Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #278

Today we have professional writer, Holly Jahangiri, choosing the words for our writing prompt challenge. She delights on the true meaning of challenge. Will you quit when you see these words? I hope not.

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. Panacea - a remedy for all ills or difficulties : cure-all.
  2. Disingenuous – Not candid or sincere
  3. Tenuous – Very weak or slight; Very slender or fine; insubstantial
  4. Pandemic
  5. Etymology – The study of the origin of words and the way in which their meanings have changed throughout history.
  6. Tenebrous – Dark; shadowy or obscure.
  7. Murine – Of, relating to, or affecting mice or related rodents;
  8. Adumbrate –Report or represent in outline; Indicate faintly; sketch
  9. Panegyric – A public speech or published text in praise of someone or something.
  10. Verdigris – a green or greenish blue poisonous pigment resulting from the action of acetic acid on copper, consisting of one or more basic copper acetates

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.)



85 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #278”

  1. I delight in driving people to a dictionary, too, Shane – you’re too kind!

    Just FYI, I haven’t yet written anything on my own challenge, here – but I will. It wouldn’t be fair of me not to, would it? (May be a little while – I have work and an office move today, but I feel honor bound to share your pain before the weekend.)

  2. Shane Arthur says:

    Holly, I had SO much fun with this one.

    I’d be disingenuous if I didn’t admit that my cooking skills are legendary and panegyric-worthy. Like my pandemic panacea pancakes, tenuous turkey tenderloin salad, tenebrous meatloaf, marinated murine medallions, Verdigris-colored shallot soup adumbrated with a pinch of garlic—all which would make even the most obtuse etymologist yell, “Zip Zow, I gots ta get me some more of dat yum-yum bippity-bum!”

  3. Jennifer says:

    The funeral panegyric adumbrated the early scientist’s tragic demise, when looking at the etymology of the praise given to his work  by the tenebrous philosopher Erebus in his native language. Some thought thought Erebus disingenuous in his eulogy, but it was Erebus that the scientist confided the details of  his research in.
    The scientist was experimenting with verdigris as a panacea for the Plague which had taken hold of the region. He was testing for side effects on mice.  The side effects in the mice showed to be tenuous and the scientist was very sure he was on the path to a cure when he fell gravely ill.
    Little did he know the pandemic was murine.

  4. I admit, this one was a challenge and the poem may not totally congeal well but did the best I could.

    Political Crumbling
    This murine politician’s pathetic panegyric
    disingenuous verdigris numbers nearly new
    proposed panacea of tenebrous tenuous turmoil
    etymology excitedly reveals repeating results
    pandemic fiscal irresponsibility; inaction irritating
    the crumbling of an assuming adumbrate aristocracy

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Justin G: That was OUT OF SITE! My dislike of politicians notwithstanding.

    • Liss Thomas says:

      The words lend themselves perfectly to politics!  😉

    • Justin, you done good! I love this line:
      the crumbling of an assuming adumbrate aristocracy
      Ayn Rand had something to say about them!

      • Shane Arthur says:

        @Mitch: Ironic that I heard an Ayn Rand quote yesterday, something to the extent of, “The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those denying individual rights can’t be defenders of minorities.”

        • Shane, I’m going to have to get her stuff from Amazon. Kindle or not, they make great reading!

        • I think Ayn Rand would be disgusted by so many of her fans, today. Unless I lost the power of understanding when I read her books, it’s amazing to me how people can twist her words to mean what serves them best. I love this essay on “sacrifice”: http://aynrandlexicon.com/lexicon/sacrifice.html – now who wants to “sacrifice” for others?

          • Shane Arthur says:

            @Holly: I’ve never read any of her stuff. Just know the name and heard a quote. I’ll check that link out though.

          • That’s the problem, I think, with people like Paul Ryan claiming to be “fans.” First of all, Ayn Rand was atheist. She wrote about living in accordance with your highest values (as you’ll see when you read the essay). It’s not about “not giving to those in need” – it’s about “not giving to those in need if you don’t value your fellow man.” To thine own self be true… But it’s so easy to latch onto the fact that she used words like “virtue of selfishness” and that she was opposed to “altruism” and “sacrifice” without actually READING or understanding the point. The point being, we only get this one life. Re: the essay – If you value the hat more than the baby, you should buy the hat – but what people miss is that if you do that, you suck as a mom and probably shouldn’t BE one.

          • Shane Arthur says:

            @Holly: The last few years I’ve been doing my best to avoid listening to ANY words from ANY politician. I’m much happier now. 😉

          • Hope you’re able to stay that way. 

