A friend of mine likes to write. Because of this, I call her my writing friend.
We like to give each other random prompts, or sometimes just random things to write about. We’ll allot ourselves a specified time to write to the prompt before reading aloud what we wrote to one another. Mind you, not all of these turn out great—nor is that the point of the exercise. Rather, it is to encourage ourselves to write freely. We free ourselves from the pressures of writing something great when we instead write something true—and that is the sole goal of these exercises, and writing as a whole: to say something true, to say something honestly.
And there is no more honest version of ourselves than that version that wanders freely, unafraid of imperfection.
Tenley’s Prompt: “Write about someone with a peculiar allergy. You have five minutes.” “Mrs. Dalbrook set down the steaming dinner plate at the center of the table with ease. ‘I hope this will do,’ she said modestly. ‘It was just a hurried sort of thing.’ ‘Looks splendid, darling,’ Mr. Dalbrook said affectionately, and no sooner… Continue reading The Peculiar Allergy
My Prompt: “Write the final sentence for a novel about love. We have five minutes.” “She turned away—turned her back to him so that as the flashing traffic lights struck, her silhouette was caught in their light, was suspended in that angelic hue for one suspended infinity, before she strode past, vanishing from his life… Continue reading A Final Sentence