analog

Ok ladies and gents... I'm going to start creating some writing prompt threads like the old ones were... it will likely be once every week or two, depending on if I feel like the last topic was too easily exhausted.

These prompts exist as a good exercise, and for getting some critique back. If you don't want your work critiqued, just say it's just for fun... but I think the reason people want to write here is to get some feedback. So... yeah. Most of these will be short story prompts, as they're "my thing", and easier to critique. I will generally wait a few days, or at least a few posts, before I post my own.

Disclaimer: My prompts are, admittedly, not for everyone. They're not incredibly "easy" or "broad" at first blush. They're designed to make you think, and hone your ability to tell a story or convey a situation not using your usual methods. Working outside of your comfort zone, as a writer, is a powerful method of growth. If you're looking for broader assignments like "write something about a chair", check out amonkie's series of prompts called "writing challenges".

Prompt #1:

The idea:

Dead leaves. Stay away from the cop-out of autumn and how the leaves change color- focus on constructing a story involving dead leaves in some way. The scene takes place as your characters are walking down a busy city street. It is not cold out.

The rules:

Your characters stay walking (do not go into a shop or diner or hail a cab) through the end of the story.

Must use 2 or 3 characters, and they must both/all be either male or female, your choice.

Must have one- but only one- line of spoken dialog per character. Apart from that, narration method is totally your choice on this one... omniscient narration will likely be best so you can use internal monologue from any/all characters.

Extra credit: No omniscient narration, omnipresent narration only (which means no inner monologue). All other rules stand.

Have fun, and I look forward to reading your work!

tecoyah

Read Between the Lines

The sound reminded him of the reason he had made the phone call in the first place. Decay and brittle disintegration screamed under his feet, as he decided on the best way to say what he felt was needed, without coming off as the bastard he was walking with. Sometimes ego is a really good thing, it helps people become confident, and allows for a certain level of swagger in once timid steps. Unfortunately, it can sometimes corrupt people into thinking they are better than others, looking down upon the “less fortunate” and ready made insignificant.
Thinking back as he tripped a bit on a sidewalk crack, Thom played the comment over in his mind for the fifteenth time in an hour. “If you want something easy to do, you don’t belong here anyway”, followed by the tears and sobs of the new girl in the office. She was naïve Thom agreed, as one would be after 3 days in the field and fresh out of college. This was not the first incident of soul wrenching Bill had induced however, and Thom wanted it to be the last.
As they approached the third bench in the park, they slowed. Thom brushed the dry leaves off the bench and motioned for Bill to have a seat. There was a small , black and yellow caterpillar under the leaves which Thom was careful to relocate to the grass. As Bill sat down Thom reached into his breast pocket, pulling out his billfold, and a few papers, at the same time he removed the 44 magnum, steel blue handgun from the holster under his arm with the other hand. “ What the hell are you doing?” was the only thing Bill could think of to say. Very slowly, Thom opened the billfold and slid his badge out of the well worn leather that held it in place for 32 years. “ I don’t think I belong here anymore, either” he said as he handed the badge, pistol, and letter to Bill.
As Thom walked away, Bill opened the letter to read the resignation letter from the best Cop he had ever known. Tears rained down his cheeks, and softened the leaves at his feet.

ngdawg

It had been too long since they last saw each other and Therese was surprised at her own calmness as she slowly strolled down the unfamiliar sidewalk.
College was another planet, another life. They swore they would always be together, friends to the end, but it was not to be. Mel wanted the picture perfect life with with the Norman Rockwell house and kids while Therese needed the urgency only a large city could give. Now, as she took in the scenes of this small eastern city, she questioned her own choices. People looked different, they looked happy and real.
Bricks rose and sunk with the growth of old Sycamores. It was a warm spring day and the remnants of winters past were evident in the few decaying leaves in the wet gutters. She took in the scent deeply; the West Coast has no such sweet smell.
A woman came into view and Therese recognized her by her gait. The long flowing hair was replaced by a 'practical' short cut and the shape that she'd envied so much was replaced by years of not caring, but the smile was the same, the walk one of a still content and aware woman of younger years.
"I've missed you so much!" Mel exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around her long lost friend. She linked her arm into Therese's and they turned to head for a leisurely lunch. "I've missed you too", she softly responded.
Therese switched her cane to her other hand and took a deep breath. College was a lifetime ago......

