Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #211

Justin Germino chose today’s words. He writes poetry as a hobby and recently released Wanderer Thoughts Poetry Volume 1 which is now on sale and contains 102 audio poems for $3, you can also find more than 1,500 unique poems on WandererThoughts.com.

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. Deletion
  2. Disclaimer
  3. Wretched
  4. Justifiably
  5. Unshaded
  6. Calliper – an instrument for measuring internal or external dimensions, consisting of two steel legs hinged together
  7. Sundacarpus – large evergreen tree, native to parts of Australia ans Mayesia
  8. Flashy
  9. Dwellings
  10. Handicraft – an art, craft, or trade in which the skilled use of one’s hands is required.

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


85 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #211”

  1. Cathy Miller says:

    The deletion of his past was a giant disclaimer on the life he had built. His wretched acts justifiably angered many who had the misfortune of unshaded access to his dark deeds.

    His thoughts took on a caliper calculation of good and evil as he dragged in memories of a Sundacarpus soul – the black pine of despair. A flashy history amused no one and he was left in the dwellings of his own making – the handicraft of all he left behind.

    Or had he?

  2. Chris Fries says:

    Hey all!  Shane, I hope you and everyone else here at the CC is doing wonderfully!
    Would you accept an entry from a long-gone, used-to-post guy who’s getting back into the writing world?
    If so, then I offer:
    End Times

    Archeology professor Reginald Howser knelt on the forest floor, delicately moving his caliper across the face of the ornately carved black stone which lay uncovered in front of him.  His concentration was unbroken, even as he wiped the sweat from the back of his neck.  The heat from the sun in this unshaded glade of the rainforest was intense, but Howser had much more important things to focus on. 

    He and four other researchers from the Australian National University were in a remote section of the Queensland Gondwana rainforests, surrounded by sunacarpus and other rainforest flora, and solemnly transfixed by the glistening obelisk which stretched out before them, its base still partially buried. 

    “Did you ever think you’d see something like this in Australia?” Professor Anders asked, his raspy voice a perfect counterpart to his puffy, splotchy face.

    Howser sat up, wiped his hands, and shook his head.  “Never.”  He looked at his colleagues. “Are we certain about the dating? I have to wonder about the authenticity.”

    Justifiably so,” said Anders, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.  “If legitimate, this will completely rewrite our understanding of human history.”  The others murmured their agreement.  “Yet all our early test results are consistent. Early 4th century BCE.”

    “That’s the correct age,” Howser said.  He looked around the thick trees and foliage surrounding the glade.  “But for it to survive, exposed, with so little erosion in this environment is, frankly…”  He trailed off.

    Anders nodded.  “Impossible.” He shrugged. “And yet, here it is.”

    “And no clues of habitation nearby?  No hint of dwellings? What about shards of pottery, jewelry or other handicraft?”

    “As you can see, we are still in the early stages of excavation, but so far, none have been found.”

    Howser exhaled and shook his head again.  “Amazing.”  He looked again at the glossy black stone, blinking and squinting, as if it were simply some illusion caused by dust in his eye. “So how did it get here? Are we to really believe that the Mayans came all the way from Mesoamerica and settled in Australia?  Why have no other traces of their culture been found in the hundreds of years of Aboriginal studies?” 

    “Mind-boggling, isn’t it?” Anders said.  “But, more to the short-term questions: Can you decipher it?”

    “Well, I must give a disclaimer. I am not nearly as fluent in ancient Mayan culture as many others in the world, and my translational understanding of regional dialects is–”

    “Yes, yes, we understand. But even with all the self-modesty — can you read it?”

    Howser sighed and sat back.  “I think so, but what it seems to say makes me question my ability to read it.  It appears to be a a Mayan long count calendar, ending with much more detailed account of what is prophesied for the end of the current 5,125-year cycle — December 21, 2012.”

    Howser paused. 

    “Yes?” Anders said. “Go on.”