            I didn’t mean to drag politics in here, Shane – just that decision by indecision and avoidance only works if you truly DON’T care, either way, about the outcome.

          • Shane Arthur says:

            @Holly: No worries at all. You can bring up anything you want here.
            I do care, and follow; just not listening directly to the horses’ asses, but I’ve undertaken a goal of self sufficiency and as such I have so many other things to do with my time. Just by cutting out my nightly television viewing, for example, I’m freed up 40 hours a month to write, read, garden, etc.

          • That’s wise. I’m not sure you can get much real news from TV these days, anyway – better to read, and reading’s faster. I do plan on watching the debates, if I’m home from work in time and don’t have more pressing (or fun) things to do those nights. 😉

            I generally check out the highlights on politifact and factcheck.  

  5. Liss Thomas says:

    I certainly hope I used these words correctly! 🙂

    Fury rose from tenebrous depths as he listened by the door.  The boy had touched a human and his father, his King would do nothing about it.  Of course the human girl child would quest to become a monster, like that was a panacea to the heinous crime.  He would have to confront the King without sounding disingenuous to the boy’s plight.
    Moving away from the door he walked with purpose back to his quarters seething hate that turned his insides verdigris and sour.  Others would offer panegyrics to their King for his wisdom.  Humans could become a murine pandemic, invading the realm and destroying the clan.
    An adumbrate plan started to form.  Their culture would not see destruction from a race so tenuous as the humans.  He pulled out a copy of their laws and plowed through them in a study of Etymology, a way to twist the words and condemn the boy and his human, even perhaps the King.  Duty to save the clan must come first, he thought as he warped the written word to his will.

  6. Three blind mice. Three blind mice.
    See how they run. See how they run.
    They all ran after the farmer’s wife,
    Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
    Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
    As three blind mice?

    “We need to deactivate Q, now!” The mad-looking scientist didn’t wait for a response; he slammed down the phone and stared in horror at his desktop monitor.

    Jeffrey Freelander rarely misinterpreted the output from the University’s Quantum Grid Server. He rigorously applied critical analysis to even the most immutable list of dry facts. In the seven years that the server had been online, he had failed only once. Of course, that fiasco had occurred within the first week, during a public demonstration.

    To be fair, the engineers had been a bit disingenuous about the quality of the seed databases. The military advisors, whose alphabet soup agencies were funding the massive computer project, had not cared about finding or placing blame. Rather, they were content to let Dr. Freelander bear the brunt of the embarrassment for “Q”s dismal performance at the annual Neural Network Olympics. Jeffrey had tenure, so the only thing that could be done to punish him was to slash his funding budget. He knew that Dr. Weinstein, the head of the Department, by not defending Jeffrey, was lashing out in retaliation for having been humiliated by the news media’s constant replaying of Weinstein’s panegyric of artificial intelligence.

    Jeffrey swore that he would get to the root of the problem. Naturally, he hadn’t been allowed to poke and prod at the physical beast. That had been of no consequence; Jeffrey wasn’t expecting to pop open an access panel and triumphantly reveal a nest of verdigris-encrusted copper wires. Such corrosion, if present, would hardly bring down every node in the grid. The answer was to be found, not in the tenebrous innards of a soulless machine, but in the clarity of carefully structured queries.

    After two years and thousands of refinements to his analytical processes, Jeffrey had found his bête noire: a poorly-written etymology engine. The famous query, which came to be known as “Freelander’s Fallacy”, asked the computer to analyze the children’s nursery rhyme, Three Blind Mice. The initial response, an adumbrated literal concordance, seemed robust enough to pass the Turing test. Indeed, the output read like the homework assignment of an elementary school child who had only just learned to grasp the nuances of reading comprehension. The server logs told a different story: Q had arrived at its seemly accurate conclusion by way of a series of tenuous assertions.

    Chief among these were the paths leading from a pair of words in the verse to the etymology database. The database was associative, meaning that data was distributed in various nodes and linked to each other in a variety of ways. Patterned after the biological brain, the etymology database even had an electronic equivalent of a hippocampus, which allowed the database to learn from new queries. Jeffrey discovered that, by submitting queries with exactly three repetitions of a three-word phrase, this hippocampus would have a seizure! Thereafter, until the system was reinitialized with a new query, all results from the etymology were delivered in order of least relevance.

    His findings became part of the cautionary tales told to freshman students in Robotics 101. Of course, every student had to try to break the computer with nonsensical queries until, finally, the engineers created a buffer that held hundreds of repetitions; much larger than the query input form itself. This panacea remained in place, even after software upgrades converted the main sources of query input from text to digitized speech and direct database to database transfers.

