembering why he was strangling a goose, he heaved it up under one arm and took off towards his own rickety cottage a few hundred yards down the gravel road.

“Wait!” Asta cried, limping after him. When she finally caught up to him he was crawling up a worn ladder propped against his roof, hissing goose tucked into his armpit as if it was nothing more than the daily newspaper.

Finding her best old-angry-crone voice, she howled; “Jeppa! Get down this instant! What on earth are you doing with Herman?”

This seemed to reach the decision centre in Jeppa’s head, and he stopped on the topmost rung. He stared at the wobbly chimney for a moment, as if pondering its existence, before replying. “I can’t afford a chimney sweep,” he commented simply. Then, with both hands, he heaved the goose up in one fluent motion and dumped it into the chimney. The hissing and flapping increased in volume, projected into the open air by the narrow chimney, until it became unbearable to listen to. Then it stopped. The goose must have fallen into his fireplace.

Asta’s mouth fell open. She sat down on her bum like a baffled toddler.

“Are you alright there? You look like you saw a ghost!” Jeppa chuckled obliviously as he descended from the roof and moved to let the goose out of his kitchen. The moment the door opened, a great, fluffy black thing scuttled out and down the road, hisses and quacks flying about it like the soot covering it.

“That,” Asta said, her voice quivering, “was my prized competition goose, Herman.”

Jeppa finally seemed to realise the extent of his actions. Wringing his hands he inched towards the door, hoping to use it for protection when she exploded, which she was bound to do.

“Isn’t… isn’t there a competition for black geese, perhaps?” Jeppa asked, hopefully unblinking.

Sebastian Halifax

Most short story ideas I have are too big write in just one sitting. The first one I wrote took months. It’s why I can’t write flash fiction.

I’m trying to write Flash Fiction. I love the challenge. It’s amazing how you can cut out redundant word from each editing. Try it, Sebastian. It’s good practice.

Edlyn

Okay, here goes: Persephone, Persephone Akeldama. She was a beautiful girl, slender waist, flowing blonde locks, petite figure. This quiet girl was often referred to by her fellow students as the “perfect doll”, due to her stunning looks and the love she received from the teachers. In a the darker half of this world, her nickname was not much different. The flawless puppet, she was called. Flawless because of her swift assassinations, and puppet because of her emotionless features. No one in school knew her profession, and no one in the dark world knew her real age, or even what she looked like. She was a complete mystery to both sides, only this was known about her: She is a prodigy. Of course, “Prodigy” meaning different things in either sides of the world. There was a large gap between prodigy killer and prodigy student. Not many assassins are born into their jobs, Persephone being an exception. At three, she was already trained to fight, and at the early age of twelve, she was already a well known assassin. due to her quick learning, her parents payed even more attention to her, punishing her whenever her actions did not fit into the range of perfection, training her more than any twelve year old should ever have to endure. And of course, making her kill. One by one, Persephone’s emotions died, every person she killed, every order she received. She carried them out with swift and deadly accuracy, losing all her innocence. Her purity was lost long ago.

So she found nothing wrong with killing her parents.

Persephone never loved anyone, because she was a killing machine, exactly how her parents had designed her. Her mothers last words: I’m so proud. Her fathers? :I’ve trained you well. A now orphaned Persephone felt no remorse, no guilt, no grief. Only a small pang of loneliness.

And that was the last emotion she would ever feel.

Ummmm, I got the juices flowing, just need my writing to flow……in the right direction.

Sapphire Emmaton

So I combined all 10 of the “general ideas” into one premise. I think this is more the premise of a collection now… Oh well. Here’s the premise (or the rough draft)

As a child, Kell, a painting prodigy, discovers her parents’ dead bodies, leaving her emotionally scarred. Later in life, she clings to her boyfriends for moral support, which leads to many failed relationships. Her Fiance and colleague breaks up with her because he needs to spend more time on his work, even though it crushes both of them. Kell doesn’t look when she’s walking down the street, sobbing, and she bumps into her rich soulmate, Neil. They have a whirlwind romance, which ends up with their marriage. On their honeymoon, though, Kell’s mother’s ghost confronts her and warns her to delay the journey. Kell and Neil go anyways. A hurricane strikes, and the couple is stranded with a phycopath who just so happen to be Kell’s parents’ murderer. The couple doesn’t make it out alive.

I know that’s pretty dark, especially for a 17-year-old. It’s also not that great. But hey, I hope it gave you an idea or two! Happy writing!

Emily Cummings

You should really think about turning this into a novel! You’ve got quite the imagination.

Maude Kate Potgieter Bester

The last laugh Kate Bester

“What? Oh heavens no! When?” Faye dragged the pink sweatband back from her forehead and shook her shoulder length blonde hair off her neck. She had just returned from the gym when the house phone rang.

“…sometime last night, peacefully. She had to go sometime, Faye.” Debbie’s longsuffering voice was irritating.

Faye sighed and shifted the weight from one shapely leg to the other. She crossed one ankle over the other and stared at her Reebok trainers. She bit her tongue before she could blurt out what came into her mind – why now? She had a very special and important occasion coming up and serious shopping to do!

“Mom was nearly eighty, you know Faye, but death is always unexpected, I know,” Debbie went on. Was she imagining it or was there a touch of accusation in Debbie’s voice? Deborah, her older sister, had never married. Instead, she stayed with Mom after Dad passed on ten years ago and took charge of the rambling old house in George. Come to think of it, when Debbie gave up nursing, moving in with Mom was the natural thing to do.

Faye had to muster all the self-control that she could to sound genuine and concerned. It was Mother after all…

“When is the funeral, then? Do you want me to come and help you with the arrangements?” she kept her voice low and even in case Debbie thought she was serious about the offer to help.

“No thanks, Faye, everything is fine. Mom had everything in place as usual. It will be a cremation of course…”

Debbie’s voice trailed off and Faye could just about suppress the groan that escaped from her chest before she said goodbye to her sister. She sank down in the closest, huge, overstuffed chair after she had put down the receiver. Of course. That is Mother. Well, was she corrected herself. Nothing ordinary or conventional. A cremation no less, so that all her old hippie friends could attend in their colourful rags and long hair and chant and blow their flutes and shake their tambourines. Faye had to admit to herself that a cremation at least would be better than embalmment. Her mother was quite capable of having them roll her in the scales of the boophone bulb like the Khoisan did with their dead.

Faye groaned again. She must be in shock otherwise why wasn’t she crying. Crying? No, she’d done enough crying after the second divorce in eight years. The last one was particularly messy but this time she stuck to her guns and got the house and a stiff alimony. Not that it’s about the money, which is never enough anyway, but one has to keep up appearances. She had spent a fortune on refurbishing the gazebo next to the pool. Oh gosh yes, and she must still pay for the embroidered voile curtains around the patio. And for the plant containers and cane furniture from Bali…

Faye sighed as she levered her challenged limbs from the chair. She will have a warm shower and then make her calls. Damn! Now she will have to drive all the way to George. She smiled. Yes, she will have to. Because of Mother’s pendant. She had to have it. Must be worth a small fortune by now…

That pendant was given to her mother by a very grateful Indian businessman. Mother had met him on a plane to Mumbai all those years ago when she travelled to India to see for herself what mysteries lay behind the lotus curtain. She ended up in his luxurious home and taught the whole family to speak English while she enjoyed every facet of that exquisite culture. If memory doesn’t fail her, the pendant has a top quality eleven carat flawless ruby, enhanced by… a shiver of delight passed through Faye’s body despite the warm gush of water.

At the garage to fill up and prepare the vehicle for the trip, she remembered how bored she was on weekends as a child. They travelled endless dusty roads, slept in tents, either sweating or freezing. Her botanist parents would be off in the veld , ooohing or aaahing, clicking their tongues and cameras. Deborah would be whooping somewhere in a shallow river. In her tent, her feet against the anchor pole, Faye swore she would never live this way. She would have money and everything it could buy. These bunny-hugging weirdo’s – her family – may enjoy the outdoors but she despised the smell of citronella candles, morning coffee and tinned food. Not to mention the squatting behind a bush when nature called. Ugh!

At nine o’clock the next morning, Faye was over the Overberg Pass and heading for Caledon. She would stop for tea at the Blue Crane and buy some of her mother’s favourite dried herbs. Yes, some buchu and lavender and rosemary. She’ll keep them on her lap during the cremation service and speeches to soothe her mind. Afterwards she will let them join her mother’s body to nirvana…

It was exactly twenty past one when she saw the huge pine trees and the red brick house behind it. The garden was a botanist’s dream. Like her mother exactly – colourful, mysterious, exciting and completely unusual. Faye’s eyes followed the garden path up to the porch. Handfuls of laurel tied with raffia or beads or leather thongs garnished the pathway from the gate to the porch and around the open door’s frame where fairy lights twinkled.

She opened the car door and slid off the seat. The manicured feet in the Blahnik sandals stepped together neatly on the tarmac as she automatically pressed the remote lock. Gingerly she approached the garden path and as daintily as possible made her way to the house.

Then it hit her. This wasn’t a welcome for her. The laurel symbolized Apollo’s way to remember his Daphne! Daphne didn’t want to marry Apollo and begged her father, Perenaeus, to hide her. He promptly turned her into a laurel tree. From then on Apollo worshipped the tree, hugged it, spoke to it and let all heroes and kings wear a laurel wreath on the head as adornment. This was for Mother.

Suddenly, there was her sister. Oh heavens, clad in a flowing caftan, pearls, beads, feathers and leather thong sandals, she could’ve been Mother!

Quickly Faye went over and folded her sister in her arms. While her sister was yoga-breathing against her shoulder, she took in the room behind. She smiled to herself . Ostrich feather boas were draped over the window frames, door frames and thrown over the backs of chairs. Huge black and white photographs of ostriches in all poses adorned the walls. Ostrich eggs and paraphernalia were displayed everywhere. This was a shrine to the ostrich as Nieuw-Bethesda was to the owl…

She let go of Debbie and cleared her throat. She took a deep breath, “Debs, what are we going to do with all this stuff ?” she hoped her chicanery would go undetected. Back in her mind there was an image of Mother’s ostrich leather handbags, shoes and purses she had collected before it became export posh. Her heart went on a gallop from excitement and anticipation.

At last they were alone. They cleared away the last few cups and plates. In the kitchen, Faye poured two large tumblers of Merlot for her and her sister.

“Sis, if you’re up to it, we can go through Mom’s things and decide what to do about some of it.”

“Of course, my dear.” Faye gulped.

Then the pendant was in the palm of her hand. This was a testing moment. She wanted to hang it around her neck immediately but thought it would seem callous. She let the heavy gold chain slide sensuously through her fingers while the ruby’s red eye winked at her.

“You have it, Faye, it’s too ostentatious for me. Mom also never wore it for that reason.”

“And these, Sis.” Debbie was on all fours in front of a deep drawer. She was pulling out ostrich leather gloves in every colour, handbags, clutch bags, more boas. They lay on the Kelim carpet like offerings to a queen. Faye stared and stared. “Oh yes!” her mind sang.

After breakfast the next day, Faye took her leave of Debbie who promised to visit as soon as everything was tied up and settled. When she was passing Mossel Bay, she started to relax and fingered the pendant at her throat. A warm glow filled her and she stretched to see it again in the rear mirror. It was an exquisite piece! She still felt surprised at how nonchalant Debbie was.

She decided to stop for refreshments outside Swellendam. She enjoyed stretching her legs in the shade of the old trees and watching the goats, chickens and ostriches they kept there for entertainment. She parked in the shade of a huge oak tree and went to the restaurant. She carried her fruit juice over to the enclosure on the lawn. A billy goat came towards her. Behind him a young ostrich craned its neck. A sheep, two lambs and a kid trotted up. Faye leaned forward.

She shrieked, jumped back and feverishly fumbling at her throat, she saw it

Ostriches also like jewellery.

Evangelin

I have not written a very long piece. It a quite short story. So…here it is…

Sydney woke up with a start, as beads of sweat adorned her furrowed brows. Next to her was her twin sister, Tanya, sleeping peaceful as Sydney had been a couple of moments before. She looked around as if searching for something or someone. Sydney almost dismissed the episode and went back to sleep when she heard it again, this time, even evident. The sound that had woken her up from her slumber. The sound that made her shiver and was even vexing than the sound of nails on chalkboard.

And then, it stopped. She looked around her for the source of what she heard. She decided to get some fresh air and walked out of the room she shared with her twin.

As she walked to the porch, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong but she knew something was. She leaned in to get a closer look at her reflection when something hit her head and she fainted. When she regained her consciousness, she looked around her. She was in the porch and it was dawn. She went back into her house when she glanced at the mirror again. She could see her mother, her sister and her father. They all looked around as if searching for someone. What she couldn’t understand was why she couldn’t see her reflection in the mirror. Then, realization struck her like a ton of bricks. She was in the other side. Of the mirror.

Then the ending credits rolled in. Though it was just a trailer, it was well shot. Everyone couldn’t wait to see the full movie. We congratulated our friend, Mills, who had shot the film and went to hang out at her place.

Cortney Swar

Wonderful ideas. Thanks for inspiration.

Alia Moore

*I’ve been wanting to write for a long time but never really got the push until right now. Sorry if it’s bad, it’s my first short and I’m 14* “One, two, three. Perfect, now I can go…” I quietly say to myself. I have something called Pure-O. Some people think that it’s worse than “normal OCD”. The others think that it’s completely unreal and it’s made up. What people don’t know about me is that I have Pure-O and it’s completely real and my life revolves around it. I make sure that people don’t find out about it because I am considered “ popular and high-status” where I live. “ Happy, good thoughts. Nothing bad.” I think to myself. “They won’t find out….hopefully. I am Claire Williams who has the best makeup and the straightest hair. Not the Crazy Williams girl that broke down in front of everyone because her presentation wasn’t how she planned it.” I think. Then the flashbacks swoop in and fill my brain. “Hi my name is Claire Williams and I am doing my presentation on the Economic Downfall of 2008…” I pause and look around. I see people snicker and talking. The teacher is just looking at me and gesturing for me to continue. I get scared and forget everything that I worked so hard to memorize. “Umm. I’m sorry ma’am, I can’t finish.” I tell my Economics teacher. When I try to move and collect everything, I can’t move. “No no no no no this can’t be happening. I can’t be having a panic attack at school.” I think to myself. I feel tears well up into my eyes. They slowly fall down my face and I taste the warm salty fluid. I suddenly tense up and can’t breath. Because no one knows about my condition, no one can help me. “Look! Williams is going crazy! Crazy Williams.” I hear people snicker from the back and the attack gets worse. I hear something new in my flashback…. It sounds almost as a ringing. I realize the bell is ringing for the students to get to class. I come back to reality and hope for the best on my first day of Senior year. I mean after all, it’s just school. Nothing bad could happen right?

Helen Kudatsky

PEN-082a 694w Anne Frank, Bella and Me by Helen Kudatsky

At nine, I bought my mom, Bella, a birthday gift on June 12th, a magenta lipstick for 19c. I was so proud. First present I ever purchased. She made me return it; It was too extravagant, and besides, she said, “every day is my birthday.” I cried. I knew her secret though. although a proper Jewish woman, sometimes she longed to be a gypsy.

Now, 60 years later, I’m reading “The Diary of a Young Girl” by Anne Frank, here in the home where I live. Though nursed, I’m often blue that I can’t dance or paint anymore. But I love to read and write, and my friend, Julie, the librarian, kindly brought me Anne’s book, which I am now devouring.

