Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #215

Today we have our own Ingrid along with her Facebook friends choosing the words. Thanks Ingrid and friends.

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. Fidget
  2. Carnal
  3. Floodgates
  4. Ensconced – To settle (oneself) securely or comfortably; To place or conceal in a secure place
  5. Gaseous
  6. Alacrity – Cheerful willingness; eagerness
  7. Callipygian – pertaining to or having finely developed buttocks (haha!)
  8. Taco 
  9. Grouch
  10. Foreskin

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


54 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #215”

  1. Ingrid says:

    Yipee 🙂 I’ve posted the list on FB and also raised the challenge that the collaborative writers continue the story about Cindy from Badass. I’ll post our entry as soon as it’s done! 🙂

  2. Cathy Miller says:

    Seven-year-old Jimmy began to fidget worse than a teenager in the throes of carnal urges. His mother was due home any minute and knowing that opened the floodgates to his rising fear.

    Jimmy ensconced himself in the corner of his closet, his stuffed dog, Rufus, tucked securely in his arms. He didn’t care if he looked like a baby with Rufus by his side, his upset stomach letting off a gaseous retreat that normally he’d find hysterical. Jimmy wasn’t laughing now.

    “Jimmy, I’m home. Where are you, sweetheart?” rang out his mother’s voice with the alacrity of one who did not know what was coming next.

    Her callipygian figure had been the talk of little Jimmy’s classmates. He wasn’t exactly sure what the older boys were saying, but he knew an insult when he heard one. That and the way they cupped their hands gave Jimmy a pretty good idea.

    “Jimmy, what are you doing hiding in the closet?”

    Jimmy’s heart leaped as he raised his tear-streaked eyes to the entrance of the closet.

    “Jimmy, what happened to your eye? Were you in a fight? How many times have I told you fighting never solves our problems?”

    “Dad told me before he died that I was the man of the house and I had to defend you,” he cried, his tiny body quivering with repressed fury.

    “What do you mean you were defending me? What happened?”

    “Nothing,” he hung his head in dejected misery.

    “James Michael, don’t you lie to me.”

    “I c-c-can’t tell you, ” he whimpered.

    Marion’s heart broke at the sight of her distraught son. It had been so hard since his father, Michael, had been killed in the line of duty.

    “Come here, sweetie,” she gestured.

    With a cry coming from the depths of his sorrow, Jimmy threw himself into his mother’s comforting arms.

    “Some kids were saying bad things about you,” he wailed.

    “Oh, Jimmy, it couldn’t be that bad that you had to get in a fight.”

    “Uh-huh, they said you had the body of a hooker!”

    “Oh, Jimmy,” she said, snuggling him closer.


    “Yes, sweetie?”

    “What’s a hooker?”

    Marion laughed, thankful her son still retained some sense of innocence.

    “If you don’t know, why did you fight them?”

    “‘Cuz, I know it was mean and bad. Those eighth-graders are a bunch of dick-heads anyway,” Jimmy gasped, slapping his hand across his mouth. He couldn’t believe he said that in front of his mother.

    “James Michael, do not use that kind of language.” Suddenly, Marion realized what her son had just said.

    “Eighth-graders? Are you telling me, you got in a fight with eighth-graders?”

    “Uh-huh. Dad wouldn’t have let ’em say bad stuff about you.  And neither will I,” he vowed, his lip firming in defiance.
    But, soon it started quivering, “I miss, Dad.”

    Marion’s eyes filled with tears as she once more pulled Jimmy into her arms.

    “Oh, so do I. So do I.”

    “We’ll talk about this later. Right now I think we should take a trip to Taco Bell.”

    “Really?” Jimmy exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “I thought you’d be a big ol’ grouch when I told you.”
    “I’d suggest you quit while you’re ahead, James Michael. Go wash your face.”

    “Yes, ma’am. I love you, Mom and I know you’re no hooker.”

    Laughing, Marion kissed the top of his head.

    “I’m glad to hear it. Now go on. And I love you, too – even when you fight when you shouldn’t.”

    Grinning, Jimmy ran into the bathroom.

    Marion sat down on the side of his bed. Lifting the picture of his Dad from the nightstand, she sighed.

    “Oh, Michael, did you have to put so much on his shoulders?” she whispered.

    She could almost hear his exasperated reply.

    “You baby the boy. He’s a lot stronger than you think.”

    “But, he is my baby.”

    Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the bathroom.

    “Hey, Mom, what did that big kid mean when he said he could wrap me up by my foreskin?”

    “Why couldn’t I have had a girl?”