__________________
Don't blame me. I didn't vote for either of'em.

Yukimura

I feel a new sort of feeling this day, one like I have never felt before. It isn't the excitement, the adrenaline that courses through my veins. No, that's the kind of pleasure I sought before. This time, there's something better. It's a kind of spiritual high. I feel as though I've transcended my mortal woes, reaching on to something bigger. Looking over, I see Dan, walking on the other broken line. He looks back at me, and there's a deep connection. It's as though we smile inside, and see it clearly in each other. Our expressions don't change though, we are entranced. We are staring death in the eye. We are ascending.

"Ascending," said Dan over the noisy traffic. It is as though he's reading my thoughts.

I feel the heat of each car's exhaust, feeling them pass by as though in slow motion. It's as though all the world has slowed down around me. Very aware of the air around me, I almost feel like I'm swimming through it. The cars are all so busy, so determined to meet their schedules, that they cannot even stop when they pass us. In fact, most of them are honking and yelling. They don't even care that our lives are likely to end. A truck swerves, a half-hearted display of concern for human life.

From the back of the overfilled truck, a large pile of leaves comes flying out. It immediately spreads in the air, carried by the wind of the speeding cars. They seem to swirl around me. I am aware of each one. Every single leaf has a place in my mind. I feel, for a moment, a long-lost feeling of oneness. I do not look over at Dan, but I'm sure somehow he's looking at me. I imagine myself in the eyes of another, barely visible through a cloud of swirling dead leaves, crackling in the wind, scraping on the asphalt.

At one point, each of them was a part of a great whole, a simple extension of a grand form of life. Then, they were separated, or more likely, shunned by the grand being they were once a part of. They were each cast aside as an unnecessary burden, and now they were probably being carried off by men to be used or discarded as trash. They don't breathe anymore. They don't feel the sweet touch of cold rain. They are husks of the life that once flowed within them.

I suppose that's what we are too. All around Dan and I are these leaves, green and glowing, full of life, full of purpose. They all know exactly what role they play, and they go on in doing so, allowing nothing to interrupt them. Dan and I, we've lost our place. We were cut off, and there's no way for us to be attached again. We'll never again know the fullness of drinking in the sunlight. All we know is darkness. All we feel is numb.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens. Another tragedy in a tragic world. Someone's being robbed, someone's burning, someone's dying, and one leaf fulfilling his purpose will try and stall death for them. I see the police car coming in the distance. It's lights flash brightly, seeming to cut through the traffic. It seems as though the tree moves its branches aside, all of the individual leaves pulling over to allow this one shining light to pass through. As it draws near us, it slows, and it stops sideways along the road, stopping traffic. As the officer opens his door, I can't help but smile.

"It looks like someone did care after all."

**Edit: Edited to fit a rule I had forgotten. All better now and ready for brutal critique.**

__________________
Maybe the answer is in the very light reflected off our blades. Maybe that's what it means to be this creature known as samurai.

roachboy

i made something in response to the prompt, but broke a constraint (too many characters--5 if you count the narrator, and you kinda have to) so i put it in my journal instead because, while i kinda liked it, a constraint is a constraint.
i'll try another when i get a chance.

btw: the narrator kind of has to be a character, yes?

__________________
a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle
spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear

it make you sick.

-kamau brathwaite

analog

I'm sorry I didn't specify, but no... omniscient/omnipresent narrators aren't characters.

EDIT: The only case where the narrator counts as a character is if the narrator happens to be one of the characters who's actually in the story.

