Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #256

This is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! Take the 10 random words below and crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story! And remember: after (if) you finish entering your submission into the comment field, 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’Tdo those, either.)

  1. Power
  2. Are you?
  3. Cord
  4. Stairs
  5. Brown
  6. Storm
  7. Adjust
  8. Paid
  9. Special
  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


47 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #256”

  1. Rebecca says:

    Are you ready to take your power back?
    Are you ready to cut the invisible cord linking you to people who are holding you back?
    Are you ready to weather the storm and adjust to life without people you’ve known all your life?
    Are you ready to count your blessings, even though your desires haven’t manifested?
    Are you ready to climb the stairs of success?
    Are you ready to color your life a bright yellow instead of a dark brown?
    Are you ready to accept that you’re special in your own way?
    Haven’t you paid enough ‘life’ dues already?

  2. Liss Thomas says:

    Continuation . . .
    She knew why I came and still she sat on the stairs waiting as always.  She smiles.  The power of it leaves my lungs empty.  I clear my throat, suck in air and adjust my strategy, my logic.  I make a special effort to forget the job I’m paid to do and enjoy her company.  I forget the storm in my head and concentrate on her; brown skin glistening and warm against mine.  I count the ways it could all happen.  The cord to draw the drapes, the cold steel under my pillow, my hands, so much larger than hers.
    I silently cure my boss and then her father, opposite sides of a power war before a solution flickers in my brain.  Juliet turns and sighs out a question.
    “Well, are you?
    “Yes.”  I smile.

  3. Kathleen K says:

    “You better adjust your attitude boooyyyyyy; you are not that special. Take your brown eyes and head back down those high and mighty stairs you think you have climbed,” Isabella said as she whirled around chest bowed out, as she brought her left arm down hard on the one he had on her. “Count every step, son, because you do not have any power over me. No sir. Who do you think you are?” Isabella said showing him he had hit the wrong cord with her.
    Her storm of intolerance for male ignorance swirled within her. She had paid her dues, at the wrong end of a male’s attempt to pay no female respect. She would tolerate it no more.
    “Get… get out of here before I show you just what I think of bbbooooyyyyysssss like you who are dishonoring their mothers and every woman on this earth.”
    She brought her fists up in front of her waiting for his next move. But move he did not. He had underestimated her and she had now turned the tables and taken him by surprise. She took a fainting steep towards him.
    “Are you….?” he said as he turned on a heal and stumbled down the hall over his own two feet. He did not remain in the upright position very long.
    “Clumsy fool,” Isabelle said aloud.
    His landing on the hardwood was as ungraceful as a spider on roller skates on ice.  She began to laugh as her fists came to rest at her sides. 

  4. Kathleen K says:

    Count the stars.
    They do have special meaning.
    Many have paid a price for us to be able to adjust the number of stars on it. Once 13  now 50.
    There have been many a storm, but Old Glory still stands up on high.
    No longer is there a brown-ish hue; we have bleached cotton and other fibers.
    As the first cord of the anthem begins to be played the power of the pride stirs something deep inside. It swells up within me like ascending stairs; sometimes I am out of breath by the time the song ends.
     Are you proud to be an American? Are you?
    I am Happy 4th of July to all of my American writers.

  5. Duane says:

    I can’t count the number of times I’ve sat at lunch break on those brown stairs at a new home construction site,  grilling myself for not sharing my writing.  “Geez, D, for the past decade you’ve been journaling about every emotional storm, each ‘aha’ moment of clarity, and all the flashes of spiritual awareness.  Why don’t you, just for the hell of it, give this CCC a try?  You could cut the cord to your ego, gratefully adjust style to critique, and humbly accept any plaudits paid your way!”
    Writing is my special introspective nexus to feelings, thoughts and actions; the stuff I’ve come to know as the composition of my present reality. Herein lies my true power; the ability to consciously create my daily happiness, or lack thereof.  It really is my choice.  Letting go of my newbie fears, however subtle, and post a comment has made me happy!  Tomorrow my Higher Self will ask me: “I’m ready for life! I’m ready to write, are you!?” 

  6. Bobbert says:

    A large man walked into the hardware store just one day after the severe storms had hit. “Yesterday, I paid a special price of $45 for this flimsy brown power cord extension that probably cost you one dollar. I want my money back, and knowing how you do business, I’m going to count every penny of it to make sure nothing is missing.”
    “But sir, it’s been used, and clearly has been out in the storm last night. I can’t give you a refund. It’s against our policy.”
    “Listen to me very carefully now.” the man said. “Overnight, I adjusted the attitude of a thief who broke into my house by wrapping this cord around his neck and dragging him down the stairs. He wasn’t brave enough to defy me after he couldn’t breathe any more.”
    Then he looked intensely into the clerks eyes, and asked him with raised eyebrow, “Are you?”

