Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #204

BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)

  1. Tiny
  2. Blue
  3. Dance
  4. Freak
  5. Laugh
  6. Tune
  7. Sheet
  8. Busy
  9. Always
  10. Count

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

Resources you should check out:
Thesis: Best Damn Theme on the Web
Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there


100 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #204”

  1. Her laugh always did send him into a frenzy; she just had that way about doing things that he couldn’t resist.
    He was never too busy for her. She knew she could count on him.
    Perhaps a tiny dance in the whole scope of life, but the tune they kept made sense to them.
    Her hands folded the blue sheet of paper in half, tucking it inside his jacket pocket.
    It simply read, “I love you, Freak.”

  2. margaret says:

    A tiny blue fairy did a freaky dance.
    she always does this when she gets a chance.
    She counts to three and then starts to sing
    with tunes from sheet music that she wears on one wing.

    She has a busy schedule, but it makes her laugh
    to entertain folks who think they’re going daff!!

  3. Cathy Miller says:

    Dedicated to my 3-year-old grand-niece, Sunniva, who is visiting for the holidays.
    Her tiny fingers raced against the blue backboard in a dance against the confinement of lines. Rather than freak at the thought of coloring outside the lines, her laugh carried a tune of youthful innocence enacted on a sheet of hope. Never too busy to find the joy, she knew she could always count on the love of those around her. And that made her very happy.

  4. Jeanette R. says:

    He stared at the sheet music in front of him.   The freaky tune stuck in his head was meticulously written in bold, dark symbols on the page.  Inspiration would always come to him in traffic, as he stabbed the buttons on his radio to find something he actually wanted to listen to.  Sitting in silence, he perfected the beat count while working out the baseline on his steering wheel.  Folks in nearby cars stared and some laughed, but he was focused and never noticed. 

    In his house, he had set up a makeshift studio with an old music stand and candles for ambience.  He loosened his tie and rested the guitar on his left leg. The stress of his busy day seemed to melt away with each note.  The bluesy melody flowed nicely. He wrote tiny tweaks in the margin.

    Next week, he would present his piece to the world.  He planned to perform it for a group of eighty year olds at the local assisted living facility. It was the only gig he could get but he happily accepted. The director said that they loved to dance, so he wanted to give them a show.  He thought it would be nice to get a little appreciation for his hard work, even if it had nothing to do with his real life.

  5. “The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.”
    Eccl. 1:9

    Og was considered a freak. His grossly misshapen head delivered his mother to death. Tiny compensation indeed for the abomination of her transgression. Bak-Ur wrapped the blue-faced, howling monster in old furs and ordered the youngest hunters to place it at the edge of the campsite – an offering to the Hyena God.


    Trankwill and Delilah could think of nothing finer than to laugh and dance through the meadow, sharing sisterly joy. On this chilly day, they kept warm with their youthful frolicking, unmindful of the glare from hairy monsters at the edge of the wood that bounded the meadow to the north.


    Blog grunted and pointed. Drog shifted slightly to ease his cramped thighs. The Og thing lay sleeping, less than ten paces away. The crude trap had always worked with bear cubs, as the big cats seemed to have a taste for them. The hunters were about to learn a new trick to share with the tribe. Surely, Bak-Ur would honor them with a place at the ceremonial hearth!


    Trankwill extracted a reed from her skirts and blew a playful tune through its openings. Delilah clapped with delight. They cavorted and bounced, ever closer to the boundary, fully warmed up, sweat glistening on pale white skin. A thin, discordant cry broke through their revelry. Both stopped short. Listened for a beat. Nascent maternal instincts guided them, unerringly, to the bundle at the edge of the wood.


    Delilah was too busy staring at the matted fur, trying to discern why it would prick her stomach with a sheet of stress. She almost didn’t pick up the screaming senses coming through her nose and nape.


    Drog was premature in launching his attack. The noise from the Og thing was not loud enough to cover the sounds of Drog’s crashing through the brambles. His intended prey surprised him with a quick jab to his chest. The sharp pain made Drog cry out, shocking the Og thing into silence. Blog, five feet away, aimed his spear.


