Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #264

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’T do those, either.)

  1. Blubber
  2. Stride
  3. Pitch
  4. Filter
  5. Sound
  6. Perhaps
  7. Crop
  8. Cheap
  9. Frame
  10. Roll

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:
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there


44 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #264”

  1. Lynne says:

    “Enough is enough!” Ginny muttered as she knocked on the door to her manager’s office and prepared to give her pitch.

    “What now?”

    “Uh, oh, I don’t like the sound of that,” Ginny thought to herself as, bolstering her courage, she opened the door anyway. Holding the door frame for support, Ginny lifted her chin, ready to do battle.

    “It’s about this photo…”

    “Well, what about it? You won employee of the month so your photo goes on the wall. End of argument, end of story.”

    “No way,” Ginny replied, hitting her stride, “Hell, I might have a small belly roll but this cheap uniform makes my belly look like blubber…”

    Disconcertingly, her manager started to laugh.

    “…Perhaps you could crop it?” she asked, hesitantly. “Or, maybe use a Photoshop filter? I will NOT have this photo hanging out there for everyone to see!”

    He laughed even harder.

    “Damn it, Harry, when you asked me to come in to fill in for your staff, getting my photo up there was NOT part of the deal!”

    Harry moved out from behind his desk, strode around behind Ginny and closed the door. Taking her in his arms, he gently kissed her.

    “Ha! So, now you are into sexual harrassment Harry?” Ginny chuckled, knowing she had won this battle.

    “Nah,” Harry laughingly replied, “It’s not harrassment when a man does what a man’s gotta do to end an argument with his wife.”

    Locking the door behind them, Harry set about showing Ginny just how much he loved that little belly roll. The next day, Ginny’s smiling, Photoshopped face beamed down at the customers from behind the counter of Harry’s fast food store and the only rolls to be seen were the ones carried out to be eaten.

  2. Liss Thomas says:

    Continuation from challenges 260, 262, 263. . . One more should finish this one. 🙂
    “Where are we?” Allie asked.
    “Close to Guardians.”
    “And they can take me home?” she asked.
    “Yes,” Belinak said.
    Their stride slowed as the forest gave way to a rolling meadow of tall grass.  Framing the meadow on all sides were enormous flower in lavender and teals and all sorts of strange colors.  A crop of white flowers with angular petals pitched forward and back, undulating in the soft breeze.  Allie ran her fingers over them and they seemed to lean into her.  Pale greens and blues began to filter into the once white petals but when she pulled away from them, the color returned to white.
    A hideous roar sounded around them.  A beast charged from the other side of the meadow, horns down, nostrils flared.  Its strong shoulders and torso showed no signs of blubber, only the muscular build of an efficient predator.
    Belinak, the troll threw down his weapons and stood his ground.  Allie grabbed his arm, pulling him but he would not budge.  Instead he pulled her before him, perhaps offering a cheap meal to the approaching beast.  The frothing monster skidded to a halt mere inches from them, its eyes showing disbelief.
    “A human?”  The words, growled more than spoken, shot a tremor through her.
    “Yes, she must return home,” Belinak said.
    Another sound rose from behind them that terrified her more than the beast before her.  The unmistakable cackles of the gangly creatures hunting them.  The horned beast lifted its massive head and sniffed the air.  It snarled and bristled, the hackles rising on its back.
    “We must hurry,” it said.

  3. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but I really do miss it…
    “Stop blubbering,” Bill hissed into Jane’s ear as he covered her mouth, hoping it would filter the sound of her fear.  “They’re inside.”

    She nestled further into him, pushing his back into the wall of the tiny closet. It was the only place they could hide together when they heard the night guards’ truck roll to a stop outside the old house they used for shelter.   The tiny frame forced them to sit, with his arms and legs wrapped around her so the old musty clothes could hide them from view.  He prayed she’d stop sobbing, there was no way the cheap door would muffle the pitch of her cries.

