I love writing. Each sentence takes you on a journey. It’s the rhythm of words, the illumination of emotion, the wrestle to find the perfect flow. Like art, the true beauty is in the construct.
I’ve decided to undertake an experiment in the world of imagination. Using writer’s prompts, I’m going to write daily; short stories, satire, prose, scenes, poetry, whatever comes to mind.
The more I write the better I’ll get. I aim to hone my skills, and expand my creative capacities. Since I’m unemployed, and have copious amounts of time on my hands, why not be useful with it?
Writer’s prompts are small imagination starters. They can often be scenarios, words, questions, and scenes, either generated by other writers or computer software. I’m going to be using “A+ Writing Prompts” by Writing.com, on my iPod Touch.
A Quick example:
- Place: On a bus.
- Character: A veteran cop
- Object: a bowl of chicken soup
- Weather: thunder all around.
It was the last time Nelson Daniels would ever ride the 22 from Port Chalmers, to the Valley. There he sat, resolute, eager to reach his destination. His tweed suit hugged his diminishing frame, as he stared out at the chill of the evening. The rain cascaded down the window, twinkling in the lights, filling itself with the colors of the city. The depth of darkness, heightened by the storm clouds, strengthened Nelson’s grip on the bowl of chicken soup. Its heat was slowly diminishing, but it’s clear smell permeated through the glad wrap. Inside, the bus was ablaze with conversation. You could hear two university students gossiping about a lecturer, a group of teens bandering about the latest lingo, and the bus driver chatting with a tourist. Yet, nobody seemed to notice old Nelson Daniels, the veteran policeman. He sat, alone, in silence.
By now, the storm thundered all around, booming through the bus. Murmurs were replaced by silence, as a sense of awe, struck the bus. The flash of the lightning, caused the mind to imagine, and delude. Everyone knew the big metal structure was a magnet for a strike. Nelson’s eyes however, wizened by his years in the force, showed an indomitable spirit, not even thunder or lightning could shake his resolve. One by one, two by two, they all pushed their red buttons. In no time he was Nelson Daniels, the last man standing….[To be continued – TUNE IN TOMORROW FOR THE NEXT POST!]
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Iain Sutherland, The Ink Jester.