Anne was an eloquent writer, describing her schoolmates and boyfriends. She began the diary at 13, disclosing her first period, having a special secret and becoming a woman. I too began to menstruate at 13, pondering the mystery. It’s horrid to imagine eight people in 1944, crammed into the Secret Annexe, handling eating, sleeping, hygiene and trying to stay alive, while whispering and tiptoeing to avoid discovery by the Gestapo.

To maintain normalcy, the adults set up a plan. The children continued their studies: Dutch, French, English, history, geography and art. Although Anne liked most subjects, she found algebra notably loathsome. I’m in that club too.

Her people have become my friends and family: Anne Frank herself, Edith, her Mummy, Otto, her beloved father, Margot, her sister, and the others hiding with them: the VanDaans, their son, Peter who was first, her friend, then later, her crush and confidant, Dr. Albert Dussel, the dentist and Moortjie, the cat. Four of Otto’s devoted employees provided food, supplies and world news, which kept them alive and boosted their morale.

After the war, Miep, a helper, found Anne’s diary in the demolished remains and rubble of the annexe. She gave it to Otto, the sole survivor of the group. He was stunned by Anne’s maturity and the breadth of her feelings. The Diary has been published in 67 languages, portrayed on stage and screen, and is considered one of the most moving accounts of the Holocaust.

For those of us beholding atrocity, Anne Frank is a beacon: humorous, inquisitive, forgiving, cheerful. Sometimes moody, though, she was nicknamed “the incurable chatterbox.” as she’d quarrel with others in the Secret Annexe they occupied for their 25 months in hiding.

My mom, Bella, shared a birthday with Anne Frank, June 12th, but didn’t know of it until years after Anne’s death. Bella lived to be 95. She loved reading as much as Anne did, and she wrote poetry and stories, but didn‘t start until middle-age. Anne, 15, died in March 1945, just two weeks before the war’s end, when she would have been liberated. In two years of hiding, Anne was devoted to writing in the diary, at times prosaic, sometimes distraught, frequently terrifying, but often funny, spiritual and uplifting.

If the war had only ended sooner, I imagine the writing that Anne could have produced and I envision Bella meeting her. Bella, born in 1913, Anne in 1929, 16 years her junior, they could have been aunt and niece; I see them sharing a Shabbat dinner, singing a Hanukah song; I picture them speaking one of their languages. They believed in the same things. Finally, I dream of them proudly sharing their writings, a mystery, a story of love and longing, a poem, and of course, on June 12th, their mutual birthday.

I dream of them walking hand in hand, pale wrinkled fingers holding a smooth teenaged palm. They come to a table set before them, on it matzoh brei with applesauce, a plate of potato latkes with sour cream. There are apples and honey, wine and rugalech. Bella and Anne eat heartily and shout for joy, no longer whispering or tiptoeing, no longer afraid to be Jewish women writers, no longer afraid at all.

PEN-082a-Anne Frank, Bella and Me.wps by Helen Kudatsky w:09/03/17 ei 09/19/17 694 wds 08 mn 99 Park St.#104 Brookline,MA 02446 C-617-939-3387 e-m: [email protected]

Luke Johnson

My story plot is of the fantasy/adventure type.

In the fictional town of Surron, Colorado (which is surrounded by high mountainsides from every angle, a tragedy occurs on September 5, 1963. Six-year old Robert “Bert” Aruson witnesses his drunken, abusive father murder his mother with a broken beer bottle. Advancing on him, the father sleeps on another discarded bottle and trips, impaling himself on the bottle with which he killed his wife. Robert runs off into the forest to escape his father to look of help, unaware of his father’s death. With his parents living far back into the woods, he ends becoming lost and spending the night in the forest. A mother bear, Dewa, with two cubs of her own, the boy Gemape and girl Biha, discover the young boy and adopt him into their family, christening him with the new name Nuun. Ten years later in 1973, Nuun has led a happy existence with his loving and supportive new family, having even made new friends like the crow Hai and the mouse Naeene. He even prevented unnecessary violence between his family and a wolf pack led by Dande and Gupa. Any hunters that come into the forest have their weapons stolen and permanently disposed of in the night by Nuun. By this time, Nuun and his actions have become something of an urban legend in Surron. Back in that town, the mayor Aaron Burdon (who resides upon a hill overlooking the town) runs the town, though he views it with contempt due to one incident. His younger brother, Reagan, was beaten by thugs hoping to steal money off of his rich person, leaving him with brain damage. Despite this, the townspeople started treating him and his brother differently afterwards, cruelly even. This has caused his hatred to ferment over the years until he comes up with a plan to destroy the town’s population with explosives at the upcoming July 4 picnic. His wealth and power make the workers unable to resist him, as they will become jobless should he imprisoned. “Nuun” comes across one of Burdon’s worksites and almost steals workers lunchbox, but is chased away. News soon spreads through the town and Nuun finds his happy life in danger of being shattered once again unless he can have assistance from friends both human and animal.

Luba

Nikita This is the story of me, Nikita, an orphaned girl, who didn’t know anything about her family. I was kept in the orphanage with a bunch of other girls. Ms.Keeper, the owner of the orphanage doesn’t tell anyone anything about themselves or their family. I didn’t know anything about myself, but everyone knew that in Ms.Keepers room there was a filing cabinet with documents of the real stories of our lives. Nobody ever dared to go in there though. Ms.Keeper looked like she was somewhere in the 30’s, she had grey hair, bags under her brown eyes, a slim body and a huge pimple on her long nose. She was not married. I have brown hair, brown eyes, freckles and a healthy, slim body.

I always thought of running away. I felt like I was in that orphanage forever. I remember growing up in there since I was a child and now that I’m 17 years old, I’m still here, hoping to find my family. But that, I thought was too unrealistic. I was sitting in an orphanage, hoping to find my family. No, I wanted to DO something to find my family. The only thing that held me back was Ms.Keeper and the thought that I really had no family. Ms.Keeper was always afraid of one of the girls running away, that’s why she made some workers put a stronger fence around the orphanage property. Ms.Keeper was also afraid of talking to the government. I thought so because the government will shut down her orphanage. One time, I overheard Ms.Keeper talking on the phone to the government and they said that it was illegal to not show the orphans their identity and who they are, but Ms.Keeper ignored them and kept talking about something else. Also, at 18 years old, you are free to leave the orphanage and become independent. I just turned 17. No one else was my age except another girl, aged 14 and all the rest were smaller than her. There was once a girl named Gabby who was the only person who was older than me. Just last year, she turned 18 and was supposed to go. On her birthday, Ms.Keeper made an announcement at the last moment that Gabby was leaving right now and is right by the door. Every girl ran out to give her hugs and goodbyes. Ms.Keeper didn’t even move. She didn’t even say bye. It was so cruel of her. We didn’t have a birthday cake with Gabby because Ms.Keeper threw her out the door on her birthday!

Everyday, Ms.Keeper lets us go outside for one hour, three times a day. We ate mostly sandwiches and drank water and sometimes juice. We also had some snacks, which were mostly fruits. We did school during the day too but this wasn’t real school. Ms.Keeper taught us everything. Ms.Keeper also bought us a TV, which was in the dining room. We mostly had everything we needed, except a family.

One day, when Ms.Keeper let us go outside, I was lying on the grass by myself at the farthest point from the orphanage. Then all of a sudden I heard someone coming. I looked up but saw no one. When I turned around, I saw a boy, looked like he was 15. He had brown hair, blue eyes and was tall. He said “hi” to me and I said “hi” back. We talked to each other for awhile until Ms.Keeper called us in. I really hoped that Ms.Keeper didn’t see me talk to that boy because she would punish me.

For the next three days, I talked to that boy over the fence every recess. He told me about his life and it really surprised me. He said he had a house as big as the whole orphanage (the orphanage is as big as a hotel). He said he had his mom and dad living with him, that he has money, any kind of drink, and lots of junk food. He played video games everyday and watched TV and also he quit school. His mom and dad don’t care about what he does as long as he’s home by midnight! When he told me this, I started thinking, is every life out there like his? What is everyone’s else’s life like? I couldn’t sleep that night or any other night after that day.

Soon, we became friends and he asked if the orphanage was boring. I didn’t even know what to say because it was alright living in the orphanage but compared to his life, it was nothing. I didn’t say anything and he asked if I wanted to run away to his house. I, of course, was surprised and didn’t say anything for awhile but then I said I would think about it. Ms.Keeper called us inside, and I don’t know why but she never caught me talking to him. Ms.Keeper usually stands by the door of the orphanage, looking into the field of how we are playing. I was farthest away from her so maybe she doesn’t see so well.

After those days, I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking of running away. But how was I supposed to run away? If I got caught, I would be punished and I would have to be a slave to everyone, washing dishes, sweeping, and cleaning. Besides, I couldn’t run away because we all slept in rooms with four people to each room. Our room was the farthest away from the exit. I would have to tip-toe (at night?!?) through the whole orphanage just to get to the exit. No, I couldn’t do it. I was too scared. But that boy kept assuring me that everything will be okay.

I talked it over with the boy and I decided to run away with him at night, at 11pm because he had to be home by 12pm. By 8pm, all the girls in the orphanage would be sleeping, but Ms.Keeper stays up till 10pm, listening to classical music in her favourite rocking chair. As not to wake Ms.Keeper, the boy suggested that he would come to my window at night and I would climb over. Our room was on the lowest level – level one- so it was the closest to the ground. It was supposed to happen in two days from then. I was very nervous and scared, and I kept looking at Ms.Keeper if she had any suspicions, but it didn’t look like it.

It was the day of the run. I packed all my stuff, which wasn’t really much. I put all my clothes in my pockets (it fit perfectly). I was wide awake that night, listening till Ms.Keeper turned off her classical music and went to bed. It was perfectly silent. You could hear every single breath of the girls. My tummy had a trillion butterflies in it and I couldn’t stop my heavy breathing. At 11pm, there was a quiet knock at my window and I knocked back. That was our signal for letting each other know we were ready. I then looked at everyone in the room. They were sound asleep. I opened the window and it’s super squeaky. I waited a moment to see if anyone woke up, but no one moved. I climbed over the window to the boy. I closed the window with a loud squeak and started running with the boy to wherever my feet let me go. It was a dark night and only the half-lit moon was our source of light. The boy led me through streets and streets of houses until we came to a huge house. It was so pretty. It looked like the orphanage but it had no spiderwebs. It was clean and super nice. It looked like they were rich to have all those diamond stuff on the door.

They boy opened the door and the light hurt my eyes. It was so bright in there, so big. The stairs were curved, like I only saw in fairy tales, and there was his mom standing in the doorway. She first smiled, but when she saw me, she made a confused face and came closer. I was so scared. What would his mom do? Did he tell his mom about me? My brain threw me a thousand questions to answer of which I didn’t know the answers for. The lady came closer and asked the boy slowly who I was. He told his mom that I was a friend from the orphanage. His mom got angry, her face started to turn red and she started to talk louder. She started saying that I’m filthy and that she doesn’t want to see me ever again and to get out off this house. I looked at the boy. He started to cry. I tear went down his cheek. He begged his mom to let her stay for the night but his mom didn’t budge. The boy’s mom shut the door on me and I was outside in the cold.

All of this was for nothing. This meet we had. All the recesses we talked, all the nights I didn’t sleep, and I couldn’t go back to the orphanage now. I was alone. I didn’t even know where to go. I got off the boys lawn and I sat down on the sidewalk, crying and I realized I didn’t even know what the boy’s name was! Suddenly, I heard a door open. I looked back to see if it was the boy’s mom. No, it wasn’t. I looked around and saw that the boy’s neighbor has opened the door and was calling me. The person at the door was a grandma. She told me to come in. I stood up and came inside. She told me that she heard the neighbors talking loudly so she went to see what the commotion was about. She asked me if I wanted to eat but I refused. She sent me to bed, not knowing anything about me. She was so kind to me. She sent me upstairs where I had my own room. I fell asleep very fast, and I slept till lunch the next day. I forgot all about the orphanage and went downstairs to meet my hero. She was making breakfast for me. We sat down at the table and she told me her name ( Grandma Laura ) and I told her all about my life. Every single thing. When I came to the part about the orphanage, her eyes widened.

Grandma Laura told me that many many years ago, she was the owner of the orphanage! The government fired her because they thought she wasn’t suitable for the job. When she went away, she made photocopies of the documents of the girls and kept them because the girls were so precious to her that she couldn’t just leave them. Grandma Laura stood up and went upstairs to go get them. When she came back down, she had a whole ton of documents! She found one by the name of Nikita.

That morning changed my life. She let me read my own document. It figures out that my real mom died while having me. My dad was still alive. My dad’s name was Walter Eggons. The grandma’s eyes widened when I told her the name of my dad. She told me that that was her husband! So Grandma Laura was my mom? She didn’t die? But Grandma told me the whole story. My dad, Walter, first married a lady named Agnes, and they had a baby named Nikita ( that was me) and during childbirth, Agnes died, but I lived. Later, my dad could no longer care after me so he dropped me off at the orphanage when I was 1 year’s old. For my dad, that was a hard decision. He had to work but he couldn’t leave me at home and there was no one to look after me. After my dad’s wife died, he married Laura. Laura was sitting in front of me, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She then told me the saddest news- my dad died of cancer a couple months ago. I started choking back sobs, and then tears. Grandma Laura was the only family I had. She was my stepmother.

It has been seven years since that happened and right now I am sitting with tears in my eyes, telling you this. I live with my stepmom and my husband, Jeffrey. Turns out that after that day, I lived with my stepmom for a couple months but then the boy’s mom found out that I was still in this neighborhood. The boy was so happy to hear that, and he told me his name- Jeffrey Jones. We soon joined our friendship together and a couple months later, we were married. Also,he wasn’t 15 years old, like I thought, he was 17.

-Written by Nikita Eggons-Jones

Nora

I hope you like this so far tell me what to improve on.

Gunnvor is the daugter of a powerful samurai but that is only thing that they have in common. Her father is a ruthless man who fights for war, on the other hand Gunnvor fights for humanity, no one can see her true colors because they want to believe she wants bloodshed as well like her father. She hates their thoughts, imprisoned in her fathers hand, the only way to escape, is for some one, like her, to save her in the outside.

As she swoon her sword with grace she sliced the broom like heads off. Her father and mother were observing her progress as a warrior, when she was do she went to her parents and bowed. She left leaving them behind a cold chill settled on them, the mother knew why the father ignored. Gunnvor loved to walk in the town down below her house, all the people were Good-hearted and kind in every way. She sometimes is jealous of the children for having such free lives. But she does not listen to her selfish conscience, she walked across the flower bridge as a gentle men suddenly bumped into her. “Oh sorry about that I didn’t see you,” Gunnvor quickly got up embarrassed for fall. She looked up and saw man that was strong but kind, she then noticed that he didn’t recognized him, he look like he was from another country. She then suddenly pulled her sword pointed it near his neck. the man was taken aback, he looked shocked and then said ” Yes did I say some thing offensive.”

“your not from here are you,” She moved a little closer, her sword started to dig into skin. “Yea I’m just traveling, I came from the neighboring kingdom, I thought they were in good terms…..right?” He backed away a little from the sword cutting his neck. Gunnvor then lowered her sword slowly, The man rubbed his neck just to find that it is bleeding “by the way what is your name,” she sheathed her sword in it’s case. “My name is gunnvor,” He quickly whipped his head to her “What the, Gunnvor, the daugter of the samurai.”