    The heavy footed stride of a night guard filled the room outside.  Jane’s heavy breaths formed a vacuum in his hand, but at least she wasn’t making a sound.  Bill strained to hear what was going on outside, trying to figure out where the creature was.  He knew it was near; he could almost smell the rot and decay from its claws.  The City had created a new crop of night guards, and these were said to be the most deadly of them all. 

    This was the last town before the gates of the fringe.  As long as they both made it out alive tonight, and together, the gatekeepers would let them in.

  4. K says:

    This is a bit of a long one.

    I wonder if it helped that I burned the blubber off my body. Perhaps then, I would be beyond reproach; I wouldn’t be the primary target. Yet, the sound of their simpers and jeers no matter how inaudible they assumed they voiced resonated in my ears. Filtering them out and feigning innocence proved to be futile. As much as I wanted to say that I had risen above those juvenile insults and ignored them, they honestly got under my skin. 
    I permitted my strides to guide me towards the devil’s cradle. Once I materialized in front of their faces, their remarks and grins dissipated, a sneer replacing their smiles. If teasing hadn’t been enough, the guys began to jab their hand into my side. Indignation clenched in the pit of my gut. While stuttering out my retort, I noticed my voice’s pitch had ascended, becoming almost whiny. One of the prominent people in the group, who I assumed was the leader of the pack, threw the first punch. Thanks to all those years of experiencing torment, I extended my hand on instinct and caught the fist. However, subsequent events immediately reached a downfall. A few of the guys surrounded me while the girls and others stepped back and converted to passive bystanders. Why they did nothing but spectate and seemingly encourage one person being thrashed around was beyond me; I had already given up hope on finding a savior. I focused all my energy on fending off attacks to no avail. At my breaking point, I allowed myself to succumb. I relaxed and felt a leg dig into my stomach and twist. The force of the impact propelled me towards the lockers. I rolled headfirst, and a deafening crack reverberated in my ears. Feeling as though my skull cracked open, my fingers touched my palpitating scalp. I retracted my hand to find viscous, scarlet blood running down my fingers. 

    The large congregation flocked towards me. They made snarky comments about my cheap standard of living and my whale of a frame in hushed whispers. One of the assailants directly advancing toward me wielded a small knife. I widened my eyes, shielding my face with my arm. Wanting to slip past, I tried putting pressure on the balls of my feet, then collapsed underneath my weight. His beady eyes regarded me darkly, shining with superiority. Before he could think to stab my arm, the bell’s peal signaling the students’ release rang, and everyone who had participated in this farce walked away and congenially chatted with one another as if nothing had happened. Soon, the corridors emptied out. I panted heavily, staggering to my feet. Unfortunately, the pain in my legs flared up and my head throbbed, distorting my surroundings. I slumped against the lockers and let my eyelids droop. Before I drifted into unconsciousness, something odd cropped up. Charlie, a guy I knew in my math class, loitered in the hallway branching off to my right. He met my gaze and held it then turned on his heel and walked away. The glimmering glint of hope in the distance blew away in the wind like sand. My eyes shut, yielding to the satiating darkness.
    For speaking out and trying to take action, I had ultimately lost in the end. Unlike those tales of heroism, being courageous was a problem.

  5. siggiofmaine says:

    Did you see the guy with the tall lanky frame
    and and rolls of blubber around his waist.
    Perhaps the cheap cropped jeans affected
    his stride and caused the high pitched voice that
    needed to be filtered down to a decent and
     tolerable sound.
    He thought perhaps his frame was sleek,
    that no one could see therollsof blubber
    the girls could see sneaking out from under
    the bottom of  his cheap cropped t-shirt.
    His stride was purposeful as he walked
    the beach, filtering out the sounds of laughter
    rolling on the waves. 
    Thanks for the challenge
    Siggi in Downeast Maine, USA

    • Now, there’s a confident so-and-so. LOL
      Glad he left the Speedos home, though!
      Nice to see you, Siggi!
      p.s. Did you finish your werewolf novel?