    Howeser sighed again.  “It describes how the cycle will end with a wretched period of humanity; a steady degradation of civilization that stifles the intelligence and spirit of all the people. As the end approaches, the attraction of flashy, hollow, empty, and vapid things will consume the hearts and minds of all men, becoming worse and worse, until the final apocalypse arrives, resulting in the elimination of humanity; not only in their physical destruction, but in the deletion of their very memory from the minds of the gods.”

    “So–” Anders began. 

    Howser cut him off.  “There’s more.  And this is the part that leads me to question my reading ability.  Hell, it makes me question my sanity.  It gives the name of the ‘Mindless Ones’ — the ruthless, evil vixens who will sap the minds of all who lay eyes on them, signaling the beginning of the end for humanity.  The name is given in phonetic characters, but it translates as…”  Howser paused again.

    “For God’s sake man,” Anders said, his rising voice echoing through the rainforest, “spit it out.  What is the name?”


    • Ooh, Chris, you VAGABOND! Welcome back! That was a most delightful read.
      You had me going – seems I’ve forgotten how much you love to twist a tale.
      evil vixens … that’s not nice. 😉

      • Chris Fries says:

        Thanks, Mitch!  This prodigal writer also appreciates the warm welcome back.
        And Ok — maybe ‘evil’ was a little strong.  But they’re certainly ruthless:  There’s a Kim, and a Kloe, and a Kourtney, but definitely no Ruth…

    • Cathy Miller says:

      @Chris Fries – LOL!! 😀 You got me – line, hook & sinker-what a great way to come back to our humble abode-welcome back!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Chris: WELCOME BACK! Such a great read this way. And that ending. Had me laughing aloud. End of the world indeed. So tell me. You enjoyed this one didn’t you?

    • That was too good! Was there no warning of the remote-control wielding fanbase that’s now seeking the one who dared to interpret and lay bare the secret?
      Watch out! I’ll be watching for more from you!

      • Chris Fries says:

        Thank you very much, Vernessa!  I really appreciate the kind words.
        And you’re right — the google-eyed minions have already launched their counter-offensive.  Howser is getting lambasted on Twitter at this very moment… 😉

    • Good to see you back Chris, was a great read.   Reminds me of a Tin-Tin style story (movie stuck in my head from seeing it a few weeks ago)

      • Chris Fries says:

        Thanks, Justin!
        Great words, by the way.  Although — how come you never posted your own response?  I was dying to see what you came up with for ‘sunacarpus’.

  3. Lisbeth closed the door on the wretched scene. The police would never appreciate the handicraft that she had brought to bear on the deletion of evidence and the staging of a murder-suicide.

    As she hustled down Sundacarpus Boulevard, ostensibly as a tourist admiring the flashy dwellings of the super-rich, Lisbeth was justifiably proud of the intricate web of deceit, laid out with her sharpest tools – steel trap mental faculties that rivaled any engineer’s slide rule and calliper.


    15 minutes earlier …

    “They won’t believe this setup for one moment.” Lisbeth smiled as she gently squeezed Thomas’ stiffening fingers around the haft of the cleaver. Blood had spurted all over the place, as soon as she had pulled it from his mother’s back. After fifteen seconds, she allowed the big knife to clatter onto the floor, where it skittered under the desk.

    Next, she wiped April’s prints from the gun that had killed Thomas. By using the same hand to get another set of prints from Thomas, she hoped that the investigators would note the presumed left-handedness of the presumed perp. That subtle clue would be all that it took to send them hunting for the real killers.

    Beside the fact she had never heard of a suicide attempt involving a shot to the heart, the amateurish staging and the absence of forced intrusion should be enough to raise flags. She was too good to leave obvious signs, but she needed to bring attention to her henchmen. Those thugs were not going to keep silent, once they realized what had really happened to their golden goose.

    She viewed her work. Her bloody shoe prints were a bonus, though she would have to grab her high heels from her car. As she left the mansion, she had a moment of worry – the unshaded walkway was fully visible to anyone who might be looking from the servants’ quarters. Lisbeth was resourceful – in the time it took her to reach the wrought iron gate, she had already worked out a disclaimer: she would not deny being there; instead, she would just tell whoever asked that no one had answered the bell.