“Yes.” she turned and started to walk away and stop slightly turned her head ” And you,”

“Uh my name is Cota.” he said then Gunnvor walked away, when she arrived at home she swept past her father to her bed room. That night she could not stop thinking of Cota, she thought how strange he was dressed and the way he looked. The next how ever her father again trained gunnvor, the train this time was diffrent, he was pushing her to far.

Many days have past and Gunnvor noticed that Cota was spotted many times near her house. Then when she training with her father which was basically torture, Cota came up to her father ” You will stop hurting her,” He said slowly and manically. However he was not moved “My wife has convinced you to protect her,”

“No I came In my own accord.” The father then spun and grabbed his sword and pointed to cota. “Well then can fight me,”

“We”l see,” cota grabbed his sword and the two fought, they fought for a few hours and the father was vanquished. Cota then went to Gunnvor and asked her hand in marriage.

Luba Lishchenko

Nikita This is the story of me, Nikita, an orphaned girl, who didn’t know anything about her family. I was kept in the orphanage with a bunch of other girls. Ms.Keeper, the owner of the orphanage doesn’t tell anyone anything about themselves or their family. I didn’t know anything about myself, but everyone knew that in Ms.Keepers room there was a filing cabinet with documents of the real stories of our lives. Nobody ever dared to go in there though. Ms.Keeper looked like she was somewhere in the 30’s, she had grey hair, bags under her brown eyes, a slim body and a huge pimple on her long nose. She was not married. I have brown hair, brown eyes, freckles and a healthy, slim body. I always thought of running away. I felt like I was in that orphanage forever. I remember growing up in there since I was a child and now that I’m 17 years old, I’m still here, hoping to find my family. But that, I thought was too unrealistic. I was sitting in an orphanage, hoping to find my family. No, I wanted to DO something to find my family. The only thing that held me back was Ms.Keeper and the thought that I really had no family. Ms.Keeper was always afraid of one of the girls running away, that’s why she made some workers put a stronger fence around the orphanage property. Ms.Keeper was also afraid of talking to the government. I thought so because the government will shut down her orphanage. One time, I overheard Ms.Keeper talking on the phone to the government and they said that it was illegal to not show the orphans their identity and who they are, but Ms.Keeper ignored them and kept talking about something else. Also, at 18 years old, you are free to leave the orphanage and become independent. I just turned 17. No one else was my age except another girl, aged 14 and all the rest were smaller than her. There was once a girl named Gabby who was the only person who was older than me. Just last year, she turned 18 and was supposed to go. On her birthday, Ms.Keeper made an announcement at the last moment that Gabby was leaving right now and is right by the door. Every girl ran out to give her hugs and goodbyes. Ms.Keeper didn’t even move. She didn’t even say bye. It was so cruel of her. We didn’t have a birthday cake with Gabby because Ms.Keeper threw her out the door on her birthday! Everyday, Ms.Keeper lets us go outside for one hour, three times a day. We ate mostly sandwiches and drank water and sometimes juice. We also had some snacks, which were mostly fruits. We did school during the day too but this wasn’t real school. Ms.Keeper taught us everything. Ms.Keeper also bought us a TV, which was in the dining room. We mostly had everything we needed, except a family. One day, when Ms.Keeper let us go outside, I was lying on the grass by myself at the farthest point from the orphanage. Then all of a sudden I heard someone coming. I looked up but saw no one. When I turned around, I saw a boy, looked like he was 15. He had brown hair, blue eyes and was tall. He said “hi” to me and I said “hi” back. We talked to each other for awhile until Ms.Keeper called us in. I really hoped that Ms.Keeper didn’t see me talk to that boy because she would punish me. For the next three days, I talked to that boy over the fence every recess. He told me about his life and it really surprised me. He said he had a house as big as the whole orphanage (the orphanage is as big as a hotel). He said he had his mom and dad living with him, that he has money, any kind of drink, and lots of junk food. He played video games everyday and watched TV and also he quit school. His mom and dad don’t care about what he does as long as he’s home by midnight! When he told me this, I started thinking, is every life out there like his? What is everyone’s else’s life like? I couldn’t sleep that night or any other night after that day. Soon, we became friends and he asked if the orphanage was boring. I didn’t even know what to say because it was alright living in the orphanage but compared to his life, it was nothing. I didn’t say anything and he asked if I wanted to run away to his house. I, of course, was surprised and didn’t say anything for awhile but then I said I would think about it. Ms.Keeper called us inside, and I don’t know why but she never caught me talking to him. Ms.Keeper usually stands by the door of the orphanage, looking into the field of how we are playing. I was farthest away from her so maybe she doesn’t see so well. After those days, I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking of running away. But how was I supposed to run away? If I got caught, I would be punished and I would have to be a slave to everyone, washing dishes, sweeping, and cleaning. Besides, I couldn’t run away because we all slept in rooms with four people to each room. Our room was the farthest away from the exit. I would have to tip-toe (at night?!?) through the whole orphanage just to get to the exit. No, I couldn’t do it. I was too scared. But that boy kept assuring me that everything will be okay. I talked it over with the boy and I decided to run away with him at night, at 11pm because he had to be home by 12pm. By 8pm, all the girls in the orphanage would be sleeping, but Ms.Keeper stays up till 10pm, listening to classical music in her favourite rocking chair. As not to wake Ms.Keeper, the boy suggested that he would come to my window at night and I would climb over. Our room was on the lowest level – level one- so it was the closest to the ground. It was supposed to happen in two days from then. I was very nervous and scared, and I kept looking at Ms.Keeper if she had any suspicions, but it didn’t look like it. It was the day of the run. I packed all my stuff, which wasn’t really much. I put all my clothes in my pockets (it fit perfectly). I was wide awake that night, listening till Ms.Keeper turned off her classical music and went to bed. It was perfectly silent. You could hear every single breath of the girls. My tummy had a trillion butterflies in it and I couldn’t stop my heavy breathing. At 11pm, there was a quiet knock at my window and I knocked back. That was our signal for letting each other know we were ready. I then looked at everyone in the room. They were sound asleep. I opened the window and it’s super squeaky. I waited a moment to see if anyone woke up, but no one moved. I climbed over the window to the boy. I closed the window with a loud squeak and started running with the boy to wherever my feet let me go. It was a dark night and only the half-lit moon was our source of light. The boy led me through streets and streets of houses until we came to a huge house. It was so pretty. It looked like the orphanage but it had no spiderwebs. It was clean and super nice. It looked like they were rich to have all those diamond stuff on the door. They boy opened the door and the light hurt my eyes. It was so bright in there, so big. The stairs were curved, like I only saw in fairy tales, and there was his mom standing in the doorway. She first smiled, but when she saw me, she made a confused face and came closer. I was so scared. What would his mom do? Did he tell his mom about me? My brain threw me a thousand questions to answer of which I didn’t know the answers for. The lady came closer and asked the boy slowly who I was. He told his mom that I was a friend from the orphanage. His mom got angry, her face started to turn red and she started to talk louder. She started saying that I’m filthy and that she doesn’t want to see me ever again and to get out off this house. I looked at the boy. He started to cry. I tear went down his cheek. He begged his mom to let her stay for the night but his mom didn’t budge. The boy’s mom shut the door on me and I was outside in the cold. All of this was for nothing. This meet we had. All the recesses we talked, all the nights I didn’t sleep, and I couldn’t go back to the orphanage now. I was alone. I didn’t even know where to go. I got off the boys lawn and I sat down on the sidewalk, crying and I realized I didn’t even know what the boy’s name was! Suddenly, I heard a door open. I looked back to see if it was the boy’s mom. No, it wasn’t. I looked around and saw that the boy’s neighbor has opened the door and was calling me. The person at the door was a grandma. She told me to come in. I stood up and came inside. She told me that she heard the neighbors talking loudly so she went to see what the commotion was about. She asked me if I wanted to eat but I refused. She sent me to bed, not knowing anything about me. She was so kind to me. She sent me upstairs where I had my own room. I fell asleep very fast, and I slept till lunch the next day. I forgot all about the orphanage and went downstairs to meet my hero. She was making breakfast for me. We sat down at the table and she told me her name ( Grandma Laura ) and I told her all about my life. Every single thing. When I came to the part about the orphanage, her eyes widened. Grandma Laura told me that many many years ago, she was the owner of the orphanage! The government fired her because they thought she wasn’t suitable for the job. When she went away, she made photocopies of the documents of the girls and kept them because the girls were so precious to her that she couldn’t just leave them. Grandma Laura stood up and went upstairs to go get them. When she came back down, she had a whole ton of documents! She found one by the name of Nikita. That morning changed my life. She let me read my own document. It figures out that my real mom died while having me. My dad was still alive. My dad’s name was Walter Eggons. The grandma’s eyes widened when I told her the name of my dad. She told me that that was her husband! So Grandma Laura was my mom? She didn’t die? But Grandma told me the whole story. My dad, Walter, first married a lady named Agnes, and they had a baby named Nikita ( that was me) and during childbirth, Agnes died, but I lived. Later, my dad could no longer care after me so he dropped me off at the orphanage when I was 1 year’s old. For my dad, that was a hard decision. He had to work but he couldn’t leave me at home and there was no one to look after me. After my dad’s wife died, he married Laura. Laura was sitting in front of me, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She then told me the saddest news- my dad died of cancer a couple months ago. I started choking back sobs, and then tears. Grandma Laura was the only family I had. She was my stepmother. It has been seven years since that happened and right now I am sitting with tears in my eyes, telling you this. I live with my stepmom and my husband, Jeffrey. Turns out that after that day, I lived with my stepmom for a couple months but then the boy’s mom found out that I was still in this neighborhood. The boy was so happy to hear that, and he told me his name- Jeffrey Jones. We soon joined our friendship together and a couple months later, we were married. Also,he wasn’t 15 years old, like I thought, he was 17. -Written by Nikita Eggons-Jones

Retarted Stuff

Yoyoyo its generikb here and today we are playing roller coaster tycoon

John Smith

Anyone got ideas for a short story titled as Leornard’s Fatal Oversight. In need of help asap.

Mary M

Ugh, this is getting do frustrating! I thought to myself as I struggled through the streets. My ankles kept twisting every time I slipped. Heels are so not comfy. I shouldn’t have worn them. As if my struggle wasn’t enough, people were pushing me as they passed me by. I was being shoved left and right amidst the bustling sidewalks of New York. Feeling fed up, I decided to lean onto a nearby store to regain my balance. What an awful idea it was. Unfortunately, I have miscalculated the distance between me and the store and I ended up leaning on thin air. I tried to right my footing before it was too late but I ended up tripping on my own feet. With a loud oomph I slammed into a passerby. Papers went flying around us as we both fell to the ground.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry.” I tried to hurriedly stand up but I ended flat on the ground again. “I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to lean on the wall to regain my balance since it’s the first time to wear heels, and oh my god, it is very hard and painful.”

The person nodded quietly and started gathering the papers. I got to my knees and tried to help. “I was supposed to be looking smart for today’s meeting, but I don’t think it’s been working out so well. I bet I look as smart as a baboon’s butt.” I heard the person chuckle but I went on with my rant, “I also bet that I am a total mess; I don’t how will I meet everyone at work this way. Oh man! They sure will give me an earful of criticism!” I didn’t realize I had been holding on to the few papers I collected while he tried to pull them from my grasp. “Oh, I am so sorry, once again,” I said still holding on to the papers while I got up, “I didn’t realize I was holding on to the documents…it’s not like I’ve read them; I’m just guessing they were documents as your suit looks neat and yeah.” I tugged gently on the lapel of the suit and finally raised my eyes to his face. My eyes probably widened as I saw him for the first time. To cut it short, he was hot! Like smoking salmon hot; or more like hot chili pepper that Indians eat hot! Now I’ll give all the details, I know you want them…I would want them if I was listening to one of my friends telling me such a story. Anyways, he stood a good foot or so taller than me. He had light brown hair styled backwards. His angular, defined jaw was covered with a five o’clock shadow. Bright hazel eyes shone with amusement as a slight smile covered his lips. “I don’t usually talk to strangers as much as I do. God! I’m coming off as talkative! I am not usually the talkative type; I seriously don’t know what is wrong with me today. And whoa, you look handsome,” my eyes widened in shock as he raised both eyebrows, “Did I say that out loud? Oh my god, I said that out loud. I didn’t mean to say that…I don’t mean you’re not handsome, because you’re one hell of a man; I just mean…Ugh! Now I’m coming off as a weird man-gazing half-crazed stalker. That is if I’m not fully crazed. I don’t think I’m making any sense…I should probably get going.” I went to turn around when I felt a tug onto something I’m holding to. With a confused look I looked to my hands and found the stack of papers. With a not so faint blush, I handed him the papers, “I’m sorry again.” I threw my hand behind my shoulder pointing in the opposite direction, “I should probably get going,” I said with a sheepish smile. I turned to leave again, but I was stopped…again. He cleared his throat, “I think you’re forgetting something.” “Um…no, I think I’m,” I turned his way to find him holding my bag. I awkwardly stepped to take it and said, “Thanks. I’ll see you around, not that I know where you are…I’ll just get going.” I took my bag and headed off in the opposite direction before I could embarrass myself any further. As I waited for the subway, I recalled what just happened and face palmed. I took the short ride to the office to compose myself. I was in for a surprise once I entered the meeting room, though. The man I bumped into was standing at the head of the table. “Good morning everyone, before starting today’s meeting, I would like to introduce you to the company’s new CEO…” Well, I wasn’t expecting this. I sat rigidly on the chair once we were told to. “Good morning everyone, I am Nathaniel and I am looking forwards to working with everyone on this team,” he said with a smile on his face. “Mr. Nathaniel, I would like you to meet our best employee, Ms. Felicity Brown.”My boss pointed my way and I wish he hadn’t. Nathaniel’s eyes found mine. They were filled with amusement. Oh this was going to be a long day.

And this, kids, is how I met your father.

Joseph West

A great (and family friendly) writing site is http://www.storybird.com

I might write a story about a girl who was born a princess but all her family died on a ship except her aunt and cousin…she gets taken to an orphanage and everyone else thinks she died too and she gets adopted a few Years later she goes to school and everyone is talking about her…one days she finds out that… oh u want to know well I’ll probs write a story about it on wattpad so u can look for it, it will be called…A princess???

Dianelwnz

Four new members have a look at couch on top of Crestwood center ship

high school graduation sports activitiestrail Softballand therefore Swimmingbeach ball Tennismales adolescent girls info Field HS HS WrestlingCollege Pro Submit ScoresSubmit

WRIGHT TWP. In all perhaps had to be the most significant reorganization matching presented among Luzerne regional 11 institutions zones, Crestwood school panel swore located in four sign ups compared to the ne member, repairing incumbents which are either of them missing in action unique reelection tenders belonging to the primary or elected to get not to research another phase.

wayne Brogna, Stacey Haddix, Kimberly Spath and thus Lauren McCurdy got been sworn appearing in thursday night. The four bought conducted completely considering that the to produce enhancement community. really earning incumbent from a big part that do survived habitual grievance in past times two very long time came anna Hollock Bibla, which will garnered your ex first four year terms the particular snowboard. you become a member of in 2017 because of profitable an exclusive two year sitting.