Strange Famous

The good boy and the bad boy were not walking in a wood, but they walked heavily through a covering of dead leaves. To the left, a migraine of traffic shuffled and lurched through the late afternoon; the bicycle couriers weaving in and out of the lumpen buses and creaking black cabs. To right, a coffee shop - American of course; a dark cavern of a pub, a long narrow London boozer already half full; an employment agency that employed only Poles; a cheque cashing place; a single office above full of old ladies who sold sex down the telephone; and on they walked - the good boy and the bad boy. A North wind cut through the calm of the day, sending the dead leaves scurrying like a child's kick from underneath the feet of the bad boy. He smiled to himself, and then frowned again. Dead leaves and city streets... the thing that is life is dying, and the thing that is dead seems to live - electric, gaudy, unhappy and lonely. The bad boy raised his face and saw only frames of people, all hurrying to the same place, all moving in different directions. The bad boy looked across to the good boy, who did not gaze his way, or speak.
"I'm sorry" said the bad boy at last.
The good boy shrugged, looked unhappy, looked unhappier than before. The bad boy quickened his pace as the good boy slowed slightly.
"Always. It was always so" said the good boy, as he reached inside his long old fashioned raincoat.
The bad boy was about ten feet ahead now, head upright, striving, purposeful; never looking back. Moving slowly, but without any hesitation, the good boy levelled his revolver with the middle of the bad boys back, inwardly he shrugged, felt movement to his left, movement away from him, and this was the last thing he knew before everything changed and nothing ever would be the same.


____

feel free to comment. I probably made a lot of spelling mistakes and grammar errors, but I just wrote the first thing I thought of down without thinking about it as I went.

edit - shit, now I read the rest of them everyone will just think I ripped off Tecoyah. oh well.

__________________
"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."

The Gospel of Thomas

analog

I liked it. It conveys a fair amount of information for a short story, but doesn't really give me an impression of their surroundings or general appearance for me to make a mental picture. I see that you want to hide that they're cops until the badge line, but it'd be good to have some indication of the scenery and their look.

Overall, nicely done. I enjoyed it.


Lovely imagery, including a great touch with the inclusion of the character's sense of smell, is used to paint a rich picture for me to imagine. It seemed like the story itself was rather short, comparing to how much of the content is description (which IS great). So really, the only "negative" (such a bad word with criticism) note I'd have is that the storyline itself is rather abridged.

Apart from that, it's a story that really captures the essence of the surroundings- which in a short story that's just about people walking outside, is pretty important in making the story come alive. Well done.

A nice story, told well. I particularly like the heavy use of metaphor in linking the life and death of the leaves to his own sort of existential daydream. The story is a good length, it didn't seem like it was over quickly or gave a fistful of unnecessary narration.

I could see using a little more description to capture the environment through which these cars are zooming... day or night, if it's hot or comfortable, or if the breeze you discuss is cool, warm, or just blowing around. I was also confused a little at the end; was he hit by a car or in an accident... (what was with the police car)?

A nice story overall, and it's easy to go overboard with metaphors/similes and big words when making deep, contemplative observations, but I think this was a great balance and, as such, came off very genuine- instead of coming off like "the dude who wrote this just wanted to write something deep". Good work.

What you've written fits well into the mold of a "stream of consciousness" writing- something with a large body of itemized details, something to be taken in and digested whole, rather than read as a story. It's a good effort, but it would need some careful attention to make into a short story... since you mentioned that you wrote as you thought, I'm assuming that means it underwent minimal, if any, editing or re-reading. This would need some structure, ways of putting all the good details you've created into a format of storytelling.

While "stream of consciousness" can be a good writing tool in itself, especially to hash out ideas, it's not the best format for leaving your thoughts in, for others' reading consumption. As for the storyline itself, it seems there are details lost either through the format, or the relatively short length of the story itself. I'm left a little confused as to what the scene is really playing out, other than two guys and a gun. Also, naming people unconventional things like "good boy" and "bad boy" works best when the storyline itself supports the playfulness of the names. In this case, your story would be better served with real names.

Just keep in mind: No one writes the perfect story. If you really enjoy writing and want to pursue it further, you're in the same company of every other writer, no matter the current skill level... it's a never-ending learning experience. No good writer ever stops honing their skill. If you feel that you're not on par, don't worry- no one ever stops practicing, and that's what we're all here for.

roachboy

two people call them A and B are walking the cadence of their walk is regular you can adjust to make it so.

two people call them A and B are walking one holds a cup of coffee a white styrofoam cup with a white plastic lid a small triangular piece at a right angle to the lid.