  4. Shane Arthur says:

    Okay! Sundacarpus! Seriously, I blame Justin for what I’m about to post. 😉
    “Hey Billy. Besides your intentional deletion of an unshaded disclaimer dat states they’s some dead oxen bones and jars filled wit’ goat urine in dis here basement of your maws — and da smell is justifiably wretched, and if I get’s frisky and want to get some man-handicraft goin’ I has to spread my legs like callipers and dig a hole in the dirt floor — these here dwellings is quite flashy. It’s gonna be easy to update our resumes and find us some jobs under these here livin’ conditions.”

    “Bobby, I already dug me a man-pleasure hole. It’s unda Carpus.”

    “Under who?”

    “My new dog Carpus.Wait till he’s done usin’ it though. He’s ornery when he don’t gets to finish what he starts.”

  5. Hello CCC crew! Here’s my offering for challenge #221. I hope you like it. 🙂
    Guy (singing)
    “There’s nothing more thrillin’
    Than when I’m chillin’
    You know I’m really feelin’
    Just the two of us
    Under a Sundacarpus!”
    Girl (singing)
    “I had truly anticipated
    something a bit more unshaded
    you know I would have waited
    for deletion of all leaves
    from these lovely treeees!”
    (Guy singing)
    “My beautiful calliper
    Makes me think of her!”
    (Girl singing)
    “My silky flashy brim
    Reminds me so of him!”
    Our …
    Cut! Cut! Security! Security!
    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
    “Now, now dear. You have a right to be miffed, justifiably so!”
    “What a wretched group! Not giving any thought to the time dedicated to your handicraft. What a lovely ‘flashy brim’ it is, too!”
    Unlocking the doors to their dwellings (they lived side by side in quaint duplex apartments), they fondly said goodnight.
    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
    Back at Studio KCP, the judges sat in stunned disbelief.
    “Ella, does the contract include a disclaimer that indemnifies us against damages for tossing contestants out on their bums?”

  6. Anne Wayman says:

    My dwellings are shaded by a Sundacrapus, which allows me to complain without disclaimer about the wretched state of my mind.
    Others are justifiably tempted toward deletion of my other unshaded, but flashy residential constructions. Little do they know the skill involved in the handicraft, measured by a creative calliper.

  7. Jamie Graham says:

    Here’s a follow up to my last contribution.

    She’d fallen asleep after the last sip of cider. Her tongue tasted wretched.
    It had also caused her mind to go into deletion mode. She couldn’t remember a thing about the book she’d finished reading that evening.
    Being unshaded didn’t matter now; dusk had set in. The flashy dwellings on a faraway hillside twinkled in the last of the daylight.
    After slowly finding her way back to the busy main street, she went to a local shop which was particularly uninviting.
    There was a disclaimer notice on the outside wall “If you leave anything here unattended, it will be stolen”.
    Justifiably, this made her reluctant to venture inside.
    She opened the door to find a bored looking man at the desk, spinning a calliper around in frustration. He didn’t even look up.
    The free pair of scissors attached to the handicraft magazine found their way into her pocket – scissors always came in handy.
    It felt stupid, but she got a thrill when she left the shop having only paid for the soda and aspirin.
    The sofa was her first port of call when she got home to her student flat. Her room mate Keith was watching a documentary on TV about the sundacarpus tree, so she went to bed.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Jamie: I love this, especially for the ending. The fact that it ended so simply makes it dramatic. Well done.

  8. Jen says:

    My particular handiwork, and I really hesitate to mention it, since I abhor boasters, is to create flashy dwellings for ants who live under the indigenous sundacarpus. I know. It is my wretched, unnecessary disclaimer but I fear its deletion would cause undue envy. I make mention of my reluctance and my superiority justifiably, as these types of abodes have become, as they say in my business, all the rage. I am, and shall be while the rage continues, under the unshaded criticism of the callipers of trend.

  9. Ingrid says:

    Hello again! The FB group-story posse is back:
    ‎”One of the deletions we’ll have to reconsider,” said Mary as they reviewed the film, “is that scene where Henry proposes to the chicken.”