  3. Chris Fries says:

    OK — I’ve left the 10×10 stories for today to generate a short story.

    Mr. Cleo

    Jonas stood on the cracked concrete of the patio slab, watching his young son and daughter play with a scampering dog that had wandered into the yard.  The sun was bright and a gentle breeze came from the west, blowing away the stench of the tire factory up the road — a vile, gaseous haze that normally blanketed the run-down trailer park that Jonas now called home. 

    He shut his eyes and looked up, breathing deeply. The giddy laughter of the kids, the playful yip of the lab-mix stray, the fresh breeze, and the sun’s warmth on his face made Jonas smile.  It was almost enough to make him forget the dark hatred and rage which dominated him, festering and simmering, deeply ensconced in his heart.

    Almost.  But not quite.

    He opened his eyes and looked at the kids, watching them run, and thought of their mother, making the familiar floodgates open up, blurring his vision and bringing a deluge of disgusting images and vile emotions.

    The bitch.  He knew what she was up to.

    While the kids were here with him on one of the few visitations Karen had actually allowed to take place, she was probably off on a carnal escapade with her worthless loser, riding him so often she might as well be his second foreskin.

    It wasn’t enough that she’d taken everything Jonas had in the divorce.  He just knew she was going to leave too; run off with her new bastard in a fit of slutty alacrity, taking the kids as she happily followed the jerk from one dead-end job to the next.

    Jonas clenched his fists and swore it would never happen.


    Jonas looked down and saw seven-year-old Stephanie smiling up at him, her younger brother Jeffrey behind her, and the dog lying in the grass, panting in the shade next to the rusty trailer.

    “Are we going to eat lunch soon?” Stephanie said.

    “We’re hung-gery,” Jeffery added in his toddler diction.

    “Sure,” Jonas said.  “I’ve got the stuff in the fridge.  How about we have an all-you-can-eat family taco-fest?”

    Stephanie smiled and nodded.  Jeffery clapped his hands and yelled, “Yay, I love tat-cos!”

    “Well, go on in and get washed up and we’ll get busy cooking.”

    “What about Cleo?” Stephanie said. 

    “Cleo?” Jonas said. 

    Stephanie pointed to the dog.  Jonas didn’t think it looked like a Cleo.  For one thing it was male, but it was also scruffy and distinctly non-regal as it licked itself noisily.  

    “Can we keep him?” Stephanie asked, her eyes pleading.

    “Please?” Jeffery added.  “Keep him?”

    Jonas could feel himself start to fidget — his right foot shuffled a loose piece of concrete while he avoided the gaze of the kids. It was going to be hard enough to do what needed to be done without including some innocent dog.  Karen wouldn’t care about the damn dog, and all that mattered was paying her back, making her hurt as much as he’d been hurt.

    But he had to tell the kids something and he didn’t want to be a grouch about it.  He needed to keep them calm and everything light and happy.

    “We’ll see,” he lied.  “He may belong to someone in the park and will go on home, but if he’s still here after lunch then we’ll think about it.  Now get inside and wash up.”

    The kids ran over to pet the dog one last time, then climbed the cinder-block steps and went into the trailer.  Jonas exhaled heavily and leaned over, putting hands on his knees as his heart raced.  He was losing his resolve.

    Then another image of Karen popped into his head.  Jonas pictured her callipygian figure swaying as she wiggled on her knees, her head bouncing up and down in the loser’s lap.  The blood surged into Jonas’s head, blinding his vision and steeling his heart.

    Damn her, it had to be done.

    He stood up and walked towards the metal shed that leaned, bent and dented, at the back of the lot.  Inside was the gasoline.

    “Don’t do it.”

    Startled, Jonas whirled, looking to see where the voice had come from.  It was male, deep, and firm, but calm, and seemed to come from every direction.  No-one was in sight.  The trailer door was shut and the kids were inside, and Jonas couldn’t see any other person in any of the lots around him.

    The only living thing around was the dirty black dog which sat at his feet, looking up at him.

    “Don’t do it,” the voice said again.  The dog licked his chops and looked intently at Jonas.

    “Who said that?” Jonas said, looking to his sides and then gazing down at the dog. “You?”

    The dog whined lightly and stood up, wagging its tail slowly.

    “It’s not right,” the voice said.  “You don’t want to hurt them — you’re not that kind of a guy.  You’re just messed up with grief and anger.”

    The dog’s mouth never moved, but his eyes never left Jonas.

    “What?” Jonas said.  His chest felt constricted; it was hard to pull breath into his lungs. 