A, who holds the coffee, who is A because of his position in the sequence of descriptions, drinks from the cup periodically, using his glasses to keep the triangular piece which is at a right angle to the lid from poking him as he does so. perhaps he wears the glasses in the way a welder wears goggles it is hard to say.

A is an abstraction and what A does is walk while periodically drinking from a cup of coffee. the conventions that shape this story enable you to position nouns spatially and by doing so to project walking and drinking in your imagination.

one drinks periodically from a white styrofoam cup. he is A. the other does not. he is B. B carries a book, a novel by robbe-grillet, which is written in the same style as this story or vice versa.

the two are walking side by side. the rhythm of their walking is identical: they could be together or they could be synchronized by the sounds of compressors and automobile engines that envelop them probably without their knowing it is safe to say without their knowing as the street up which they walk---and it is a street----is busy in the way a city street is busy.
let's call it a city street.

along the street: a bakery, a pollo loco, a store called disco 2000, a dollar store. the chain of storefronts which continues in a straight line beyond the limits of the frame in two directions.

the heat. the way the heat makes the air appear thick. the way that thickness appears to waver. the heat is like too much information. it weighs everything down. what can happen in this information, in this heat? a day like this makes everything about itself. a day like this feels like it will never end. the boredom of it, imposed by it. a day like this feels almost malicious. a day like this inflicts itself on you: continuous distraction; an inability to focus.

A: i read somewhere that drinking something hot on a hot day helps with the heat.

B: is it working?

a truck is backing up. the warning signal sounds at regular intervals. it comes from the side, perhaps from an adjacent street. the signal's pitch is high and intrusive. it floats above the sounds of compressors and automobile engines, through the wavering air.

A holds the white styrofoam cup in one hand. he looks at the cup and either considers the question or listens to the warning signal that floats above the sounds of compressors and automobile engines, through the wavering air.

B steps onto a metal grate. the smell of the subway follows.

to their left, on the street, a procession of cars each with an orange placard on its windshield. the heat seems to push the exhaust downward, trapping it close to the pavement, spreading it laterally. the procession is passing, but seems to go on and on.
at its end, a hearse.
then it is gone.
the dead leaves.



===================================
[[added a little later, as a caveat lector:

ok so maybe i should explain this thing a little. i decided to treat the rules as constraints in a kind of OuLiPo sense--so there are two types of rules, then: you have to keep to the rules within the story, but make it in such a way that it can be read without knowing the constraints and still work. the other set is that the story itself has to be shaped by the constraints. so here i decided to interpret "dead leaves" in a kind metaphorical sense, as dead pages--so i tried to make a story that falls in on itself, that is in a sense dead.

so i decided that i would put make these pseudo-characters that dont really work and put them in motion on a hot nasty summer-in-philadelphia kinda day because there is nothing i hate more than that. so the situation itself is supposed to be deadening. then i figured that an effect of it being deadening was that attention would wander---and if that was true, then the narrator's attention would have to wander as well: so he had to leave the story and so kill it at another level.

and it is best if you spring all the tricks inside the story as well. but that one's tough. in the above, it's a bit hamfisted, i think.

it turns out that this is a hard game to play and i am not sure that i like the results--mostly because i think the ending is kinda cheap.

alot of the stuff i write works in this kind of way. that and the lack of caps may explain why folk find it difficult or strange: they are rarely really about what you think they are about--there's always always a meta-game, and often more than one going. i like playing with structure, even if i dont always manage to do it well. just telling stories isnt that much fun for me. they have to do what they are talking about.

like this: i dont know it this works or not--but you couldnt tell me if you didnt know the tricks/moves behind it, so there we are.]]

__________________
a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle
spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear

it make you sick.

-kamau brathwaite

Strange Famous

It is about good and evil. I thought that I made it a bit too obvious.

__________________
"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."

The Gospel of Thomas