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Siggio: :)  It’s all about inner frame. If you think your a bas-ass, so shall it be.

  6. Zeus went down to the sea. He called out to Triton, “My head hurts!”

    Triton sprang up from the foam, a wry smile upon his barnacle-encrusted lips. “You sly bastard. Why do you insist on banging bed frames with cheap mortal strumpets?” In one great stride, Triton was on dry land.

    Zeus, in spite of his pain, roared with laughter. “Metis, no mortal she, was quite a tasty morsel, if you catch my meaning.”

    Triton, in his turn, roared with glee.  “You swallowed? Eurgh! That headache is what you get for emulating a black widow spider! Perhaps you should adjust your carnal filter; you can’t keep treating your wives like whores and your whores like queens.”

    “Aye, would that I could behold a maiden that  I dare not touch. I would forsake the next comely lass if only this headache would abate!”

    At that moment, Hephaestus rolled onto the beach in his personal hover chariot. “Daddy-o, where’s the Argo? I’m expecting a bumper crop of whale blubber.”

    “Speak Greek, you club-footed freak! Make yourself useful and craft an augur to relieve the pressure in my skull.”

    Angrily, the affronted Hephaestus snarled, “I’ll do better than that, sire.” So saying, he pulled a labrys from his garments and pitched it right between the eyes of Zeus.

    Lo and behold, out popped Athena. Luckily, she had donned a helmet, for the axe was embedded in it. She jumped down onto the sand, looked up at the big man and said, “Daddy?”

    Triton, Zeus and Hephaestus burst out laughing. Triton clapped Zeus on the back and quipped, “Well, I suppose you got your wish. I’ll take care of her. I sense that she will be a great asset on Olympus.”

    With that, he blew a terrible blast on his conch shell. The sound waves morphed into a watery vortex, rose twenty cubits in height and washed over the beach. When the waters had subsided, Triton and Athena were gone, leaving a thoroughly drenched father and son to wonder what the future promised.

    • K says:

      You don’t know how much I like mythology. This was great! Family reunion with Zeus, eh? I do agree that he shouldn’t be so frisky. Where’s Hera when you need her?

    • This was very cool, Mitch.  You are such a seasoned story-teller. 

      • Thanks, Mieke. I do enjoy discovering serendipitous connections between the characters in myths and fairy tales, and then twisting them into something slightly askew. 🙂

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitch: Damn, Mitch. You had me busting out laughing with this one. Extra bonus points on using cubits too. I hope everyone knows how much you put into these. If I were to write that, I’d have to spend 30 minutes researching it all. 🙂

      • @Shane, that, right there, is why I do these. You know, I’ve seen “guru” writing sites that suggest we stop writing for writers and start writing for readers. Forget that noise – I enjoy making up stories and, if writers want to read them, well, y’all become MY readers, right? LOL
        I do spend about 45 minutes tootling around Wikipedia and other cool sites for background. I do recall a little bit of the stuff from my school days but, you know…memory and all that, can’t be trusted.

  7. Shane Arthur says:

    Still loving the freestyle form . . .

    Only Bert’s blubber could keep stride with the pitch of his spittle. Food was his filter; his chafed flesh rubbing together was his sound. Perhaps the operation would indeed crop his cravings, and the cheap therapy would indeed meld his frame. Until then, Bert determined to roll with the rolls.

  8. Arynn Ryann says:

    Tim awoke to the sound of his mother’s high heels clunking around on the hard wood floor upstairs. He made a half roll over and squinted his eyes toward the cheap battery powered alarm clock on his dresser. A blinking red blur scattered light back onto his face in the darkness of the basement. Extending his hand into the drawer of his little wooden nightstand, he shuffled around for his glasses. When they were finally found, Tim groggily sat up to a winking 12:00AM. It must have stormed last night.