    “Forget what you were thinking,” the voice said. “Let go of the anger.  This is no way to deal with it.  Things will get better — trust me.”  The dog stood up on his hind legs and put his front paws on Jonas’s chest.  “Put it behind you.  Let it go.” 

    Jonas’s vision narrowed and his head throbbed.  He felt like the wind had picked up and was swirling in around him, but the grass and the dog’s fur did not move.  Then there was a flash of light and Jonas collapsed to the ground, blackness sweeping in to swallow him.

    He came to with the dog licking his face.  He heard the door on the trailer slam.

    “Dad!” Stephanie called.  “Are you alright?”  She and Jeffery ran up to him as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.  The dog yipped and wagged its tail briskly.

    Jonas looked at the faces of his two children, then at the panting dog.  It seemed to be smiling.  For some reason, Jonas found himself smiling too.  He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease.

    “Yes,” he said, “I’m fine.  I think I must have blacked out for a while.”  He paused.  “For a long while…”  Then he reached out and grabbed the kids and pulled them close in a tight hug.  “But I’m back now.”  He let them go and looked at their smiling faces.  “C’mon, let’s go have those tacos.”
    He stood up. The kids giggled and the dog yipped again.

    “Yeah, you too,” Jonas said, looking down at the black dog, its mouth open and tongue flopping out sideways. “Looks like you’ve found yourself a new home, Mr. Cleo.”

  4. Anne Wayman says:

    The missing foreskin turned him into a grouch so he ate tacos and visited the gym to improve his gorgeous callipygian. The next day he found himself slightly gaseous so with alacrity he ensconced himself in his cave-like basement where he could open the floodgates of the carnal fidget.

  5. Cathy Miller says:

    @Anne- LOL - floodgates of the carnal fidget. That is too funny! 😀

  6. Fidget, if you must, but hear me through. Carnal sex is dangerous, if not taboo.
    Callipygian vixens always open floodgates to foreskin, emptying brain with alacrity.
    Desperately seeking celibacy? Squelch your desires with two simple tricks:
    Become ensconced in a Disney movie, while eating taco after taco. If the overwhelming cuteness doesn’t turn you into a boorish grouch, your gaseous output will fend off the most intrepid of tramps.

  7. Anne Wayman says:

    Mitch. puns upsetting entire trainloads of thought… love em, including your post.

  8. Here is my entry for this game:

    Heavy Set
    Carnal gaseous odor
    surrounding the beef taco
    like an intangible foreskin
    opening the saliva floodgates
    you fidget as you bite just the tip
    while ensconced in a plastic seat
    knowing alacrity for a few moments
    and not being a grouch over the fact
    you will never have a callipygian figure

  9. I feel like a newbie here again….Here is a new story though!

     Carcasses littered the shore as the sun rose, bloated and rotting already. The sun had not yet risen, the bodies not there the night before. “This whole thing is just unnatural.” Ryan Jones thought as he crested a dune and saw the carnage in the dim pre-dawn light.

    He began to fidget with his keys as he did when he was nervous at a crime scene. How this was a crime scene he did not know, it seemed more an act of God and less related to homicide, but here he was. Dolphins were not people, but people love the little buggers.

    He was not going to answer the phone when it rang at 4 that morning. He was ensconced in his bed, half asleep, the callipygian redhead dozing beside him when the Battle Hymn of the Republic began to play on his cell phone.

    He groaned and rolled over, answering the call from Dispatch with an alacrity he didn’t feel. Kaetlyn woke up slightly and turned toward him as he mentioned dolphins on the phone. He finished the call and threw the phone across the room. “What is the matter now?” she asked sleepily.

    “More crap.” He said. “There are some dead dolphins out on the shore and I get to investigate. Bunch of crap.” “Oh, but it’s for dolphins!” she said. “Go find out who killed them! I love dolphins.” He looked at her and grinned. “I don’t want to.” He said carnal thoughts replacing the duty that he needed to get to. “Don’t be a grouch.” She said. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

    “Fine.” He sighed and sat up. He stood, headed to the bathroom when the floodgates of gaseous emissions opened. “Uhhhh.” He groaned. “Shouldn’t have eaten those tacos last night.” And with that he got ready to leave.

    He was driving towards the shoreline half asleep and still dreaming of that new thing Kaetlyn had come up with when his cell phone rang. He saw it was her and answered. “Hey you, I was just thinking about you.” He said. “I know.” She replied. “Word game time.” She loved to push his buttons by giving him a word or two over the day that he had to work into a conversation later. Most of those words she came up with were bizarre and had no relevance to well, anything.