    Johnny replied: ” Yeah movie was awkward, specially that scene, I think I should have read the disclaimer first to know it was a bit Zoophytic!!!”

    ‎”Unfortunately, the chicken is played by that wretched bitchy actress Julia Cluckberts, who is the daughter of producer Stephen Cluckberts,” sighed Mary.

    With steepled fingers and characteristic unhurried voice, Rolf said, “That scene is critical and its removal will seriously weaken the plot, to the extent that we can justifiably fear a breakdown of the film’s entire continuity.”

    ‎”You two are just… just immoral!” burst out Johnny with unshaded judgement and horror.

    Sundascarpus? Swwweeettt!” said Rolf suddenly.

    “It’s just too …. too flashy” continued Johnny in response to Rolf’s unusual outburst. He wondered if perhaps Rolf had Tourette’s syndrome.

    But he just couldn’t deal with the dwellings in his mind. He just needs some action tonight! RIGHT NOW!

    Johnny, always tried to come across as erudite but always left the opposite impression the more he spoke, continued, “Rolf, surely a man of your calliper can rework the film into a contiguous hole.”

    Rolf, stifling his laughter, replied, “My handicraft will be evident to all, have no doubt. The chicken is in.”

  10. She was used to daydreaming of her childhood in Queensland where she grew  up on a sheep and cattle ranch in the south west outback.  She had run about through the Sundacarpus and Eucalyptus trees in search of koalas her mother had read  to her about, chased kangaroos, and helped her mother spin the merino wool into yarn.  Her mother’s handicraft projects were endless–anything from  knitting to canning to sewing Arnie and her sister Blu’s clothes.  All these memories came back to her often.  She couldn’t quite leave behind her native country.  The unshaded desert areas she’d endured from time to time lugging her father’s calliper when she accompanied him on his trips to repair the Dingo Fence at Audville Station had made her justifiably wretched.  Even those memories now had a certain appeal for her.   On several of these trips, she had spotted gunyas, the temporary dwellings of aboriginal peoples.  Back then she was innocent of the shame of racial discrimination perpetuated against these peoples, although now it was a painful part of her experience.  Back then there was only a curiosity about these mysterious people who haunted the Australian landscape but who were rarely seen and then at a distance.

    Flashy New York with it’s glamour, excitement, and entertainment didn’t obscure her memories of the rugged land where she came up.  Without disclaimer, Arnie had talked alot to Red about her homeland.  At first he thought it was charming.  He loved the lilt of Arnie’s voice and in the first blooms of romance could have listened to her endlessly.  But now, he secretly wished for some miraculous deletion of Arnie’s past memories of Australia because he feared one day she would leave him and return to that land that sounded more like the moon than a proper human habitat.  Arnie now hesitated to even bring up the subject of home to Red.  So that made her think of it even more often.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Sean: EXCELLENT! Welcome to the CCC. It appears that you are a word-slinger! Well done.
      Let me know what you thought of the exercise, and everyone welcome Sean to the addiction. (Every Monday and Thursday, btw.) I’ll add your name and url to the CCC Community Links page next. Like your blog too.

      • Hey, thanks, Shane–loved the exercise and was surprised how this little piece almost shaped itself!

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @Sean MaryHelen Johnson – Welcome to CCC!

        We thrive on the deletion of critics and no disclaimer is ever necessary. Your creativity is yours to share as we make the wretched easy and the simple complex. We are justifiably proud of our community with its unshaded praise and caliper precision as we measure each challenge.

        We wrap newcomers in the Sundacarpas walls of green, leaving flashy dwellings to those beyond our handicraft. Welcome to our world.

  11. Above is my correct website link.

  12. KathleenL says:

    She pulled the solid ornate handcrafted Sundacarpus door open … pausing momentarily as she waited for her irises to go from pin-points to near silver dollar size, settling somewhere in between.
    She was able to see where she needed to go within seconds.

    “Oh how I love the efficiency of the human body,” she said to herself as she began striding.