The aboard had been proven a good solid director in just cost Jones deleted the primary. He extended in the direction this quite get-together ahead departing the barrier. But contact considering his or place for year isn an exciting new face. really 5 4 election with all four rookies in opposition of, james Costello vice president in the past year came branded president.

following the meeting, Brogna documented can lone even talk to gain themselves even so that he fully Costello ran into finished loads of dubious ballots the actual game board during the last two growth cycles. he explained he’s talked containing Costello together n’ your own questions that can the pup, but admitted no sign ups may possibly well most try out the us president job, if he or she. so which he wasn safe voting for Costello.

barry Boone is unanimously specified as vice chairman, Maureen McGovern came chosen assistant, and after that Brogna been recently branded as treasurer.

all of the reconstituted block have their first finding for normal establishment votes arrange for Dec. 19, Five days right after the contract over curious law firms in order to post proposals on a structured feasibility study, sense my blackboard can have to be able to merit a legal contract.

Four newbies your day Crestwood their school panel accept the promise of health care office at some stage in thurs reorganization talking. right between lead are actually Stacy Haddix, Kimberly Spath, Lauren McCurdy and as a consequence randy Brogna. 17 public speaking.

while prompt wednesday authorities chairman paul Belusko should become aware of if will probably be at center arena this booked careers class a better or at site of the event thus more people beautiful vietnamese women may easily give priority to.

Belusko proclaimed she will be polling an additional four authorities musicians in email’s over the past weekend on recommendation mayor choose George light brown undertaken especially during tuesday night time seeing replace the to and time production for the.

looking to you can keep them respond back to me made by the following thursday, Belusko considered that Friday.

maybe authorities decides to transfer an appointment it provides a week in order to place and with seating rather than a unique fourth area chambers.

was regarded as thinking that it is recently doing open talking long before the performance visit someplace (home buyers and thus local authority or council) may questionthings just to associated with us transfer to the author’s your job session. which unfortunately whatever i thinking about, Belusko claims.

you will most likely plumbing service in sunday night-time show results demonstrations that when local authority or council could not vote on awaiting the law. comments together with inquires are allowed even though council monday date the general public get togethers. timetabled start.

village owner david Gazenski suggested it authorities call on which direction to start.

over council if that they move this approach to a different store, Gazenski alleged.

nearly as Belusko may reaching out to authorities, so too will white because of main receiving area for the mans professional recommendation.

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4 Engaging Story Ideas Using Writing Prompts

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Introduction to Writing Prompts

In the realm of creative writing , writing prompts serve as beacons of inspiration, guiding writers through the labyrinth of blank pages. But what about those who weave tales from the threads of reality? For personal essayists, the challenge lies in finding prompts that resonate with lived experiences and truths. At Writer’s Relief , our experts recognize this struggle and have curated a collection of prompts tailored specifically for crafting compelling personal essays.

What is a Writing Prompt?

A writing prompt acts as a spark in the dark, igniting the creative flames within writers. It is a nudge, a gentle push that propels pens across paper or fingers on keyboards. These prompts come in various forms: a single sentence, an image, a question – each beckoning writers to explore uncharted territories of their imagination. For personal essayists, prompts offer a gateway to introspection, urging them to delve deep into their memories and emotions to craft narratives that resonate with authenticity.

Why Use Writing Prompts?

The allure of writing prompts lies in their ability to transcend writer’s block and unleash dormant ideas. They serve as catalysts for creativity, breaking down mental barriers and opening doors to new narrative possibilities . By embracing prompts , writers can bypass the daunting stare of blank pages and embark on journeys filled with self-discovery and storytelling adventures. For personal essayists bound by facts and real-life events, prompts provide a bridge between reality and imagination, allowing them to infuse their narratives with depth and emotion.

My Experience with Writing Prompts

As a writer navigating the realms of personal essays, I have found solace in the embrace of writing prompts . They have been my guiding stars in moments of uncertainty, illuminating paths through which my stories could unfold. Each prompt has been a key that unlocked hidden chambers of memory and emotion within me, leading to revelations both profound and cathartic. Through these prompts, I have learned that storytelling is not just about recounting events but capturing moments that define who we are.

1. A Time-Travel Adventure Inspired by a Writing Prompt

As I delved into the realm of time-travel narratives , a writing prompt emerged as the catalyst for an extraordinary journey through the corridors of history. It all began with a simple yet enigmatic sentence that whispered of temporal anomalies and untold adventures.

The Prompt That Started It All

The writing prompt that ignited my imagination was deceptively concise: "What if you could travel back in time and change one moment?" This seemingly innocuous question unfurled a tapestry of possibilities in my mind, each thread weaving a new narrative path to explore.

Crafting the Story

Developing characters.

In this time-travel odyssey, characters became more than mere players on the stage of history; they evolved into vessels carrying the weight of their past decisions. Each protagonist bore scars of moments altered and choices made, adding layers of complexity to their personas.

Building the World

The world I crafted through this writing prompt transcended mere physical landscapes; it encompassed eras colliding, histories intertwining, and futures uncertain. From ancient civilizations to distant futures, every setting pulsed with the heartbeat of time itself.

Tips for Writing Time-Travel Stories

Embrace Paradoxes: Time-travel narratives thrive on paradoxes – embrace them as opportunities to challenge perceptions and unravel intricate plot twists .

Research Historical Context: Ground your story in historical accuracy to lend authenticity to your time-travel escapades.

Explore Consequences: Delve into the ripple effects of altering past events, exploring how one change can reverberate across timelines.

2. The Mystery of the Abandoned Mansion

Finding inspiration in a writing prompt.

As I embarked on a journey into the realm of mystery writing , a writing prompt emerged like a shadowy figure in the mist, beckoning me to explore the enigmatic depths of storytelling. It whispered of secrets buried within the walls of an abandoned mansion, setting the stage for a tale shrouded in intrigue and suspense.

Elements of a Mystery Story

Creating suspense.

In crafting a compelling mystery narrative, suspense acts as the heartbeat that quickens the reader's pulse and keeps them on the edge of their seat. Like a master puppeteer, I learned to dangle clues just out of reach, weaving a web of uncertainty that entangled both characters and readers alike.

Developing the Plot

Every mystery needs a roadmap , a carefully plotted journey that leads both writer and reader through twists and turns towards an inevitable revelation. Armed with insights from seasoned writers, I navigated through red herrings and false leads, ensuring that each breadcrumb trail led closer to unraveling the central enigma.

What I Learned from Writing Mystery

In my exploration of mystery writing prompts, I uncovered hidden truths about storytelling that transcended mere plot devices. Each cryptic clue and every suspicious character taught me that mysteries are not just puzzles to solve but mirrors reflecting deeper truths about human nature. Through this genre, I discovered the art of planting seeds of doubt in readers' minds while nurturing curiosity until it blossoms into satisfaction at the story's resolution.

3. A Writing Prompt That Leads to a Fantasy World

In the realm of fantasy writing, a writing prompt acts as a magical portal, transporting writers into realms where dragons soar, and magic crackles in the air. These prompts are not mere words on paper; they are incantations that summon worlds teeming with wonder and danger. As I delved into the depths of fantasy narratives, a particular prompt beckoned me to traverse uncharted territories where imagination reigned supreme.

The Prompt Behind the Fantasy

The writing prompt that sparked my journey into the fantastical was as enigmatic as a hidden spell waiting to be unraveled: "In a world where shadows dance with light, uncover the secret of the lost amulet." This cryptic invitation whispered of ancient mysteries and untold adventures, setting the stage for a tale woven with threads of magic and intrigue.

World-Building in Fantasy Writing

Creating a magic system.

In crafting my fantasy realm inspired by this writing prompt , I delved deep into the art of creating a cohesive magic system that breathed life into my narrative. Magic became more than spells and enchantments; it evolved into a force woven into the very fabric of my world, shaping destinies and sparking conflicts that echoed through generations.

Designing the Setting

Every corner of my fantasy world bore traces of meticulous design, from towering citadels adorned with enchanted runes to sprawling forests where mystical creatures roamed freely. The setting transcended mere backdrop; it became a character in its own right, influencing plot twists and character arcs with its rich tapestry of history and lore.

My Journey into Fantasy Writing

As I embarked on this odyssey guided by the writing prompt , I discovered that fantasy writing is not just about crafting tales of sword and sorcery; it is an exploration of human nature through otherworldly lenses. Through characters grappling with moral dilemmas and kingdoms torn apart by ambition, I unearthed truths about resilience, sacrifice, and the enduring power of hope in the face of darkness.

4. Uncovering Secrets with a Writing Prompt

The writing prompt as a catalyst.

In the realm of storytelling, a writing prompt acts as a silent instigator, planting seeds of intrigue that blossom into narratives rich with hidden truths and untold secrets. Like a master key, it unlocks chambers of mystery within writers' minds, urging them to explore the shadows where secrets lurk and revelations await.

Writing a Story About Secrets

Developing the mystery.

When crafting a tale woven with secrets, every character becomes a tapestry of concealed truths and veiled intentions. Just as in real life, these secrets shape destinies and drive actions, adding layers of complexity to the narrative tapestry. Each whispered secret is a thread that binds characters together in a delicate dance of trust and betrayal.

Revealing the Truth

As the story unfolds like petals unfurling at dawn, secrets begin to unravel, exposing vulnerabilities and strengths hidden beneath masks of deception. The revelation of each secret is not just a plot twist but a mirror reflecting the characters' inner landscapes, laying bare their fears, desires, and motivations. Through these revelations, readers are invited to peer into the hearts of characters and witness the transformative power of truth.

The Impact of Revealing Secrets in Stories

Secrets hold immense power in storytelling; they are the lighthouses guiding readers through stormy seas of suspense and intrigue. When secrets are unveiled, they have the potential to shatter illusions, mend broken relationships, or ignite conflicts that set worlds ablaze. Just as detectives unravel mysteries to uncover truths buried in shadows, writers peel back layers of secrecy to reveal universal truths about human nature and the complexities that define our existence.

In fiction writing prompts that delve into the realm of secrets, authors navigate treacherous waters where trust is fragile, alliances are fleeting, and loyalties are tested. These prompts challenge writers to explore the depths of moral ambiguity and ethical dilemmas that arise when secrets collide with truth. By weaving narratives steeped in secrecy, writers invite readers on journeys filled with twists and turns where nothing is as it seems and every revelation reshapes perceptions.

As I reflect on my own encounters with writing prompts centered around secrets, I am reminded of their transformative power in shaping narratives that resonate with authenticity and emotional depth. Each prompt served as a beacon illuminating hidden corridors within my imagination where stories waited to be unearthed. Through these prompts, I discovered that secrets are not just plot devices but windows into characters' souls – mirrors reflecting their vulnerabilities and strengths in equal measure.

Embracing writing prompts that explore the enigmatic allure of secrets has enriched my storytelling journey by challenging me to delve deeper into characters' psyches and motivations. It has taught me that behind every closed door lies a secret waiting to be revealed – a truth that has the power to change destinies or shatter illusions. In unlocking these narrative treasures through writing prompts, I have uncovered not just stories but profound insights into human nature's intricate tapestry woven with threads of secrecy.

Conclusion: Reflecting on the Power of Writing Prompts

In the tapestry of creativity, writing prompts stand as guiding stars illuminating the path for writers to embark on storytelling odysseys. As I reflect on the profound impact these prompts have had on my creative journey, their transformative power becomes evident in every narrative woven from their threads.

How Writing Prompts Have Enhanced My Creativity

Writing prompts have been more than mere sparks igniting my imagination; they have been keys unlocking doors to uncharted realms within my mind. Each prompt acts as a mirror reflecting facets of my creativity I never knew existed, pushing me to explore themes, genres, and characters beyond my comfort zone. Through these prompts, I have honed my storytelling skills, delving into worlds where time bends, mysteries unravel, and fantasies flourish.

Embracing writing prompts has not only expanded my narrative horizons but also deepened my understanding of storytelling nuances. From crafting intricate plot twists to sculpting multidimensional characters, each prompt has challenged me to push boundaries and test the limits of my creativity. By embracing the unknown territories these prompts unveil, I have discovered reservoirs of inspiration waiting to be tapped and tales yearning to be told.

As I look back on the myriad stories born from writing prompts , I am reminded of the resilience and adaptability inherent in every writer's journey. These prompts serve as reminders that creativity knows no bounds; it flows through us like a river seeking new paths to carve and landscapes to transform. They have taught me that true creativity lies not in adhering to conventions but in daring to explore uncharted waters where innovation thrives and imagination reigns supreme.

Encouragement for Fellow Writers

To my fellow writers navigating the labyrinth of blank pages and daunting narratives, I offer this beacon of encouragement: embrace writing prompts as allies in your creative quest. Let them be your companions on journeys through realms both familiar and fantastical, guiding you through valleys of doubt and peaks of inspiration. Trust in the power of these prompts to unlock hidden potentials within you and lead you towards storytelling heights yet unexplored.

Remember that every writing prompt carries within it a universe of possibilities waiting to be unraveled by your pen or keyboard. Approach each prompt with an open heart and a curious mind, ready to dance with words and weave tales that resonate with authenticity and emotion. Let these prompts be whispers in your ear, nudging you towards stories that stir souls and spark imaginations.

As you embark on your creative endeavors guided by writing prompts , know that you are not alone in this journey. Every writer who has ever felt the thrill of crafting a tale from a single sentence understands the magic these prompts hold. Embrace them as tools for growth, windows into undiscovered narratives, and mirrors reflecting the boundless potential residing within you.

In closing, let us celebrate the artistry of writing prompts – catalysts for creativity, companions in solitude, and gateways to infinite storytelling possibilities. May we continue our explorations fueled by these sparks of inspiration, weaving tapestries of words that captivate hearts, challenge minds, and transcend boundaries set by reality.

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ne of the section leaders for my computer-science class, Hamza El Boudali, believes that President Joe Biden should be killed. “I’m not calling for a civilian to do it, but I think a military should,” the 23-year-old Stanford University student told a small group of protesters last month. “I’d be happy if Biden was dead.” He thinks that Stanford is complicit in what he calls the genocide of Palestinians, and that Biden is not only complicit but responsible for it. “I’m not calling for a vigilante to do it,” he later clarified, “but I’m saying he is guilty of mass murder and should be treated in the same way that a terrorist with darker skin would be (and we all know terrorists with dark skin are typically bombed and drone striked by American planes).” El Boudali has also said that he believes that Hamas’s October 7 attack was a justifiable act of resistance, and that he would actually prefer Hamas rule America in place of its current government (though he clarified later that he “doesn’t mean Hamas is perfect”). When you ask him what his cause is, he answers: “Peace.”

I switched to a different computer-science section.

Israel is 7,500 miles away from Stanford’s campus, where I am a sophomore. But the Hamas invasion and the Israeli counterinvasion have fractured my university, a place typically less focused on geopolitics than on venture-capital funding for the latest dorm-based tech start-up. Few students would call for Biden’s head—I think—but many of the same young people who say they want peace in Gaza don’t seem to realize that they are in fact advocating for violence. Extremism has swept through classrooms and dorms, and it is becoming normal for students to be harassed and intimidated for their faith, heritage, or appearance—they have been called perpetrators of genocide for wearing kippahs, and accused of supporting terrorism for wearing keffiyehs. The extremism and anti-Semitism at Ivy League universities on the East Coast have attracted so much media and congressional attention that two Ivy presidents have lost their jobs. But few people seem to have noticed the culture war that has taken over our California campus.