    Delilah had been on the verge of retrieving the bundle when her scalp tingled. Immediately, she extracted the augur from her skirts, spun on her heels and thrust her arm forward in a defensive gesture. Trankwill, a step slower, executed a tuck and roll that brought her directly in front of her sister. A spear came flying out of the brambles. Trankwill grabbed both ends of her reed and waited.


    Blog was confused. His spear, normally so straight and true, wavered, wobbled and then fell weakly at the feet of the second morsel. The pale white thing picked up his spear and jammed it through the heart of Drog. Blog retreated.


    Trankwill heard the sounds of retreat. She counted only one such scampering event and concluded that the creature at her feet was one of a pair of unskilled hunters from the no-no-never-go land. She knew the hunter would return to claim his dead comrade. She whistled to Delilah: a coded message of urgency. Her reed was shredded where the crude stone point of the spear had struck it. She returned it to her skirt.


    Delilah whistled back. Her augur was dripping with lung tissue and blood. She wiped it quickly in the grass, plunged it into the soft soil and returned it to her skirt before plucking the bundle from the ground. Her eyes widened in recognition.


    Blog was beat mercilessly. Squandering the life of a young hunter meant that the coming winter would be harsher than necessary. The beating was not for that. Failing to obey strict orders was grounds for banishment. Yet, Bak-Ur hesitated to lose three tribe members in one day. Blog had no concept of his relative good fortune but, he accepted his beating. Tiny compensation indeed for his transgression.


    Delilah proffered the bundle to Shakur, a look of reproach upon her face. Big brother was the most trusted scout in the clan. Gone for days at a time, no-one in the clan knew what he did when he was not drawing paths on bearskins. Delilah knew, and handed him his fruit.

    • Frank Ruiz says:

      Mitch, you give us the gift of an entire universe to round out the year!  I love the names Blog and Trankwill, and I hope Og finds a family instead of becoming a meal!

    • Jeanette R. says:

      @Mitch. I felt like I was reading some twisted fairy tale and then it just stopped. What’s the name of this magical land?

      Favorite line : “Nascent maternal instincts guided them, unerringly, to the bundle at the edge of the wood.”

      • Jeanette, for once, I believe this place shall remain unnamed. On my blog, the story is introduced as Tributaries to the Fountain of Truth: Book One. I suppose we can think of this place in those terms.
        You liked that line? Whee! It was one of those sentences that I felt I had to get right. I guess it worked.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitch: I just can’t imagine you not writing a book with material such as this. How in bleep did you come up with this? What word did it?  Awesome!

      • Aw, Shane, you are the best. Here’s the thing: a few days ago, my wife and I were having a conversation about something (neither of us can recall, now). It was probably plot predictability, as we have been watching Dresden Files (which reminded me of Grimm), The IT Crowd (Big Bang Theory?) and Thor (every other Marvel comic/movie!)
        I said, “There’s nothing new under the sun.”
        A beat later, I added, “Except to the first person who did it.”
        So, the idea was actually born on Tuesday. I jotted some notes, wrote an opening paragraph much like the one you read … then deleted the whole-she-bang. However, before I did that, I happened to Google “Neanderthal” and was shocked to learn that early modern humans interbred with Neanderthals and other species. That tickled my imagination.
        Even though I shredded that first bit, it stayed in my head, just waiting for CCC to unlock it.
        The magic word was freak. Given the backstory, you can guess why. LOL

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Mitch-what a gift you have. I think I’ve told you this before, but normally, I am not a fan of science fiction, but I could read your stories all day. 🙂

  6. Frank Ruiz says:

    It’s like a tiny death; a farewell that leaves me slightly blue.  My dance with my current employer is ending, and even though it was a crazy ride with enough freaks for a sideshow, I had some laughs and good times too.

    Soon I’ll be dancing to new tune with a new employer, and if I’m lucky I may even get to write a few notes on their sheet music.  Being busy is always part of the equation, but I hope I’ll also be able to count on new friendships and greater growth as well.  Time will tell, but no matter what awaits, 2012 will be a new start for me in more ways than one.