  7. K says:

    Okay, this is isn’t my best one, but I tried. Here goes nothing…

    With power, it is bestowed with restrictions and repercussions. The person who was once presented in her eyes from before is now smaller, a speck in the distance. Those orbs are filled with pity and some form of resentment so to say. He wants to say something along the lines of, “Are you-” but is immediately cut off by her retreating figure traveling down the stairs. Her raven hair whips his cheek as she graces him with her fleeting presence. The cord of his sanity is shredded due to the changes in her mannerisms. Society may have scrutinize him with judgmental eyes, but what hurt the most was the fact that she was part of it. Her eyes ambivalently twinkle with disdain and acrimony likewise with everyone else. A storm of glass fragments brews in his heart, the remnants lodging in the fresh lacerations. He could not ever adjust to this life of perpetual critcism and intolerance especially if he couldn’t be accepted by her. To him, her muted existence is a repetition of pain, a capital punishment. She is an incurable illness that couldn’t be forgotten for as long as he continued to sustain life. Hoping that he could count down the seconds until she came upon the revelation that he is still the same person she knew of and return, he knew entirely too well that it is a faithless conviction. For his malignant existence in this world, he has paid the price by being isolated from the rest of the world. His outlook on life which like a plant was once a lush green coloration until it withered to a brittle brown. There is no special way to escape this fate no matter how good natured he is until the others’ views hypocritically judged the question of his existence. Even his image in the mirror has become his opponent. Maroon locks frame his face, and talon like claws rest at his sides. Lurid horns protrude from his head, and fangs are notable from a distance.


  8. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane…Good song! Whatever happened to Creed? I wonder if the band’s still together.

    @ Kathleen…Glad to hear it. :) 

  9. Jen says:

    Impossibly, the blue sky tilted toward my window. Impossibly, the verdant, spiraling green of the oaks and elms wavered a wake up call, their branches bowing in the breeze, falling into a rhythm with the boys chanting for breakfast, giggling with Daddy. 
    I lay in bed, adjusting my eyes and my mind to the day ahead. We had not solved anything, Mercy and me. A storm had passed between us; we had survived. This was to have been our special day, the day we had looked forward to all spring. I knew I was strong enough to remain her friend within the confines of her home, or in the yard, or down by the Arkansas. I didn’t know if I had the power to cord myself to her downtown, to chain my brown skin to her in public. 
    “Getting a job today,” I announced at the table. 
    Mama smiled wide, the smile of one with the inside story. Daddy paused from smacking and slurping his food down, racing the boys to finish first. 
    Are you?” he asked. His face was two separate molds, pinched together just under his nose, like the sculptor had not finished the work yet, not being able to decide if his sculpture was proud, happy or concerned. His eyes spoke loudly the fear Daddy had for me, for all of us. “Going downtown?” 
    I nodded. Is it possible to add a paragraph of thoughts into a gesture? I wanted him to know I would be okay. That I was a big girl. That I could manage the city. That I was ready to work, that I understood how it was. I counted his breaths as I waited for the lecture, or the warning, or the verbal shoulder punch. He paid me a compliment. “You look lovely. You’ll find word in no time with a smile like that.” I’d not expected that. 
    Of course I wasn’t as confident as all that and they didn’t know what had passed between Mercy and me in the past few days. I had little confidence in my acting skills, but they served me just fine that morning. To stir up my courage, to display my easygoing attitude, I jumped off the  porch stairs while the front door was still ajar, so everyone could see how light and free I felt as I scooted off to get a job. 
    I swallowed hard, pretending not to feel the weight of each limb and sinew, pulling me with fear back towards my house, my bedroom, my covers. 

  10. Shane Arthur says:

    Living without power sucks when you lack self-sufficiency power.

    Are you ready for the next one?

    Able to cut the cord of dependency and climb the necessary stairs?

    Then get busy in the brown dirt and natural environment.

    Storm through gardening and country-living books.

    Adjust your perspective.

    Pay your dues until the next disaster won’t be anything special.

    Just another day to count the ways you’re better off than you were before.

    • Oi, Shane! the new design is loverly. I love your entry, too. I may yet follow its advice. Blasted modern conveniences…




      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Mitch: The color scheme needs work, I agree. We just had to get something up there that wasn’t breakin’ stuff. A better design is down the road.

  11. Pull the cord, honey, the electricity is about to go crazy. It is not due to the storm. The technical term is brown out, but I still have to adjust our consumption. It does not matter that you paid the bill. What? You’re not special, are you? The Almighty Light and Power does not distinguish between good behavior and negligence. If worse comes to worst, you’ll just have to count the stairs in the dark.

    Inspired by our power outages and loss of Internet connectivity. 

  12. Rebecca says:

    @ Mitch…Nothing’s wrong with dark brown. 🙂 You do what you have to do to include a word in a CCC. Lol!

    @ Shane…I see the website got a makeover with Genesis. They have some nice templates.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Rebecca: Yeah, the Genesis is another fine one. Although, for now, it’s just plain Jane for now. A new design will come up down the road. I’m still getting used to how clear everything is.

  13. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane… So far, I’m happy with Genesis and StudioPress. I chose a funkier theme for my writer website so there wasn’t too much to tweak, but my personal development site is another story. I’d love to take some web design classes.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s