    When she walked into the room she could not help but hear the not so subtle comment, “Wow, that butt should come wit’ a disclaimer,” spoken by a deep voiced tall drink of water leaning on the bar.

    A fella standing beside him with his back to the door wretched his head and neck around to have a look-see for himself. And to his enjoyment he was greeted with the shapely backside of a gal bent over taking aim at the 7 ball on the velvet.

    “Emmmm,” was his only verbal response.

    Shannon smirked and began walking. As her strides brought her closer and closer to the boisterous drooler he unabashedly licked his lips as she approached. She paused a few inches from the stone-washed tight Wrangler butt she recognized as Jake’s.

    “Yah’ll should keep your youngens on a shorter leash,” she said with a playful smile, shaking her head.

    “Yes ma’m, you know I try to… but you know… these boys see fillies like this,” he gestured back toward the pool table, “and sometimes they jus’ can’t help themselves.”

    “Well, keep ‘em under control tonight,” she said half teasingly as she headed over to the table.

    “If I do, you’ll owe me…” he said.

    “I could see me lettin’ you push me around the hard wood a little tonight,” she said over her shoulder as she reached the table where her girlfriends sat.

    “Way to go,” the dooler said as he lightly punched the Cow Boss in the shoulder as his smile grew.

    “Yah… well, I’ve been tryin’ to get her to agree to supper all week,” he said with a flicker of hope in his blue eyes, even though his reserved excitement could only be measured by a calliper, there was no denying he was pleased with the progress. Justifiably pleased as Shannon had been turning him, and the other cowboys in for Rodeo week, down left and right.

    “So you like a challenge do you?” the bartender said as he placed another rum and coke in front of Jake.

    “Or beatin’ my head against a rock, one or the other. Thanks.” A light chuckle was shared by the guys.

    He did not look at the bartender because he was too busy watching Shannon. His eyes were locked on her as she disrobed, leaving her jacket on the back of her chair. Her long auburn hair sparkled in the unshaded sunlight as it entered through the plate glass windows and fell over her shoulder.

    “Will yah get her one of those beers she likes? Put it on my tab, will yah.”

    “Sure Jake. One Amber Bock in a heated glass coming right up,” the bar tender said as he turned on a heal. Moments later he rounded the end of the bar and walked the reddish brown liquid over to her. “Here you go Shannon.”

    “Thanks but I…”

    “It’s from Jake.”

    “Thanks Randy.” She merely lifted the mug into the air, tilted her head, nodded and smiled up at Jake ever so shyly.

    “Well… looks like you might have fun tonight.”

    “Maybe Patty, maybe,” a smirk came across Shannon’s face. “Let’s order some appetizers before it gets too crowded,” she encouraged.
    While they waited for their Potato Skins and Hot Wings the band began to set up.

    It wasn’t long after eight that the place started to fill with a multitude of 501 and Wrangler clad guys and gals, many topped with straw or felt cowboy hats; most looking to order longnecks and find some companionship. Cattlemen’s Saloon and Grille was the best place in town for that, tonight, especially since the band that had been booked – the Stallion Station — was known for their deletion of sadness and stillness.

    “’cuse me ladies,” a brunette 20-something in a straw hat, a short sleeved plaid shirt, and blue denim wearing man said as he neared the table.

    “Yes,” the threesome said in unison.

    “Any of you two-step?”

    “Shannon does!” Patty volunteered up with a giggle, as if her friend was the only one.

    “Is that true…Shannon?” he asked.

    “Well, yes sir it is.”

    “Would you do me the honor then?”

    Shannon squinted and glared playfully at Patty and Kayla as she rose to meet Patty’s unspoken challenge. The young man extended his hand to her. She obliged him and laid her left hand in his as she got up. She followed him through the crowd. As they headed for the dance floor the band continued to knock out “Friends in Low Places”.

    Just before their leather hit the hardwood he halted lightly pulling her past him. She turned to face him. He took her right hand in his left and lifted it about shoulder level, placing his right hand on her right shoulder. Within a few beats they were moving around the floor. Step together, step, step, step together, step, step….

