It wasn’t something I needed, something I thought was cool or interesting. It was a necessity. I had to have it. It was like a compulsion. Yes, that was it. I was compelled to have it. The smooth green glass of the bowl looked creamy and welcoming. I had no idea what I would do with it, but I knew I had to have it.
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I should have known it would be just a big hassle. It always was with Sara. She never did what we expected her to, what she should do. She was always drama.
I walked into the lobby of her apartment building and saw her standing by the elevators with her suitcase. Figures. She couldn’t even come outside like a normal person, had to be all dramatic, waiting in the lobby with her suitcase, crying.
I sighed and walked to help her with her suitcase.
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As a reporter, it was my job to make sure the truth was told and I wasn’t going to let anything come between me and the truth. I crouched behind the dumpster as I heard the door open. Quickly grabbing my voice recorder from the pocket of my jacket, I pushed the button to start recording and held my breath. I had no idea who had just come out the door, but I was going to record everything they said, regardless.
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The sunglasses sat on the floor, a beam of sunlight shining on them through the window. Her blood, splattered across the wooden slats of the floor boards shone like rubies scattered in the sunlight.
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Hey everyone!
I have another writing resource I’d like to share. 🙂 Years ago, I used to use a title, subject generator. It was great to get me started on something. I have one of those brains that just jumps to an idea given one word (hence OneWord), picture, etc.
Getting back into writing, I searched for that generator I ad used all those years ago without any luck. But, I did find another one that is helpful as well. Yay! It’s called Story Starters. You can find it HERE. Sometimes the starter is completely unusable, but most of the time the starter is at least thought provoking enough to get your creative juices flowing.
Here’s two examples of starters I generated:
1. The slow zoo keeper boiled a potato in the White House for the Russians.
2. The cool principal produced a movie in the playground to wake up the President.
So, as you can see, the usability of the starter as it is presented may not be the best, but with a generator, you take what you can get. 🙂 And at least it gets your thoughts moving in the right direction.
Thanks to Joel Heffner for getting the generator up and running for us and offering it for FREE! There is also a Story Starter for kids HERE.
Happy Writing! 🙂
I sit at my desk, wondering why you don’t try. It has been over 8 years and still you make no effort to understand. You have no compassion. You make no move to understand what he goes through. Words overwhelm him and yet you continue to throw them at him like knives. I can’t help but believe that you think bullying him will somehow make him not what he is. He will always be what he is. It’s not for you to force him to understand what you need, but it is for you to help him understand what he needs.
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It was boring and bland but he said nothing, for fear he would be attacked and have chunks of his flesh bitten out in repayment for his honesty. So he chocked down the oatmeal, drank his coffee and kissed Mary on the cheek on his way out the door.
Oatmeal. His life had become oatmeal. Bland and boring. At this point, even having his flesh bitten out in chunks would be more desirable. At least it would be SOMETHING.
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The dank smell of the basement crawled into Cheryl’s nostrils as she descended the steps. She wrinkled her dainty nose and stepped cautiously into the dark at the bottom of the stairs. She stepped forward, reaching for the light switch on the wall and felt her foot touch something soft. She jerked her foot back, afraid it was a mouse or rat. She found the switch and flipped it on and quickly looked to the floor.
A scream built in her throat as she took in the view of Miguel. He was obviously dead on the floor with sewing pins sticking out of his pupils and dried blood that had dripped down the sides of his face like tears.
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She was kind but willful. Her face was pretty, but not beautiful. She was not perfect, but she was not human. Tom watched her, marveling at how real she looked. He wondered at how her skin appeared to glow, giving the illusion of blood pulsing below the surface.
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He stood in the room alone, waiting for those he knew would come. It was dark, with only a thin stream of light coming from under the closed and locked door. He could hear himself breathing. It was not the quick and harsh breath of one who was afraid, but the smooth and steady breath of one who knew what was to come and was prepared.
They came, finally, their hard, quick steps resounding in the hallway long before the door opened. One of them came to him and the hood was placed over his head before they lead him from the room, his hands tied behind his back.
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Eileen Maki 