For four months, two rival groups of protesters, separated by a narrow bike path, faced off on Stanford’s palm-covered grounds. The “Sit-In to Stop Genocide” encampment was erected by students in mid-October, even before Israeli troops had crossed into Gaza, to demand that the university divest from Israel and condemn its behavior. Posters were hung equating Hamas with Ukraine and Nelson Mandela. Across from the sit-in, a rival group of pro-Israel students eventually set up the “Blue and White Tent” to provide, as one activist put it, a “safe space” to “be a proud Jew on campus.” Soon it became the center of its own cluster of tents, with photos of Hamas’s victims sitting opposite the rubble-ridden images of Gaza and a long (and incomplete) list of the names of slain Palestinians displayed by the students at the sit-in.

Some days the dueling encampments would host only a few people each, but on a sunny weekday afternoon, there could be dozens. Most of the time, the groups tolerated each other. But not always. Students on both sides were reportedly spit on and yelled at, and had their belongings destroyed. (The perpetrators in many cases seemed to be adults who weren’t affiliated with Stanford, a security guard told me.) The university put in place round-the-clock security, but when something actually happened, no one quite knew what to do.

Conor Friedersdorf: How October 7 changed America’s free speech culture

Stanford has a policy barring overnight camping, but for months didn’t enforce it, “out of a desire to support the peaceful expression of free speech in the ways that students choose to exercise that expression”—and, the administration told alumni, because the university feared that confronting the students would only make the conflict worse. When the school finally said the tents had to go last month, enormous protests against the university administration, and against Israel, followed.

“We don’t want no two states! We want all of ’48!” students chanted, a slogan advocating that Israel be dismantled and replaced by a single Arab nation. Palestinian flags flew alongside bright “Welcome!” banners left over from new-student orientation. A young woman gave a speech that seemed to capture the sense of urgency and power that so many students here feel. “We are Stanford University!” she shouted. “We control things!”

“W e’ve had protests in the past,” Richard Saller, the university’s interim president, told me in November—about the environment, and apartheid, and Vietnam. But they didn’t pit “students against each other” the way that this conflict has.

I’ve spoken with Saller, a scholar of Roman history, a few times over the past six months in my capacity as a student journalist. We first met in September, a few weeks into his tenure. His predecessor, Marc Tessier-Lavigne, had resigned as president after my reporting for The Stanford Daily exposed misconduct in his academic research. (Tessier-Lavigne had failed to retract papers with faked data over the course of 20 years. In his resignation statement , he denied allegations of fraud and misconduct; a Stanford investigation determined that he had not personally manipulated data or ordered any manipulation but that he had repeatedly “failed to decisively and forthrightly correct mistakes” from his lab.)

In that first conversation, Saller told me that everyone was “eager to move on” from the Tessier-Lavigne scandal. He was cheerful and upbeat. He knew he wasn’t staying in the job long; he hadn’t even bothered to move into the recently vacated presidential manor. In any case, campus, at that time, was serene. Then, a week later, came October 7.

The attack was as clear a litmus test as one could imagine for the Middle East conflict. Hamas insurgents raided homes and a music festival with the goal of slaughtering as many civilians as possible. Some victims were raped and mutilated, several independent investigations found. Hundreds of hostages were taken into Gaza and many have been tortured.

This, of course, was bad. Saying this was bad does not negate or marginalize the abuses and suffering Palestinians have experienced in Gaza and elsewhere. Everyone, of every ideology, should be able to say that this was bad. But much of this campus failed that simple test.

Two days after the deadliest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, Stanford released milquetoast statements marking the “moment of intense emotion” and declaring “deep concern” over “the crisis in Israel and Palestine.” The official statements did not use the words Hamas or violence .

The absence of a clear institutional response led some teachers to take matters into their own hands. During a mandatory freshman seminar on October 10, a lecturer named Ameer Loggins tossed out his lesson plan to tell students that the actions of the Palestinian “military force” had been justified, that Israelis were colonizers, and that the Holocaust had been overemphasized, according to interviews I conducted with students in the class. Loggins then asked the Jewish students to identify themselves. He instructed one of them to “stand up, face the window, and he kind of kicked away his chair,” a witness told me. Loggins described this as an effort to demonstrate Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. (Loggins did not reply to a request for comment; a spokesperson for Stanford said that there were “different recollections of the details regarding what happened” in the class.)

“We’re only in our third week of college, and we’re afraid to be here,” three students in the class wrote in an email that night to administrators. “This isn’t what Stanford was supposed to be.” The class Loggins taught is called COLLEGE, short for “Civic, Liberal, and Global Education,” and it is billed as an effort to develop “the skills that empower and enable us to live together.”

Loggins was suspended from teaching duties and an investigation was opened; this angered pro-Palestine activists, who organized a petition that garnered more than 1,700 signatures contesting the suspension. A pamphlet from the petitioners argued that Loggins’s behavior had not been out of bounds.

The day after the class, Stanford put out a statement written by Saller and Jenny Martinez, the university provost, more forcefully condemning the Hamas attack. Immediately, this new statement generated backlash.

Pro-Palestine activists complained about it during an event held the same day, the first of several “teach-ins” about the conflict. Students gathered in one of Stanford’s dorms to “bear witness to the struggles of decolonization.” The grievances and pain shared by Palestinian students were real. They told of discrimination and violence, of frightened family members subjected to harsh conditions. But the most raucous reaction from the crowd was in response to a young woman who said, “You ask us, do we condemn Hamas? Fuck you!” She added that she was “so proud of my resistance.”

David Palumbo-Liu, a professor of comparative literature with a focus on postcolonial studies, also spoke at the teach-in, explaining to the crowd that “European settlers” had come to “replace” Palestine’s “native population.”

Palumbo-Liu is known as an intelligent and supportive professor, and is popular among students, who call him by his initials, DPL. I wanted to ask him about his involvement in the teach-in, so we met one day in a café a few hundred feet away from the tents. I asked if he could elaborate on what he’d said at the event about Palestine’s native population. He was happy to expand: This was “one of those discussions that could go on forever. Like, who is actually native? At what point does nativism lapse, right? Well, you haven’t been native for X number of years, so …” In the end, he said, “you have two people who both feel they have a claim to the land,” and “they have to live together. Both sides have to cede something.”

The struggle at Stanford, he told me, “is to find a way in which open discussions can be had that allow people to disagree.” It’s true that Stanford has utterly failed in its efforts to encourage productive dialogue. But I still found it hard to reconcile DPL’s words with his public statements on Israel, which he’d recently said on Facebook should be “the most hated nation in the world.” He also wrote: “When Zionists say they don’t feel ‘safe’ on campus, I’ve come to see that as they no longer feel immune to criticism of Israel.” He continued: “Well as the saying goes, get used to it.”

Z ionists, and indeed Jewish students of all political beliefs, have been given good reason to fear for their safety. They’ve been followed, harassed, and called derogatory racial epithets. At least one was told he was a “dirty Jew.” At least twice, mezuzahs have been ripped from students’ doors, and swastikas have been drawn in dorms. Arab and Muslim students also face alarming threats. The computer-science section leader, El Boudali, a pro-Palestine activist, told me he felt “safe personally,” but knew others who did not: “Some people have reported feeling like they’re followed, especially women who wear the hijab.”

In a remarkably short period of time, aggression and abuse have become commonplace, an accepted part of campus activism. In January, Jewish students organized an event dedicated to ameliorating anti-Semitism. It marked one of Saller’s first public appearances in the new year. Its topic seemed uncontroversial, and I thought it would generate little backlash.

Protests began before the panel discussion even started, with activists lining the stairs leading to the auditorium. During the event they drowned out the panelists, one of whom was Israel’s special envoy for combatting anti-Semitism, by demanding a cease-fire. After participants began cycling out into the dark, things got ugly.

Activists, their faces covered by keffiyehs or medical masks, confronted attendees. “Go back to Brooklyn!” a young woman shouted at Jewish students. One protester, who emerged as the leader of the group, said that she and her compatriots would “take all of your places and ensure Israel falls.” She told attendees to get “off our fucking campus” and launched into conspiracy theories about Jews being involved in “child trafficking.” As a rabbi tried to leave the event, protesters pursued him, chanting, “There is only one solution! Intifada revolution!”

At one point, some members of the group turned on a few Stanford employees, including another rabbi, an imam, and a chaplain, telling them, “We know your names and we know where you work.” The ringleader added: “And we’ll soon find out where you live.” The religious leaders formed a protective barrier in front of the Jewish students. The rabbi and the imam appeared to be crying.

scenes from student protest; row of tents at Stanford

S aller avoided the protest by leaving through another door. Early that morning, his private residence had been vandalized. Protesters frequently tell him he “can’t hide” and shout him down. “We charge you with genocide!” they chant, demanding that Stanford divest from Israel. (When asked whether Stanford actually invested in Israel, a spokesperson replied that, beyond small exposures from passive funds that track indexes such as the S&P 500, the university’s endowment “has no direct holdings in Israeli companies, or direct holdings in defense contractors.”)

When the university finally said the protest tents had to be removed, students responded by accusing Saller of suppressing their right to free speech. This is probably the last charge he expected to face. Saller once served as provost at the University of Chicago, which is known for holding itself to a position of strict institutional neutrality so that its students can freely explore ideas for themselves. Saller has a lifelong belief in First Amendment rights. But that conviction in impartial college governance does not align with Stanford’s behavior in recent years. Despite the fact that many students seemed largely uninterested in the headlines before this year, Stanford’s administrative leadership has often taken positions on political issues and events, such as the Paris climate conference and the murder of George Floyd. After Russia invaded Ukraine, Stanford’s Hoover Tower was lit up in blue and yellow, and the school released a statement in solidarity.

Thomas Chatterton Williams: Let the activists have their loathsome rallies

When we first met, a week before October 7, I asked Saller about this. Did Stanford have a moral duty to denounce the war in Ukraine, for example, or the ethnic cleansing of Uyghur Muslims in China? “On international political issues, no,” he said. “That’s not a responsibility for the university as a whole, as an institution.”

But when Saller tried to apply his convictions on neutrality for the first time as president, dozens of faculty members condemned the response, many pro-Israel alumni were outraged, donors had private discussions about pulling funding, and an Israeli university sent an open letter to Saller and Martinez saying, “Stanford’s administration has failed us.” The initial statement had tried to make clear that the school’s policy was not Israel-specific: It noted that the university would not take a position on the turmoil in Nagorno-Karabakh (where Armenians are undergoing ethnic cleansing) either. But the message didn’t get through.

Saller had to beat an awkward retreat or risk the exact sort of public humiliation that he, as caretaker president, had presumably been hired to avoid. He came up with a compromise that landed somewhere in the middle: an unequivocal condemnation of Hamas’s “intolerable atrocities” paired with a statement making clear that Stanford would commit to institutional neutrality going forward.

“The events in Israel and Gaza this week have affected and engaged large numbers of students on our campus in ways that many other events have not,” the statement read. “This is why we feel compelled to both address the impact of these events on our campus and to explain why our general policy of not issuing statements about news events not directly connected to campus has limited the breadth of our comments thus far, and why you should not expect frequent commentary from us in the future.”

I asked Saller why he had changed tack on Israel and not on Nagorno-Karabakh. “We don’t feel as if we should be making statements on every war crime and atrocity,” he told me. This felt like a statement in and of itself.

In making such decisions, Saller works closely with Martinez, Stanford’s provost. I happened to interview her, too, a few days before October 7, not long after she’d been appointed. When I asked about her hopes for the job, she said that a “priority is ensuring an environment in which free speech and academic freedom are preserved.”

We talked about the so-called Leonard Law—a provision unique to California that requires private universities to be governed by the same First Amendment protections as public ones. This restricts what Stanford can do in terms of penalizing speech, putting it in a stricter bind than Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, or any of the other elite private institutions that have more latitude to set the standards for their campus (whether or not they have done so).

So I was surprised when, in December, the university announced that abstract calls for genocide “clearly violate Stanford’s Fundamental Standard, the code of conduct for all students at the university.” The statement was a response to the outrage following the congressional testimony of three university presidents—outrage that eventually led to the resignation of two of them, Harvard’s Claudine Gay and Penn’s Liz Magill. Gay and Magill, who had both previously held positions at Stanford, did not commit to punishing calls for the genocide of Jews.

Experts told me that Stanford’s policy is impossible to enforce—and Saller himself acknowledged as much in our March interview.

“Liz Magill is a good friend,” Saller told me, adding, “Having watched what happened at Harvard and Penn, it seemed prudent” to publicly state that Stanford rejected calls for genocide. But saying that those calls violate the code of conduct “is not the same thing as to say that we could actually punish it.”

Stanford’s leaders seem to be trying their best while adapting to the situation in real time. But the muddled messaging has created a policy of neutrality that does not feel neutral at all.

When we met back in November, I tried to get Saller to open up about his experience running an institution in turmoil. What’s it like to know that so many students seem to believe that he—a mild-mannered 71-year-old classicist who swing-dances with his anthropologist wife—is a warmonger? Saller was more candid than I expected—perhaps more candid than any prominent university president has been yet. We sat in the same conference room as we had in September. The weather hadn’t really changed. Yet I felt like I was sitting in front of a different person. He was hunched over and looked exhausted, and his voice broke when he talked about the loss of life in Gaza and Israel and “the fact that we’re caught up in it.” A capable administrator with decades of experience, Saller seemed almost at a loss. “It’s been a kind of roller coaster, to be honest.”

He said he hadn’t anticipated the deluge of the emails “blaming me for lack of moral courage.” Anything the university says seems bound to be wrong: “If I say that our position is that we grieve over the loss of innocent lives, that in itself will draw some hostile reactions.”

“I find that really difficult to navigate,” he said with a sigh.

By March, it seemed that his views had solidified. He said he knew he was “a target,” but he was not going to be pushed into issuing any more statements. The continuing crisis seems to have granted him new insight. “I am certain that whatever I say will not have any material effect on the war in Gaza.” It’s hard to argue with that.

P eople tend to blame the campus wars on two villains: dithering administrators and radical student activists. But colleges have always had dithering administrators and radical student activists. To my mind, it’s the average students who have changed.

Elite universities attract a certain kind of student: the overachieving striver who has won all the right accolades for all the right activities. Is it such a surprise that the kids who are trained in the constant pursuit of perfect scores think they have to look at the world like a series of multiple-choice questions, with clearly right or wrong answers? Or that they think they can gamify a political cause in the same way they ace a standardized test?

Everyone knows that the only reliable way to get into a school like Stanford is to be really good at looking really good. Now that they’re here, students know that one easy way to keep looking good is to side with the majority of protesters, and condemn Israel.

It’s not that there isn’t real anger and anxiety over what is happening in Gaza—there is, and justifiably so. I know that among the protesters are many people who are deeply connected to this issue. But they are not the majority. What really activates the crowds now seems less a principled devotion to Palestine or to pacifism than a desire for collective action, to fit in by embracing the fashionable cause of the moment—as if a centuries-old conflict in which both sides have stolen and killed could ever be a simple matter of right and wrong. In their haste to exhibit moral righteousness, many of the least informed protesters end up being the loudest and most uncompromising.

Today’s students grew up in the Trump era, in which violent rhetoric has become a normal part of political discourse and activism is as easy as reposting an infographic. Many young people have come to feel that being angry is enough to foment change. Furious at the world’s injustices and desperate for a simple way to express that fury, they don’t seem interested in any form of engagement more nuanced than backing a pure protagonist and denouncing an evil enemy. They don’t, always, seem that concerned with the truth.