    “Well, looks like you’re moving too slow there bud… someone else has your target on the dance floor,” the drooler said above the music as he drained a longneck.

    Jake had his plan laid out … in his head. Maybe it was time to put it into action. He strutted up through the growing crowd. He waited where the carpet and the hardwood meet until the right moment. He reached out tapping the younger rider on the shoulder. Causing the duo to stop.

    “I’d like to cut in boy,” Jake said with authority.

    The younger looked back at Shannon for approval. She nodded ever so lightly with approval.

    “Looks like it’s okay with Shannon boss, so…” he said as he stepped away and Jake took his place.

    Jakes’s six foot two inch frame made it a bit of a reach for Shannon’s five foot eight stature but she adjusted quickly and placed her left hand in the crook of his right elbow, instead of on his shoulder, as they began to cover ground. Two songs later they exited the dance floor.

    “Thanks. After a drink you owe me one more,” Jake said as they separated and went to their spots. Jake sent over another beer for her.

    But it was not long before Jake was staring at her. Waiting for her to feel his eyes upon her. She noticed and had had enough of a breather. She tilted her head toward the dance floor and lightly bobbed it sideways. The silent asking was responded to. Jake stood and began walking toward her. She met him halfway and they headed to the dance floor together.

    Three songs later Jake said, “so… when are you gonna let me see if your dewlling’s as girly place, a flashy place or just like down home?”

    “Well… Jake… I’m not and you know it, so stop askin’,” she said with resistant confidence that kept him coming back for more. “And if that’s the only reason we’re out here you better just go focus on someone else son, ‘cuz I’m not takin’ you home with me. Not tonight, nor tomorrow night, nor…”

    “Goodness girl! You gotta share sometime. I am only here through Monday night.”

    As the song came to an end the lead in the band, Steve, announced they were takin’ a break and that was the end of it for a while. Jake went back to his buddies standing bar side and Shannon returned to the table where her girlfriends sat.

  13. Rebecca says:

    The Mayor of Storyrock justifiably threw out Sam Larson, the town’s reporter. The mayor wanted to hit the deletion button on Larson who was known for flashy, sensationalized tactics to get a story. It was a handicraft inherited from the late Sam Larson, Sr. Known as a wretched man, Sam Larson, Sr., always gave people the disclaimer, “I’ll make you famous.” The current Sam Larson contended that the mayor was found meeting with a group of contractors – a Storyrock citizen supposedly saw a calliper in the Sundacarpus field. The dwellings were supposedly home to fairy folk. The entrance to the field is unshaded. Once you get closer to the Sundacarpus field, darkness falls upon you within an instant.

  14. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane … I want to continue with this one. I’ll put it on my list.

  15. sh13151223 says:

    He wants a complete deletion of the memory that is disturbing him. Was that the handicraft of time or was it his brain’s miscalculation. The sundacarpus will be there for years bearing the heaviness of those moments. He never intended to hurt her, but it happened. It was his love but she is like a tender bud and so serene in her ways. Wretched were those moments of unshaded emotions. Disbelief and anger flashing in her eyes, a total disclaimer of the trust she had in him. Sure human brain is the secret dwelling place of unleashed emotions. The caliper of civilization and culture sometimes fails to serve the  purpose. May be his deed is justifiable in many ways, yet can he win back her trust. He put his head down and looked at her earring in his hands.

  16. Kelly says:


    The deletion of one more giant grove of trees, to make way for a flashy new development, unshaded by such mundane reminders of the ancient world. Dwellings for spoiled urbanites fleeing Brisbane. Make disclaimers to the friends you’re leaving behind about having to drive ‘til you could qualify for the mortgage. A “justifiably” roomy new car guzzling gas all the way, since you’ll spend more and more of your day in the wretched thing instead of in your fine home… until at last, you’d have to use calipers to measure how much time you get with the kids, admiring their elementary-school handicrafts. It ain’t much.

    The world completely upside-down, and you who think you’re in control, the most controlled of all. You can’t speak for yourself; you don’t even imagine speaking for the sundacarpus. Isn’t this what the Lorax was really talking about?

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