    “Today’s word is foreskin.” She said. “How the….” He began as she said, “Not my problem. I love you.”, and hung up. “Great.” He said to the phone as he tossed it on the passenger seat wondering how he was not only going to use “foreskin” in a sentence but how he was going to get it out of his head enough to work.

    Light was just beginning to lighten the sky as he reached the beach parking lot. The lot was lit up by the flashing lights of police cruisers and again he wondered “What is it about dolphins?” He parked and headed where a young Sherriff’s deputy he didn’t know pointed. This was going to be an interesting day.

  10. Jen says:

    When Sharlene touched Edgar’s wound, ensconced as it was in denim and a malodorous crust of blood, he did more than fidget. He yowled as if Sharlene had decided to perform an adult foreskin removal procedure without the kindness of three fingers of bourbon. With his moaning floodgates open, and the wound now seeping like a soggy taco, Sharlene wanted to move with alacrity but the stench made her gaseous, which only added to the carnal, and not in a good way, mood of the situation. “Quit being such a grouch,” she barked at Edgar, then positioned her callypigian body onto the bathroom counter, trying to get a better look at where the chainsaw had torn into his thigh. “I told you, didn’t I, not to try cutting that wart off that way.”

  11. Shane Arthur says:

    “Hey Billy! You see dat new lady-gal hired today, da one wit’ da callipygian rump-roast dat opened da carnal floodgates of my fidgetin’ foreskin and made my Little-Bobby swell up wit alacrity like I was gaseous wit’ love fumes.”

    “Bobby, I’s a bit of a grouch today on account I ain’t get much sleep last night workin’ on dat latte piece, but it’s hard not to want to ensconce one’s slappy inside a nice rump-roast like dat gal’s. It looks like a 100-pound sideways taco beggin’ for some sour-cream. Let’s go introduce ourselves.”

  12. Ingrid says:

    Here we go! Courtesy of the fearless FB fiction faction a continuation of the story of Cindy from Badass ( http://www.creativecopychallenge.com/writing-prompts-creative-copy-challenge-214/comment-page-1/#comment-27786 )

    Cindy planted her feet and jammed her fists into her coat pockets trying desperately to suppress her tendancy to fidget as she floundered in reply “Um…I….we….well I…”
    Suddenly a huge Mexican came from the shadows just to let his point out. It is almost impossible for anyone at Badass not feel the fear within the carnal fibers, as we pointed into the dam just beside Tower 13.
    Just then, the Toad took a huge swig of his latte, and the floodgates opened as he started weeping uncontrollably.
    The sad ‘Toad’ ensconced himself in Cindy’s muscular arms as she whispered in his ear: ‘Our war ends today, my weepy linchpin.’
    With a belch, the gaseous Mexican said, “Ain’t that sweet,” with a voice that sent syncopated chills ricocheting between Cindy and the Toad. Cindy realized she was both drawn to and repelled by the Toad. Alternating. In quick succession. How. Inconvenient.
    She now knew she had to act with the same degree of alacrity and nonchalance that she would in the unlikely event of a highly trained pririhana trying to remove her appendix.
    With a shake of her callipygian curves, Cindy pointed to the tower and told her newly smitten beau that this bellicose feud had to end in order for them to have a chance together.
    All these months, amidst the violence of Badass life, a stealthy seguidilla had worked its magic on Cindy and Toad. With his penchant for milky coffee and the aroma of taco that enveloped him… She loved him utterly.
    Between sobs, the Toad opened up, “I am not really a bad person; I just need a safe place to express myself freely. I know I come across as a grouch, but I’m really a nice person. I can even be taken out in public without biting people.”
    “There’s just one thing you need to know,” the Toad continued, “before we… become closer…” He whispered so softly in Cindy’s ear, the only word she caught was, “foreskin“.

  13. KathleenL says:

    While waiting for his taco platter and Corona to be delivered he fidgeted with the keys in his pocket (yah, his keys… right) as the floodgates, within his mind, opened. He was focused on having carnal knowledge of the brunette’s callipygian. He hoped to become ensconced in her full breasts. And he knew she would greet him with the alacrity of his dreams.

    As she approached him a gaseous aroma announced her arrival to his nasal receptors.

    “Foreskin,” she said turning her back to him.

    He sat completely dismayed.

    “Foreskin,” she said looking back over her shoulder, smiling a numbered toothy smile as she lifted a bottle of lotion.

    “Okay,” he said, not wanting to be a grouch.

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