    Happy New Year everyone!

  7. Shane Arthur says:

    “Hey Billy! Dat Tres-ie-Sue done changed her tune. She callt me up and done said if I weren’t busy to come over for Christmas dinner and count on getting’ busy under them there freaky bed sheets of hers afterwards. I done danced a jig I was so happy.”

    “Bobby, what happened when you went over?”

    “We fed eachother all lovingly like as we always had done, twisting our arms around each other’s and shovelin’ da food ‘tween our front tooths and such. She stripped down to her oyster-haired linger-E — da one with da three bra cups da size of 5-gallon buckets. She stripped me down to my birthday-soot and got me right to da brink, den laughed and said, “Syke,” and ordered me out da house. She threw a tiny gift at me as da door hit me on da way out.”

    “What did she gives you in dat gift box?”

    “A set of blue bells.”

  8. The neck stuck out of the trunk amidst blankets and dusty paperback novels. Johnny rummaged eagerly, sneezing at the clouds of dust dispelled into the musty attic air. Holding up the acoustic guitar, he admired it’s well worn frets and marked up body. It was an instrument that was once well used and well loved. The teenage boy laughed with pleasure at the discovery of this newfound friend. The trunk also held reams of sheet music but the lines and busy markings might as well have been greek to the boy.

    Freak” they called him. “Shrimp”.  “Dwarf”. Johnny was tiny for his age and being put ahead a grade did not help but he was certainly not in the abnormal category. But kids can be cruel. Every day after school, Johnny would climb the stairs to the attic, leaving the taunts and torturous memories of that day behind. The old blue guitar was almost always out of tune but with some effort, John had it singing the songs of yesteryear.  Ghosts of family gone danced a jig through the dust bunnies and cobwebs. These were the songs that his grandfather listened to and the memories of John’s time with him always calmed his soul. He could always count on the memory of his love to pull him through the hard times.

  9. Cathy Miller says:

    Here’s a little holiday post at my personal blog- wondering if you feel the same way
    Holiday Lull is the Comforter on a Year Gone By -Wishing all of you a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year!

  10. Martha says:

    Have been swamped with work, but I am baaaack!
    The tiny blue flame of the lamp danced in the freakishly high winds. The house shook and trembled. Magrit laughed, but with a definite edge, like the crack of ice shattering in the deep winter cold. Her mother hummed tunelessly, studiously ignoring her daughter, the wind rattling the windows in warning. She kept her hands busy tearing strips off the old sheet for another rug, stealing glances every so often at her mad, bad little girl. It was going to be a very long night thought Louise. She could count on it in the same way that Jim could look at the sky and tell her the snow would fall by morning. She missed Jim; he always knew how to handle Magrit when she took on this way. But Jim was gone six months now, his bed in the corner of the graveyard covered with an icy blanket of snow. And Magrit was beginning to fray at the edges like the quilts her mama had made so long ago.

  11. Anne Wayman says:

    Not even sure what this one means, but I like it:

    The tiny blue flame
    dances freakishly across space
    seeming to laugh to its own tune then
    burning the sheet,
    busy as always counting down.

  12. Rebecca says:

    The tune of Windows opening is getting old; I can’t dance to it,
    Why do I have to always shutdown? Am I out of memory?
    I’m too busy to count the number of times Windows has disappointed me this week,
    All I can do is laugh and not freak out.

    Perhaps I can purchase the tiny MacBook Air,
    I’d buy a blue cover for it.
    Where’s my loose leaf sheet of paper?
    I’ll create a pros and cons list for Macbook Air and another laptop.

  13. Al MacDonald says:

    (my first attempt – my apologies for the length!)

    The foul taste of the tiny blue pill still lingers on my tongue as the queue shuffles slowly forward.

    I’m getting closer. The rhythmic throb and thud of distant dance music is more sensation than sound, and I could feel my body starting to respond in the familiar way.

    Steady now.