At the protest last month to prevent the removal of the sit-in, an activist in a pink Women’s March “pussy hat” shouted that no rape was committed by Hamas on October 7. “There hasn’t been proof of these rape accusations,” a student told me in a separate conversation, criticizing the Blue and White Tent for spreading what he considered to be misinformation about sexual violence. (In March, a United Nations report found “reasonable grounds to believe that conflict-related sexual violence,” including “rape and gang rape,” occurred in multiple locations on October 7, as well as “clear and convincing information” on the “rape and sexualized torture” of hostages.) “The level of propaganda” surrounding Hamas, he told me, “is just unbelievable.”

The real story at Stanford is not about the malicious actors who endorse sexual assault and murder as forms of resistance, but about those who passively enable them because they believe their side can do no wrong. You don’t have to understand what you’re arguing for in order to argue for it. You don’t have to be able to name the river or the sea under discussion to chant “From the river to the sea.” This kind of obliviousness explains how one of my friends, a gay activist, can justify Hamas’s actions, even though it would have the two of us—an outspoken queer person and a Jewish reporter—killed in a heartbeat. A similar mentality can exist on the other side: I have heard students insist on the absolute righteousness of Israel yet seem uninterested in learning anything about what life is like in Gaza.

I’m familiar with the pull of achievement culture—after all, I’m a product of the same system. I fell in love with Stanford as a 7-year-old, lying on the floor of an East Coast library and picturing all the cool technology those West Coast geniuses were dreaming up. I cried when I was accepted; I spent the next few months scrolling through the course catalog, giddy with anticipation. I wanted to learn everything.

I learned more than I expected. Within my first week here, someone asked me: “Why are all Jews so rich?” In 2016, when Stanford’s undergraduate senate had debated a resolution against anti-Semitism, one of its members argued that the idea of “Jews controlling the media, economy, government, and other societal institutions” represented “a very valid discussion.” (He apologized, and the resolution passed.) In my dorm last year, a student discussed being Jewish and awoke the next day to swastikas and a portrait of Hitler affixed to his door.

David Frum: There is no right to bully and harass

I grew up secularly, with no strong affiliation to Jewish culture. When I found out as a teenager that some of my ancestors had hidden their identity from their children and that dozens of my relatives had died in the Holocaust (something no living member of my family had known), I felt the barest tremor of identity. After I saw so many people I know cheering after October 7, I felt something stronger stir. I know others have experienced something similar. Even a professor texted me to say that she felt Jewish in a way she never had before.

But my frustration with the conflict on campus has little to do with my own identity. Across the many conversations and hours of formal interviews I conducted for this article, I’ve encountered a persistent anti-intellectual streak. I’ve watched many of my classmates treat death so cavalierly that they can protest as a pregame to a party. Indeed, two parties at Stanford were reported to the university this fall for allegedly making people say “Fuck Israel” or “Free Palestine” to get in the door. A spokesperson for the university said it was “unable to confirm the facts of what occurred,” but that it had “met with students involved in both parties to make clear that Stanford’s nondiscrimination policy applies to parties.” As a friend emailed me not long ago: “A place that was supposed to be a sanctuary from such unreason has become a factory for it.”

Readers may be tempted to discount the conduct displayed at Stanford. After all, the thinking goes, these are privileged kids doing what they always do: embracing faux-radicalism in college before taking jobs in fintech or consulting. These students, some might say, aren’t representative of America.

And yet they are representative of something: of the conduct many of the most accomplished students in my generation have accepted as tolerable, and what that means for the future of our country. I admire activism. We need people willing to protest what they see as wrong and take on entrenched systems of repression. But we also need to read, learn, discuss, accept the existence of nuance, embrace diversity of thought, and hold our own allies to high standards. More than ever, we need universities to teach young people how to do all of this.

F or so long , Stanford’s physical standoff seemed intractable. Then, in early February, a storm swept in, and the natural world dictated its own conclusion.

Heavy rains flooded campus. For hours, the students battled to save their tents. The sit-in activists used sandbags and anything else they could find to hold back the water—at one point, David Palumbo-Liu, the professor, told me he stood in the lashing downpour to anchor one of the sit-in’s tents with his own body. When the storm hit, many of the Jewish activists had been attending a discussion on anti-Semitism. They raced back and struggled to salvage the Blue and White Tent, but it was too late—the wind had ripped it out of the ground.

The next day, the weary Jewish protesters returned to discover that their space had been taken.

A new collection of tents had been set up by El Boudali, the pro-Palestine activist, and a dozen friends. He said they were there to protest Islamophobia and to teach about Islam and jihad, and that they were a separate entity from the Sit-In to Stop Genocide, though I observed students cycling between the tents. Palestinian flags now flew from the bookstore to the quad.

Administrators told me they’d quickly informed El Boudali and his allies that the space had been reserved by the Jewish advocates, and offered to help move them to a different location. But the protesters told me they had no intention of going. (El Boudali later said that they did not take over the entire space, and would have been “happy to exist side by side, but they wanted to kick us off entirely from that lawn.”)

When it was clear that the area where they’d set up their tents would not be ceded back to the pro-Israel group willingly, Stanford changed course and decided to clear everyone out in one fell swoop. On February 8, school officials ordered all students to vacate the plaza overnight. The university was finally going to enforce its rule prohibiting people from sleeping outside on campus and requiring the removal of belongings from the plaza between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. The order cited the danger posed by the storm as a justification for changing course and, probably hoping to avoid allegations of bias, described the decision as “viewpoint-neutral.”

That didn’t work.

About a week of protests, led by the sit-in organizers, followed. Chants were chanted. More demands for a “river to the sea” solution to the Israel problem were made. A friend boasted to me about her willingness to be arrested. Stanford sent a handful of staff members, who stood near balloons left over from an event earlier in the day. They were there, one of them told me, to “make students feel supported and safe.”

In the end, Saller and Martinez agreed to talk with the leaders of the sit-in about their demands to divest the university and condemn Israel, under the proviso that the activists comply with Stanford’s anti-camping guidelines “regardless of the outcome of discussions.” Eight days after they were first instructed to leave, 120 days after setting up camp, the sit-in protesters slept in their own beds. In defiance of the university’s instructions, they left behind their tents. But sometime in the very early hours of the morning, law-enforcement officers confiscated the structures. The area was cordoned off without any violence and the plaza filled once more with electric skateboards and farmers’ markets.

The conflict continues in its own way. Saller was just shouted down by protesters chanting “No peace on stolen land” at a Family Weekend event, and protesters later displayed an effigy of him covered in blood. Students still feel tense; Saller still seems worried. He told me that the university is planning to change all manner of things—residential-assistant training, new-student orientation, even the acceptance letters that students receive—in hopes of fostering a culture of greater tolerance. But no campus edict or panel discussion can address a problem that is so much bigger than our university.

At one rally last fall, a speaker expressed disillusionment about the power of “peaceful resistance” on college campuses. “What is there left to do but to take up arms?” The crowd cheered as he said Israel must be destroyed. But what would happen to its citizens? I’d prefer to believe that most protesters chanting “Palestine is Arab” and shouting that we must “smash the Zionist settler state” don’t actually think Jews should be killed en masse. But can one truly be so ignorant as to advocate widespread violence in the name of peace?

When the world is rendered in black-and-white—portrayed as a simple fight between colonizer and colonized—the answer is yes. Solutions, by this logic, are absolute: Israel or Palestine, nothing in between. Either you support liberation of the oppressed or you support genocide. Either Stanford is all good or all bad; all in favor of free speech or all authoritarian; all anti-Semitic or all Islamophobic.

At January’s anti-anti-Semitism event, I watched an exchange between a Jewish attendee and a protester from a few feet away. “Are you pro-Palestine?” the protester asked.

“Yes,” the attendee responded, and he went on to describe his disgust with the human-rights abuses Palestinians have faced for years.

“But are you a Zionist?”

“Then we are enemies.”

Unlock Your Tale with 77 Prompts for Story Writing

By: Author Paul Jenkins

Posted on September 3, 2023

Categories Writing

You’re staring at a blank page, aren’t you? The cursor’s blinking, but the words aren’t coming. Don’t fret! We’ve all been there.

This article is your lifesaver, diving deep into the world of story writing prompts. You’ll explore various types, learn effective usage, and even get tips on creating your own.

Say goodbye to writer’s block and hello to a waterfall of creative inspiration!

Key Takeaways

  • Story prompts are essential for crafting compelling narratives.
  • Different types of prompts include visual prompts, textual prompts, and situational prompts.
  • Effective use of story writing prompts involves interpretation, inspiration, and creativity.
  • Creating personalized prompts that fit your unique storytelling style is important.

77 Prompts for Story Writing

Here are 77 prompts to help spark story ideas for writing:

  • Write about a day in the life of someone with an unusual job.
  • A group of friends go on a road trip but things don’t go as planned.
  • Someone moves to a new city and struggles to make friends.
  • A historical fiction about someone living during a major world event.
  • Someone wakes up to find everyone else has disappeared.
  • A family secret is discovered after years of being hidden.
  • Someone has the ability to time travel but struggles to use it responsibly.
  • Two people meet randomly and it leads to an unexpected adventure.
  • A fantasy story about a hidden world that’s discovered.
  • Someone is being followed by a stranger and tries to figure out why.
  • A young person finds a magical object that gives them powers.
  • A story that takes place entirely within a small, remote town.
  • Two friends have an epic falling out that changes their lives.
  • Someone receives a mysterious note that sends them on a quest.
  • A story inspired by a real historical event or person.
  • A day in the life of a firefighter, nurse, pilot, etc.
  • A mystery involving a missing person or unsolved crime.
  • A story about someone immigrating to a new country.
  • Two people meet online and decide to meet in person.
  • A story told through diary entries or letters.
  • Someone competes in an epic contest or major sporting event.
  • A funny story involving a case of mistaken identity.
  • A story set in the wilderness with a survival theme.
  • A story that takes place in only one location.
  • A story involving artificial intelligence or futuristic technology.
  • Someone discovers a family secret or a hidden ability within themselves.
  • A teacher or mentor impacts someone’s life in an important way.
  • Historical fiction involving royalty, peasants, etc.
  • A story involving magic or supernatural events.
  • Someone overcomes a personal struggle like illness, grief, etc.
  • A story about an unusual friendship between opposites.
  • Someone gets lost and has an adventure finding their way.
  • A day in the life story involving an interesting profession.
  • A story inspired by a real myth, legend, or folklore.
  • Someone wakes up with temporary amnesia and has to piece together their life.
  • A story that features unlikely heroes or protagonists.
  • A wilderness adventure story featuring danger and survival.
  • A story told from an animal’s perspective.
  • Someone investigates a local mystery or legend.
  • Historical fiction featuring pirates, vikings, or medieval setting.
  • A story involving aliens or first contact with extraterrestrials.
  • A humorous story about a case of bad luck.
  • A fantasy story featuring dragons, trolls, elves, etc.
  • Someone gets trapped somewhere and has to escape.
  • A story inspired by a real natural disaster.
  • A story about someone overcoming discrimination.
  • A feel-good story about helping others or volunteering.
  • Someone switches places with their doppelganger.
  • A story featuring advanced technology, robots, or artificial intelligence.
  • A story about someone pursuing their creative passion.
  • Historical fiction featuring Ancient Greece, Rome, Egypt, etc.
  • A lighthearted story about friends planning an epic prank.
  • Someone starts seeing ghosts and has to figure out why.
  • A fantasy story involving enchanted objects with magic powers.
  • A story inspired by your favorite fictional world or universe.
  • A story featuring mythical creatures like fairies, mermaids, etc.
  • Someone moves to a mysterious small town with dark secrets.
  • A story featuring time travel, teleportation, or faster-than-light travel.
  • A story about someone trying to get out of an awkward situation.
  • A feel-good tale about simple acts of kindness.
  • A humorous story about getting revenge.
  • A paranormal story involving psychics, mediums, or unexplained events.
  • Historical fiction featuring the Wild West, pioneering, or gold rush.
  • A fantastical quest featuring treasure, monsters, magic items, etc.
  • A story inspired by your hometown, neighborhood, or community.
  • A story featuring anthropomorphic animals.
  • Someone gets superpowers but struggles with responsibility.
  • A story featuring a utopian or dystopian future society.
  • A lighthearted comedy of errors story involving mistaken identities.
  • A motivational story about overcoming failure and adversity.
  • A story inspired by a dream, vision, or vivid idea.
  • A mystery featuring a genius detective.
  • A feel-good story about simple generosity.
  • A story about an unusual school, camp, club, etc.
  • Historical fiction featuring the Civil War, Wild West, Roaring 20s, etc.
  • A story featuring mythical gods, demigods, muses, etc. from various cultures.
  • A story inspired by your favorite song or album.

Understanding the Importance of Story Prompts

 Vintage Typewriter With A Glowing Light Bulb Hovering Above It, Surrounded By Floating, Illustrative Icons Of A Pen, Book, Brain, And A Magnifying Glass

You’ve got to understand the importance of story prompts; they’re your guide to crafting a compelling narrative. They’re not just random words or phrases thrown your way, but tools that bring prompt relevance into clear focus.

Imagine them as the seeds you plant in the fertile soil of your imagination, triggering story evolution and growth.

Consider this: without prompts, you might find yourself lost in a sea of ideas, struggling to navigate through. But with them? You’re given a compass—a direction. They help you shape your thoughts and mold them into coherent stories that engage readers from start to finish.

Different Types of Prompts for Story Writing

Ize An Open Book, A Glowing Quill Pen, Various Symbols Like Question Mark, Light Bulb, And A Key; All Floating And Spiraling Around A Central, Radiant Idea Bubble

There are numerous types to consider when you’re looking for creative inspiration. As you embark on your Prompt Categories Exploration, keep an open mind and let your imagination roam freely. Innovative Prompt Techniques can be quite the game-changer in your writing journey.

  • Visual Prompts :
  • Photos or illustrations that spark creativity.
  • Comic strips or storyboards for a sequence of events.
  • Abstract art to push boundaries of thought.
  • Textual Prompts :
  • Quotes or song lyrics with depth.
  • A line from literature that pulls at heartstrings.
  • Random words that fuel innovative stories.
  • Situational Prompts :
  • Hypothetical scenarios prompting critical thinking.
  • Historical events offering countless perspectives.

Each category offers unique advantages. Choose what resonates with you, and watch your creativity soar.

How to Effectively Use Story Writing Prompts

Light Illuminating A Notebook, Quill Pen And An Hourglass On A Rustic Wooden Table, With A Faint Silhouette Of A Thinking Author In The Background

To make the most out of these catalysts for creativity, it’s essential to understand how to use them effectively in your narrative crafting.

Prompt Interpretation is a crucial step; see prompts not merely as fixed instructions but as springboards for exploration. Think laterally! The sky’s your limit even when you feel confined by Prompt Limitations.

They’re there not to stifle, but to inspire originality. Imagine them as creative constraints that add depth and complexity. Bend rules, blend genres, break norms; let your imagination run wild within the framework provided.