    “Rent or you’re out, Tim!” The pitch of his mother’s voice hurdling down the stairs shattered his eardrums and harvested a sinking feeling in his gut. Tim popped out of bed and tried to catch her before she grabbed her keys taking an angry stride through the back door slamming it securely shut behind her. The air upstairs smelt of crisp rain. Tim made a left toward the bathroom as the tires of her car screeched out of the driveway. The clock in the bathroom read 7:45AM. He carried out his regular morning routine of brushing his teeth while avoiding his reflection in the mirror at all costs. Today, though, he accidentally caught a tiny glance at his greasy thick brown hair and equally greasy face saturated with red pimples. He couldn’t bring himself to look down at the horrific mound of blubbler that had been building up on his pale midsection. 

    He retired to the basement, immediately powered up his computer, and signed on. Perhaps today his guild would finally do some worth while work. This was where he was comfortable. Here, he was home. His mother’s words finally stopped reeling through his head, and all reality around him fell away. He was in a beautiful world where he was leader, confident even. Suddenly, in the midst of tending his crop for harvest, his computer shut down with a horrible groan. The screen went black. The power was out again. He sat for a moment in the darkness where real life quickly caught up to him.The gravity of being pulled away so quickly from his safe place was almost too much.

    His mind zoomed out. He was a man, sitting in a dreary basement, staring at a computer screen, adding a disgusting amount of mass to his already vile, meaty body. He was no longer able to filter out the putrid truth. The ring of the doorbell interrupted his small epiphany. He had to force himself to climb the mountain of stairs and face another person, a person who was surely better than him. When he reached the top of the flight he half expected it to be raining outside. The sun shone on his fair skin and nearly blinded him as he opened the door. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, I wasn’t even sure if anybody was home, but  is your power on over here?” He looked down on a tiny young woman, about his own age, clutching an acoustic guitar that she managed to make look giant. Her shiny brown hair framed her glowing face perfectly. Tim wanted so badly to say yes, so badly for her to come in, but he  was of no help.
    “No, no power here, either, sorry.”
    “Oh, alright, no problem… well, did you want to maybe come over for a bit until it’s back up? I’m working on some songs, I’d love some input.”
    “Sure, where do you live?”
    The girl pointed to the house next door. Tim was awestruck. He shut the door behind him and followed her nervously over. It was beautiful outside, and he couldn’t help but take the rainbow overhead as a sure sign that things were going to get better.   

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Arynn: Welcome to the CCC. Excellent first submission. Had me disgusted, then rooting for this character. Well done.
      What did you think of the challenge?
      Everyone welcome Arynn to the end of writer’s block.

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @Arynn – Welcome to the CCC!

        Here the blubber of lost hope takes on the stride of renewed joy. We pitch our words with no filter to the sound of harmony we choose. Perhaps we know the meaning of the latest crop of words. Perhaps we don’t. But, it does not matter as we transform cheap to pearls and frame creativity in an honor roll of success.


  9. Cathy Miller says:

    For all the blubber surrounding his latest hit, Mark pretty much took it in stride. The days of the desperate pitch appeared behind him and he no longer had to filter the sound of rejection as those of misguided fools. Perhaps that crop had found its justified doom.

    For the first time, cheap was a foreign word and he could frame his life in the musical notes of his rock-n-roll soul. Life was good.

  10. Rebecca says:

    Take your life in stride.
    If you have to blubber every day over past and present mistakes, do it. 
    Filter out all of the toxicity from your body and mind.
    Perhaps, all you need is a good cry.
    Try your best to roll with the punches life throws at you.
    Swing at a pitch and don’t get upset if you miss.
    Frame each failure and move forward in life.
    Crop out people and situations that no longer serve you.
    It’s not taking the cheap and easy way out.
    It’s a sound decision to transform your life.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Rebecca: If you do 365 of these, you should put them into one of those daily calendar things. I’d buy it.

  11. Rebecca says:

    @ Shane… Thank you! I want to put them into a little pocket book or a calendar would be good. I’ve been scoping out little pocket books wherever I go to get an idea of page length and color schemes. Stay tuned! 🙂

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