    Still got to get inside – can’t freak out in front of the bouncers. I shouldn’t have taken that pill quite so early – I’m already feeling the effects. How do I look – am I too trashed? Will they stop me at the door and turn me away or, worse, do a “shoes-off” search? I’ve got another pill wedged uncomfortably my toes; it’ll pass a standard search but won’t stand up to any sort of scrutiny.

    My palms are wet and cold. My heart appears to beating in time with the music. Systolic House – a new genre?

    I’m in front of them. They ask where I’ve been. I tell them, make a joke. They laugh – a good sign. All it takes is a perfunctory pat of  my clothes, an emptied pocket and I’m in.

    It’s busy. I’m trying to get to get to the bar, but instead I’m swept this way and that, the Brownian maelstrom of the nightclub.

    I give up on the bar. The music is changing; the soulful piano of the receding track is slowly being replaced by something more visceral – a synthesiser snarls a bass line as guitar stutters staccato chords.


    It’s bellowed into my ear; I turn to see a grinning stranger who smiles by way of apology as he makes his way to the dance floor. The crowd around me seem to agree with his assessment; there’s now a concerted movement dance-wards. I think about using this as an opportunity to get to the bar, but my limbs are now moving with the music.

    Better not to fight it.

    I’m on the dance floor now, and it’s good. It’s better than good. I am one with the music; I move in its patterns without thought, on instinct alone. This feels like I’m singing from God’s own hymn sheet.

    Time passes.

    It always does.

    But, just for now, it almost seems like it’s standing still.

    And that makes this worth it.

    At least that’s what I tell myself?

    But does it count? So much happiness, so much fun…but so artificial. Even as I dance, mouth twisting in a gurning smile, I start to fear Tuesday’s bite.

    But, for now, there’s the dancing.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Al: That was outstanding! Welcome to the CCC. The CCC folks are going to love your style. Wow.
      Hope to see you again. We have a challenge on Monday and Thursday. Everyone welcome Al to the addiction.

  14. sh13151223 says:

    The dark blue sheet of eternity
    Tiny shining glittering entities
    down, a busy crowd , so freak upon celebrating
    laughing and dancing to the tune
    there is always a New Year to count upon
    for resolutions and expectations to be fruitful.

  15. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane & Cathy … Thanks! I don’t know what to do. FTP keeps dropping as well. I used my niece’s MacBook and it seemed to work better with the FTP. She says she hasn’t experienced any problems with it and was going to give it to me. But I couldn’t and wouldn’t take her MacBook away from her. It was tempting!

  16. Aslam Yaqoob says:

    Faakiha is just 9 years old but her laugh does not reflect it. When she sings, her tune turns wild and we have to rush outside or block our ears with our hands or sheet of cloth, lest we become deaf. She normally does not dance but when she starts it everyone surrounds her. Everyone feels happy watching a freak jumping like a busy monkey; or may be more than that.
    I always advised her to learn dancing from so and so friends but she always raised her tiny fingers and said “No”. One day she finally explained after showing a few dancing steps; “Dad, I know how to dance. I only want to amuse others. They come here with their worries.  I want them to come out of their blue feelings. Their happy faces give me happiness too. Do you still think I should learn dancing”.
    I now knew she was coming of her age, a bit early though. Her attitude tells me that I can count on her.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Aslam: That’s a great story. Reminds me of my two-year-old daughter who just realized she can scream louder than any eardrum can handle!

      • Martha says:

        I agree. I love seeing children dance to their own internal playlist. They are so free with their happiness.

        • Shane Arthur says:

          @Martha: A few months back, I was tickling my 2-year-old daughter. She didn’t like it, looked at me and said, “Daddy! Give it a rest!” So damn funny.

  17. Pam says:

    She was busy trying to count the beat of the tune, but it always seemed to escape from her around beat four.
    ‘You’re a freak, Tiny,’ he laughed at her attempts to dance.
    She laughed in response and twirled around, her blue skirt flying out around her legs and her dark brown sheet of hair whipping around her face. She grabbed his hands and, still laughing, pulled him to join her in her wild dance.

  18. Kelly says:


    Always count busy blue freaks on Sheet 1 when they dance to tiny laughing tunes.

    Otherwise, see instructions for Sheet 2.

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