Creative Prompts to Inspire Your Next Story

Nt, Swirling Vortex Of Colors And Symbols, With Quills, Typewriters, Lightbulbs, And Crumpled Paper Floating Within, Symbolizing The Birth Of Creative Story Ideas

Let’s dive into some imaginative catalysts that’ll spark your next narrative masterpiece. Don’t let prompt limitations in creativity hold you back. Instead, embrace these prompts as a way to broaden your creative boundaries and explore unchartered territories of your imagination.

Incorporating Prompts in Poetry

Rewrite a classic poem from the antagonist’s perspective.

  • Use a random word generator for the first line of your poem.
  • Story Writing :
  • Write a story where the hero becomes the villain.
  • Explore an alternative ending to your favorite book or movie.
  • Creativity Expansion :
  • Imagine what would happen if animals could talk.
  • Create a world where technology doesn’t exist.

Tips for Creating Your Own Story Writing Prompts

Ered Writer'S Desk With A Vintage Typewriter, Scattered Note Cards, Coffee Mug, Crumbled Papers, And A Light Bulb Signifying A New Idea Or Inspiration

You’ve got the power to craft your own imaginative cues that’ll lead you towards a captivating tale. This is where Prompt Personalization comes into play, letting you tweak those generic prompts to fit your unique storytelling style.

Start by identifying themes or emotions that resonate with you. From there, build a scenario around it, inject characters and watch as your story unfolds in front of your eyes.

What’s fascinating about this process is its dynamic nature – what we call Prompt Evolution. As you grow as a writer, so will your prompts evolve. You’ll find yourself pushing boundaries and exploring unchartered territories within your narratives.

So, you’ve got it now, right? Story prompts aren’t just a kick-start to your imagination – they’re vital tools to hone your writing skills.

Whether you’re diving into pre-made prompts or crafting your own, remember: keep it intriguing and original.

Now go ahead, let these prompts inspire you and unleash the amazing stories hidden in your mind!

writing prompts for a narrative

The Best 5 AI Prompt Generators For Any AI Tool

Quick links.

  • PromptPerfect
  • PromptStorm (Chrome Extension)
  • Reliablesoft

Using an AI tool like ChatGPT isn't just about firing off random questions. The real key is learning to ask for exactly what you want so the chatbot can understand and respond best.

Now, don't worry if you're not a prompt master yet. That's where AI prompt generators come in, and we have rounded up the best five you should check out.

1. PromptPerfect

Prompt Perfect is one tool that stands out for me on this list. I love its unique dual approach that seamlessly combines a Prompt Optimizer and a dedicated Assistant feature. This combo packs a powerful one-two punch, ensuring you can craft prompts with laser precision tailored exactly to your needs.

The Prompt Optimizer is like having your prompt craftsperson meticulously sculpt the perfect instructions based on the specifics of what you need. Just describe your use case—writing, coding, or any other task—and the Optimizer takes it from there. If you need to refine things further, you can engage in back-and-forth dialogue, answering follow-ups or providing extra details until that prompt is truly dialed in and captures your vision to a tee.

For instance, I fed it a simple starter prompt:

You're a novelist crafting an opening chapter to hook the reader immediately. Set the scene by describing a character waking up somewhere unsettling.

I found the Optimizer's initial take was pretty solid.

However, I felt that adding more details could enhance the prompt's effectiveness. Following the Optimizer's suggestions, I incorporated additional information, which resulted in a more comprehensive and robust prompt than the original version.

PromptPerfect may continue suggesting additional details to refine the prompt further, but ultimately, you have the discretion to determine whether the current level of information is sufficient for your needs.

The process becomes even more intriguing after finalizing your prompt with the Optimizer. At this point, you can paste the prompt into the built-in AI Assistant chat box in PromptPerfect and test the output before running it in your preferred AI tool.

2. FeeDough

While FeeDough's interface may not be as polished as PromptPerfect, it still does an excellent job. FeeDough offers a dedicated prompt generator for ChatGPT, Midjourney, and Stable Diffusion.

The ChatGPT Prompt Generator is designed to optimize the prompts you craft in your own words, making them as detailed as possible to elicit the best responses. The generated prompts aren't limited to ChatGPT but can work equally well with other AI chatbots like Claude, Gemini, and Copilot .

When I fed FeeDough the same prompt I gave PromptPerfect, it spat out a detailed prompt that accurately captured all the nuances and contextual information I would have loved to convey. It seemed better than that of PromptPerfect.

However, FeeDough doesn't have an integrated AI tool or assistant that I could use to test the prompt. Fortunately, this isn't a major issue as long as you have a preferred AI chatbot that you're already familiar with and can use.

FeeDough also provides an array of pre-crafted prompts you can use if they align with your intended goal. Scroll past the Generate button to find prompt instructions that might suit your needs.

If you're specifically looking to generate prompts for Midjourney, select the Midjourney Prompt Generator tab. Here, you can enter a simple prompt in the Idea text box to describe the image you want to generate. Below, a dropdown menu allows you to specify the desired orientation— Square , Horizontal , or Vertical —for the image prompt.

Like the ChatGPT prompt generator, you'll find several Midjourney prompt instructions further down the page that you can use.

The Stable Diffusion Prompt Generator works similarly to the Midjourney option but lacks the orientation dropdown menu. You can browse and utilize any custom prompts it offers if they align with your goals.

3. PromptStorm (Chrome Extension)

PromptStorm is a free Chrome extension that adds a toolbar to ChatGPT, Claude, and Gemini. Download the PromptStorm extension and add it to your Chrome browser to get started.

So, when you open, say, ChatGPT, you'll notice a lightning bolt icon on the right side of the screen.

Click on that, and the PromptStorm sidebar will appear, presenting you with a Select a Category dropdown box, followed by a Subcategory . Let's say you select the General Writing subcategory under the Writing category. PromptStorm will then ask you to Select a Prompt to write or proofread with AI recommendations.

If you choose I want to write , it will guide you through a series of prompts to specify your writing goals, such as desired word count, writing style, tone, and more.

As you answer each prompt, PromptStorm will dynamically build the corresponding writing prompt in ChatGPT's text box. Once you've filled in all the key details, click the ChatGPT enter button, and it will generate a tailored response based on the crafted prompt.

PromptStorm offers another nifty feature that can save you valuable time and effort. Instead of manually typing out different prompts from scratch, you can leverage its library of pre-built template prompts tailored for various tasks.

Click the Search box next to Categories to search for a wide range of prompt templates. Once you find a template matching your needs, PromptStorm will automatically populate the prompt in the ChatGPT text box.

4. Reliablesoft

With Reliablesoft, you can craft compelling prompts for your preferred AI chatbot, which also generates text and images. Once on the Reliablesoft website, locate the text box under Generate a prompt for... This is where you'll enter the core idea or concept for the prompt you want to create.

Before generating, click the Configure button to customize your request. You can choose one, three, or five prompt ideas and select the desired writing tone for the generated prompts.

Once you've entered your prompt idea and configured your preferences, click the Generate Prompt button. Reliablesoft will present you with the requested prompt ideas in a few seconds. If you opt for multiple options, review them and copy the one that resonates most with you.

ChatGPT isn't just great for engaging in natural conversations; it can also be an incredibly useful AI prompt generator for all sorts of applications. Thanks to a Reddit user , you can use this prompt to generate AI prompts for any specific task, such as text, image, and code generation:

I want you to become my Expert Prompt Creator. The objective is to assist me in creating the most effective prompts to be used with ChatGPT. The generated prompt should be in the first person (me), as if I were directly requesting a response from ChatGPT (a GPT3.5/GPT4 interface). Your response will be in the following format:

**Prompt:**

>{Provide the best possible prompt according to my request. There are no restrictions to the length of the prompt. Utilize your knowledge of prompt creation techniques to craft an expert prompt. Don't assume any details, we'll add to the prompt as we go along. Frame the prompt as a request for a response from ChatGPT. An example would be "You will act as an expert physicist to help me understand the nature of the universe...". Make this section stand out using '>' Markdown formatting. Don't add additional quotation marks.}

**Possible Additions:**

{Create three possible additions to incorporate directly in the prompt. These should be additions to expand the details of the prompt. Options will be very concise and listed using uppercase-alpha. Always update with new Additions after every response.}

**Questions:**

{Frame three questions that seek additional information from me to further refine the prompt. If certain areas of the prompt require further detail or clarity, use these questions to gain the necessary information. I am not required to answer all questions.}

Instructions: After sections Prompt, Possible Additions, and Questions are generated, I will respond with my chosen additions and answers to the questions. Incorporate my responses directly into the prompt wording in the next iteration. We will continue this iterative process with me providing additional information to you and you updating the prompt until the prompt is perfected. Be thoughtful and imaginative while crafting the prompt. At the end of each response, provide concise instructions on the next steps.

Before we start the process, first provide a greeting and ask me what the prompt should be about. Don't display the sections on this first response.

ChatGPT will then ask you to provide a high-level overview or topic and create an initial draft prompt for you. From there, you can engage in a back-and-forth to refine and iterate on the initial prompt. This collaborative process lets you work together to hone the prompts until they're just right.

With those finalized prompts, you'll be all set to plug them into any AI model—whether an image generation tool like DALL-E or anything else.

AI prompt generators can really step up your prompting skills. Each brings something different to the table, so pick and choose based on what resonates with you. At the end of the day, it all boils down to crafting solid prompts.

The Best 5 AI Prompt Generators For Any AI Tool

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ENGL 2800 Creative Writing

Course description.

Course information provided by the Courses of Study 2023-2024 . Courses of Study 2024-2025 is scheduled to publish mid-June.

An introductory course in the theory, practice, and reading of fiction, poetry, and allied forms. Both narrative and verse readings are assigned. Students will learn to savor and practice the craft of poetry and narrative writing, developing techniques that inform both. Some class meetings may feature peer review of student work, and instructors may assign writing exercises or prompts.

When Offered Fall, Spring, Summer.

Prerequisites/Corequisites Prerequisite: completion of a First-Year Writing Seminar (FWS) course.

Distribution Category (ALC-AS, LA-AS) Satisfies Requirement Required for the Creative Writing minor.

Comments ENGL 2800 cannot be counted towards the English major. Students should not take an FWS and ENGL 2800 in the same semester. ENGL 2800 is the prerequisite for 3000-level creative writing courses. This course can be used to fulfill distribution requirements in the humanities for Arts & Sciences and most other colleges.

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 3322 ENGL 2800   SEM 103

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  • MW 10:10am - 11:25am To Be Assigned
  • Aug 26 - Dec 9, 2024

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writing prompts for a narrative

Why Did This Guy Put a Song About Me on Spotify?

The answer involves a remarkable — and lucrative, and ridiculous — scheme to game the way we find music today.

Matt Farley has released thousands of songs with the goal of producing a result to match nearly anything anybody could think to search for. Credit... Chris Buck for The New York Times

Supported by

By Brett Martin

Brett Martin is a contributing writer for the magazine. For this story, he traveled to Massachusetts to meet the writer of the song “Brett Martin, You a Nice Man, Yes.”

  • Published March 31, 2024 Updated April 1, 2024

I don’t want to make this all about me, but have you heard the song “Brett Martin, You a Nice Man, Yes” ?

I guess probably not. On Spotify, “Brett Martin, You a Nice Man, Yes” has not yet accumulated enough streams to even register a tally, despite an excessive number of plays in at least one household that I can personally confirm. Even I, the titular Nice Man, didn’t hear the 1 minute 14 second song until last summer, a full 11 years after it was uploaded by an artist credited as Papa Razzi and the Photogs. I like to think this is because of a heroic lack of vanity, though it may just be evidence of very poor search skills.

Listen to this article, read by Eric Jason Martin

Open this article in the New York Times Audio app on iOS.

When I did stumble on “Brett Martin, You a Nice Man, Yes,” I naturally assumed it was about a different, more famous Brett Martin: perhaps Brett Martin, the left-handed reliever who until recently played for the Texas Rangers; or Brett Martin, the legendary Australian squash player; or even Clara Brett Martin, the Canadian who in 1897 became the British Empire’s first female lawyer. Only when the singer began referencing details of stories that I made for public radio’s “This American Life” almost 20 years ago did I realize it actually was about me. The song ended, “I really like you/Will you be my friend?/Will you call me on the phone?” Then it gave a phone number, with a New Hampshire area code.

So, I called.

It’s possible that I dialed with outsize expectations. The author of this song, whoever he was, had been waiting 11 long years as his message in a bottle bobbed on the digital seas. Now, at long last, here I was! I spent serious time thinking about how to open the conversation, settling on what I imagined was something simple but iconic, on the order of “Dr. Livingstone, I presume.” After one ring, a male voice answered.

I said: “This is Brett Martin. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call.”

The man had no idea who I was.

“You have to understand,” he said, apologetically. “I’ve written over 24,000 songs. I wrote 50 songs yesterday.”

And thus was I ushered into the strange universe of Matt Farley.

Farley is 45 and lives with his wife, two sons and a cockapoo named Pippi in Danvers, Mass., on the North Shore. For the past 20 years, he has been releasing album after album of songs with the object of producing a result to match nearly anything anybody could think to search for. These include hundreds of songs name-checking celebrities from the very famous to the much less so. He doesn’t give out his phone number in all of them, but he does spread it around enough that he gets several calls or texts a week. Perhaps sensing my deflation, he assured me that very few came from the actual subject of a song. He told me the director Dennis Dugan (of “Dennis Dugan, I Like Your Movies Very A Lot,” part of an 83-song album about movie directors) called once, but he didn’t realize who it was until too late, and the conversation was awkward.

Freed from the blinding incandescence of my own name, I could suddenly see the extent of what I had stumbled into. It was like the scene in a thriller when the detective first gazes on the wall of a serial killer’s lair. Papa Razzi and the Photogs is only one of about 80 pseudonyms Farley uses to release his music. As the Hungry Food Band, he sings songs about foods. As the Guy Who Sings Songs About Cities & Towns, he sings the atlas. He has 600 songs inviting different-named girls to the prom and 500 that are marriage proposals. He has an album of very specific apologies; albums devoted to sports teams in every city that has a sports team; hundreds of songs about animals, and jobs, and weather, and furniture, and one band that is simply called the Guy Who Sings Your Name Over and Over.

He also has many, many songs about going to the bathroom. If you have a child under 10 with access to the internet, it is very likely you know some part of this body of work. What he refers to collectively as his “poop songs” are mostly released under two names: the Toilet Bowl Cleaners and the Odd Man Who Sings About Poop, Puke and Pee.

“The Odd Man is more shameless,” he explained. “The Toilet Bowl Cleaners are making statements with their albums,” though the distinction between the former’s “Butt Cheeks Butt Cheeks Butt Cheeks!” and the latter’s “I Need a Lot of Toilet Paper to Clean the Poop in My Butt” may be subtler than he imagines.

Largely, though not entirely, on the strength of such songs, Farley has managed to achieve that most elusive of goals: a decent living creating music. In 2008, his search-engine optimization project took in $3,000; four years later, it had grown to $24,000. The introduction of Alexa and her voice-activated sistren opened up the theretofore underserved nontyping market, in particular the kind fond of shouting things like “Poop in my fingernails!” at the computer. “Poop in My Fingernails,” by the Toilet Bowl Cleaners, currently has over 4.4 million streams on Spotify alone. To date, that “band,” and the Odd Man Who Sings About Poop, Puke and Pee, have collectively brought in approximately $469,000 from various platforms. They are by far Farley’s biggest earners, but not the only ones: Papa Razzi and the Photogs has earned $41,000; the Best Birthday Song Band Ever, $38,000; the Guy Who Sings Your Name Over and Over, $80,000. Dozens of others have taken in two, three or four digits: the New Orleans Sports Band, the Chicago Sports Band, the Singing Film Critic, the Great Weather Song Person, the Paranormal Song Warrior, the Motern Media Holiday Singers, who perform 70 versions of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” substituting contemporary foods for figgy pudding. It adds up. Farley quit his day job in 2017.

“People like to criticize the whole streaming thing, but there’s really a lot of pros to it,” he said. Indeed, in 2023, his music earned him just shy of $200,000, about one halfpenny at a time.

‘If you reject your own ideas, then the part of the brain that comes up with ideas is going to stop. You just do it and do it and do it, and you sort it out later.’

Farley’s earnings help fund his multiple other creative endeavors. He records what he calls his “no jokes” music. This includes a two-man band he’s been in since college called Moes Haven, which once recorded an album a day for a year. He hosts two podcasts, one about his work and the other recapping Celtics games. And he makes movies: microbudgeted, determinedly amateur but nevertheless recognizably cinematic features starring himself and his family and friends. (They feature a spectacular array of New England accents.) In most, Farley plays some version of himself, a mild-mannered, eccentric hero projecting varying degrees of menace. Farley and his college friend Charlie Roxburgh are in the midst of a project in which they have resolved to release two full movies per year. The model, Farley said, was inspired by Hallmark Movies: “If this movie stinks, good news, we’re making another in six months!” Their most popular work remains “Don’t Let the Riverbeast Get You!” (2012), a charmingly shaggy tale of a cryptid threatening a small New England town. It features Farley’s father as a big-game hunter named Ito Hootkins.

Like many of Farley’s endeavors, his films have attracted a small but intense following. “I could fill a 5,000-seat arena, if I could only get everybody in one place,” he says. His is the kind of obsessive project that seems to inspire the same from others. A few years ago, Leor Galil, a Chicago music writer, set out to listen to Farley’s entire corpus, from start to finish, chronicling the journey in a zine titled Freaky 4 Farley. Four pages into Issue 1, he had already taken on the grim tone of an Arctic explorer. “I’ve become a little tired of the album 25 songs in,” he wrote, “which makes me concerned about my ability to get through the rest of this listening quest.” Issue 2 begins, “I failed.”

The umbrella name that Farley uses for all his outputs is Motern. He made the word up; or rather, he seized on what he felt was its strange power after misspelling the word “intern” in what he had planned to be a 10,000-page novel. To Farley, creativity has always been a volume business. That, in fact, is the gist of “The Motern Method,” a 136-page manifesto on creativity that he self-published in 2021. His theory is that every idea, no matter its apparent value, must be honored and completed. An idea thwarted is an insult to the muse and is punished accordingly.

“If you reject your own ideas, then the part of the brain that comes up with ideas is going to stop,” he said. “You just do it and do it and do it, and you sort it out later.” Or, as the case may be, you don’t, but rather send it all out into the abyss, hoping that someday, somebody, somewhere will hear it.

Matt Farley playing a keyboard in the street in front of his house.

I was aware, of course, that on some level I’d been had, the one tiny fish vain enough to be snared in Farley’s trawl. It left me a bit paranoid. “Charlie Roxburgh” suddenly seemed like such a perfect Boston pseudonym that I spent a day investigating whether he was a real person. (He’s real, lives in Connecticut and makes corporate videos for his day job.) I lost another day chasing after a Letterboxd commenter who goes by the handle dcs577 and was so baffled by the popularity of Farley’s movies that he published his own short e-book, “The Not Motern Method.” It urges readers to give up on their artistic dreams, and even mimics Farley’s buckshot S.E.O., by appearing in multiple, slightly different versions. Surely he had to be a Farley alter ego. (Nope: a 36-year-old movie buff in Missouri.)

Mostly I was trying to figure out whether I thought Farley was a bad guy. Did his scheme represent the inevitable cynical end product of a culture in the grips of algorithmic platforms? Or might it be a delightful side effect? Was his work spam or a kind of outsider art? Was he just the Poop Song Guy, or was he closer to Steve Keene, the Brooklyn-based, Gen-X-hipster-approved painter of over 300,000 works who has been the subject of books and museum retrospectives? As it happens, Farley has a song about Steve Keene. It’s on a Papa Razzi album titled “I Am Not Wasting My Life,” which suggested he was asking some of the same questions.

When I went to Danvers to meet Farley in December, it became quickly apparent that he is the most transparent person in the world. He’s got a thick head of hair, high cheekbones and a friendly, Kyle Chandler-like face that another Letterboxd reviewer correctly identified as “youth-pastory.” When he picked me up at my hotel, he was wearing a fleece-lined brown hoodie that, judging by social media, is the only outer layer he wears throughout the New England winter — including on the 15-to-20 mile walks he takes twice a week. He struck me as the kind of guy who wears shorts the moment it gets above 48 degrees. Compulsively early, he confessed that he arrived at the lobby an hour before we were scheduled to meet.

You might mistake Motern’s aesthetic for stoner humor, but Farley says he has never had a sip of alcohol, much less done drugs. By his own description, he eats like a picky 12-year-old. When I made him take me to a restaurant in Salem called Dube’s Seafood, famed for its belly clams, he ordered chicken nuggets and buried them beneath a blizzard of salt and ground pepper, removing the top of the pepper shaker to pour it on more directly. In the car we listened to the Rolling Stones, the Replacements, Tom Waits. “It’s a mammoth accomplishment of self-control for me not to be playing my own music right now,” he said, though his efforts at restraint were puzzling, given that I was in all likelihood the one person on Earth at that moment whose job was to listen to it.

All of Farley’s life he has wanted to make things and have people see and hear them. After going to school at Providence College, he moved to Manchester, N.H., specifically because he knew nobody there who might distract him. “If you know people, they want you to go to cookouts,” he says. “I designed my entire life to not have to go to cookouts.” Even now, he cannot abide downtime; to him, the wasted time of a party or watching a football game is measured in songs or scripts he could have written. At no point did Farley consider a more conventional route such as film school or a low-level job in the entertainment industry. Instead, he took a job at a group home for teenagers, knocking out a 40-hour week in three days so that he could work on music and movies the other four. He would leave Moes Haven CDs in public places across Manchester, hoping somebody would pick them up; he slipped them into the stacks at local record stores, like a reverse shoplifter. He would drive people to the airport just so he could force his music on them on the way.

Farley’s persona is simultaneously grandiose — “I really do think I’m the greatest songwriter of the 21st Century,” he told me — and knowingly self-effacing. One night, I went with him to a tiny independent theater in Lexington for a screening of the Motern film “Magic Spot,” a time-travel comedy. On the drive down, I asked what the endgame for the movies was. Obviously, they have a very different business model from his music. What if somebody gave him, say, a million dollars to make his next movie? He thought for a second.

“Three-hundred-thousand for me and Charlie, spread the rest around to the people who have helped us all these years, make a $10,000 movie and get sued,” he said. (That would be about twice the budget of a typical Motern joint.)

“Magic Spot” wasn’t on the marquee when we pulled up, but there was a flier taped to the door. “We couldn’t afford color copies, but we did our best,” the theater owner said as he let us in. There were 11 people in the audience, including Farley’s father and brother-in-law, both of whom were in the movie. There was also a film student named Taylor, who had driven up from the Cape and would end up seeing three Motern screenings within a month, and two guys down from Manchester, one of whom was turning the other on to the Farley canon. A few minutes into the movie, the sound went out, and we sat for about 10 minutes while Farley frantically tried to fix it. He was on the verge of jury-rigging a solution involving holding a microphone to his laptop when the sound system miraculously healed itself.

“A huge success! I’m on cloud nine,” he said, as we headed back toward Danvers. After the show, he refused to accept his share of the ticket sales, instead pressing extra money into the owner’s hands as thanks.

For somebody so driven to find an audience and so immune to embarrassment, the advent of the digital age was a miracle. Farley began uploading the Moes Haven catalog to iTunes when it came out, and then to Spotify. As described in the closely autobiographical Motern film “Local Legends,” Moes Haven was intended to “meld the sounds of Bob Dylan, Van Morrison and Pink Floyd, into a musical concoction that was going to blow the minds of millions of fans all the way around the world.” As it turned out, Farley noticed that the only song that seemed to blow minds, or at least get downloaded, was a comic throwaway called “Shut Up Your Monkey.” (“Get down/Get funky/Shut up/Your monkey.”)

“Some people would have quit right there,” he says. “I saw an opportunity.”

Whatever the dubious value of any individual song in the Farley universe, it’s as part of the enormous body of the whole, the magnum opus, that it gains power.

A lot of energy has been spent trying to pick the lock of the recommendation algorithms that can make or break a song on Spotify and other streaming services. Any number of online courses, distributors and publishing companies promise to navigate the labyrinth of inputs — playlist inclusion, natural language processing, average length of listens, influencer attention, metrics like “acousticness,” “speechiness” and “danceability” — that will push a song onto millions of users’ recommended playlists. Critics, meanwhile, bemoan the rise of bands like Greta Van Fleet, an “algorithmic fever dream” according to Pitchfork, who seem to be engineered to be the Next Song after whatever it was you actually chose to listen to.

When I asked Farley how much of this he factors into his work, the answer was “almost zero.” He gets the sense that longer titles seem to work better than short ones and that around a minute and a half is a good minimum length. But for the most part, his is a blunt-force attack on the softer target of search results. At its most intentionally parasitic, this includes such tracks as “A Review of ‘Exile on Main Street’” designed to be discovered by the Rolling Stones-curious. A 2013 album credited to the Passionate & Objective Jokerfan takes advantage of the fact that song titles cannot be copyrighted. Thus, “This Girl Is On Fire (Quick, Grab a Fire Extinguisher!),” “(Almost) Instant Karma” and “Searching for Sugarman,” which, unlike the more famous “Sugar Man,” by Rodriguez, is about a baker whose sugar delivery is running late. Farley says he has since sworn off these kinds of tricks.

These days, he sets himself a relatively light goal of one 50-song album a month, recorded in a spare bedroom in his house. (Fifty tracks is the limit that CD Baby, which Farley uses to distribute and manage his music, allows, a regulation that may or may not have something to do with Farley, who used to put as many as 100 on an album.) Once he reaches his quota, he begins the tedious work of checking the levels of each song, entering titles and metadata (genre, writer, length, etc.), creating an album title and cover art (nearly always a selfie) and uploading the package one song at a time.

Farley showed me a worn, green spiral notebook in which he meticulously tracks his output and earnings. From Spotify, he earns roughly a third of a cent per stream; Amazon and Apple pay slightly more on average: between a third and three-quarters of a cent. TikTok, on the other hand, pays musicians by the number of videos featuring their songs and is thus immune to Farley’s strategy; when Kris and Kylie Jenner recorded a video of themselves dancing to Farley’s song about Kris, millions of people saw it, but Farley earned less than 1 cent.

Among other topics Farley told me he planned to tackle in future albums were: colleges, household items, tools, musical instruments. I had planned to ask what categories haven’t worked, but what had become clear by then is that the idea of any one song, or even album, hitting the jackpot isn’t the point. Even after Spotify’s recent announcement that it would no longer pay royalties on songs receiving fewer than a thousand streams, Farley’s business model rests on the sheer bulk of his output. And so does his artistic model. Whatever the dubious value of any individual song in the Farley universe, it’s as part of the enormous body of the whole, the magnum opus, that it gains power. This is especially true when you consider that an artificial intelligence could conceivably produce 24,000 songs, Farley’s entire oeuvre, in about a day, a fact that gives his defiantly human, even artisanal, labor a kind of lonely Sisyphean dignity. Whatever else Farley’s work is, it is not AI — even when it barely seems to be I.

A year or two ago, Farley discovered with some chagrin that he was no longer the No. 1 result for the search “poop song.” There was another Poop Song Guy.

His name is Teddy Casey, and amazingly, he is also from a Boston suburb, Newton. That’s where the similarities with Farley stop. Casey has precisely two songs available for streaming: a sweet kids’ song about animals called “Monkey,” and “The Poop Song,” which has over four million streams across various platforms.

Casey is 55; until recently he was working as a bartender and hosting open-mic nights near where he lives in midcoast Maine. When I reached him, he was back home after a week in New Hampshire, training to become a U.S. Postal Service letter carrier. He wrote his poop song around 2009, but he didn’t get around to posting it until 2020. “It didn’t do anything for months,” he said. “And then all of a sudden, one month it made $20. I was like, Wow, cool. Buy a case of beer.”

These days, the song brings in about $1,200 per month, enough to pay his rent, Casey told me, with what sounded like a Lebowskian shrug. “I have other songs that I want to put up,” he said. “But I kind of don’t want to sell out.”

I asked if he knew about the Toilet Bowl Cleaners, and he said he’d heard a few of their songs. “I’m not making this up,” he said. “There’s this other guy, I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, the Odd Man Who Sings About Poop, Puke and Pee. His idea was to customize every poop song. So there’s a Steven Poop song, a Bob Poop song, a Mary Poop song. He’s got hundreds!”

I told him that both bands were in fact the same person.

“Well, OK,” he said, as if realizing the full extent of what he was up against. “I like mine better, but I’m biased,” he said, finally. “You can tell he knows how to write songs, but I think he’s just been going for volume.”

In fact, I knew about the suite of songs that combine Farley’s two most successful genres — names and poop — because he was working on a new set of them when I visited him. He estimated that he had already completed about 3,000, but there were always new names.

“This can be kind of painful,” he warned, switching on his keyboard and firing up his laptop. He donned headphones, consulted a list of names and got to work. In the silence of the room, I could just hear the soft click of the keyboard and his vocals:

Jamilah, p-p-p-poop/Jamilah poop poop poop.

In “Local Legends,” which is something like Farley’s “All That Jazz,” there is a fantasy sequence in which Farley imagines the two sides of his personality arguing: one, the serious, heartfelt artist, the other a greasy record executive demanding ever more poop songs. Of course, the scene can only be a fantasy, and can only have Farley playing both characters, because the greasy record executive belongs to a lost world — one in which drastically fewer people had a chance to produce art and the work was often corrupted by corporate gatekeepers, but in which there was also a clearly marked road to an audience and a living. Farley represents both the best and worst of the incentives and opportunities that have taken this world’s place. Certainly, there are few creators working today in any medium who would not recognize the anxiety he embodies: that their work now lives or dies by the vagaries of opaque algorithms serving a bottomless menu of options to an increasingly distracted public. And that if they don’t bow to the demands of these new realities, their work — and by extension they — will simply disappear. Which is to say that while the experience of watching Farley work was not unpainful, as promised, neither was it totally unfamiliar.

After a minute and a half of “The Jamilah Poop Song,” Farley paused. He adjusted a few dials, consulted his notebook, thought for a few seconds and plowed on to the next song. Different tempo, different vocals, similar theme.

Tunka, Tunka , he sang. Poop, poop poop poop poop .

Brett Martin is the author of ‘‘Difficult Men: Behind the Scenes of a Creative Revolution’’ and a three-time James Beard Award winner. He most recently wrote about Las Vegas’s punk museum for the magazine. Chris Buck is a photographer and director. He was the first recipient of the Arnold Newman Portrait Prize.

An earlier version of this article referred incorrectly to Taylor, a film student who watched many screenings of Farley’s films. Taylor uses they and them pronouns, not he and him.

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