    This oversight was directly related to Jeffrey’s panicked outburst on the phone. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. However, the latest log server reports clearly and literally pointed to a resurrection of the murine fallacy. A research assistant from the National Center for Biodefense and Infectious Diseases had been borrowing computer time at the University. She had entered the genome of the bacterium responsible for three human pandemics, including the Black Death. She had meant to ask for a comparative analysis with another bacterium, called Wolbachia. Unfortunately, she had mistyped the commands and initiated a nonsensical Robotics 101 query on the ridiculously long string that represented the plague genome.

    The engineer’s buffer was overrun and the hippocampus seized. The other nodes were queried but, because the string contained no words, they went into a catastrophic backtracking type of infinite loop that slowly ate away half of the accumulated knowledge before the system could respond. The query was terminated but, according to the logs, a remnant was worming its way through the servers, wreaking random havoc at the rate of one megabyte per hour. Jeffrey had no idea where the remnant was heading but, if it hit any critical nodes, the server would be rendered useless.

    He picked up the phone again.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitch: DUDE . . . I’M NOT GOING TO SAY IT!

      But, how in the hell did you think of this? I’d love to get a summary of the process of how you put this together. Outstanding.

      • Thanks, Shane. It’s actually backgrounder material for an idea I’m developing on a site Holly and I started: Race2Hugo, which is itself a teaser for a deeper story.
        I knew I had to do that when the word etymology appeared. In fact, I wonder if Holly was nudging me…
        Anyway, murine, pandemic suggested the mice and disease connection, while the rest was just practice on how to describe a complex computer system without really revealing HOW the damned thing works. I learned from Holly how to abstract such details so as to minimize (hopefully) the boredom – I don’t want to do a Tom Clancy, after all. His stuff is based on real machines; mine are total fabrications of the hippocampus. LOL

    • Whoa!! Yes – I do love being a Muse. A Muse with a mouse… and a carving knife. Held me riveted, Mitch! 

  7. K says:

    Nice! New words to learn from left and right! This was arguably one of the most difficult yet.

    Forging onward on the fairly trodden path, every tenuous step, despite their light mark on the worn road, resonated deep within the earth. She trailed the congregations beginning to flock the Pinnacle, making sure to obscure herself in the encroaching tenebrosity the alleyways provided. With one hand stauching the blood flow on her side, she staggered closer in order to witness the Sovereign address the question of military conflict to his people. She narrowed her eyes at the familiar face and clutched the vial in her left hand tighter. The Sovereign, also known as Kris behind his high and mighty persona, opened up with a panegyric of the country’s fortitude during this duration of peril then rambled on about the preservation of precedents to deal with these unfortunate miscommunications. As Kris went about his speech in the identical manner of the Event or any occurrence requiring his appearence, disgust and anger twisted in the pit of her gut. No matter how benevolent or meticulous the Sovereign aimed to be, she smelled the murine stench of duplicity emanating from him and knew behind that smiling countenance lied a truly disingenuous person who crossed any boundary possible. 
    What kind of pandemic was this when the people’s leader misguided them? What was this justice they spoke of when mentioning the intended genocide of the foreigners? Supposedly, stripping others of resources called for the annhilation of an entire race. If the citizens wanted this justice, then the etymology of the word must have retrogressed, considering her definition of justice didn’t match with theirs. Perhaps, they don’t understand, she thought many times throughout her journey. Maybe they can’t grasp the feeling of being helpless knowing that death was a stone throw’s away. Maybe they don’t recognize the pain of watching someone die in front of their eyes because of their impotence against the opposition. No, they perfectly comprehended that. Those concepts founded this country she arguably called home.
    She snapped out of her daze as the crowd whooped and cheered for the Sovereign. Several citizens cried at the sheer magnitude of his words. A shiver ran down her spine when a wave of nostalgia transported her elsewhere. Materializing in front of a dome shaped building in the middle of the desert, memories of the Event surfaced: the banquet, the period training with her master and friends, the encounter with lethal verdigris on an ancient coin, and the Event itself. The Event, held annually in the Main Province as decreed by the Sovereign, involved sending four sacrificial lambs from each province to participate in a war sparing no ounce of blood. She went in as a participant and witnessed her allies and friends perish in battle while she emerged victorious. Subsequently after, her master asked her, his lowly vassal, to accompany him on a borderline implausible, fantastical operation and unravelled the treacheries of the government with the aid of three allies. Now, she remained alone in front of the Pinnacle just mere meters away from the Sovereign.
    A few people milled around in the square while most rushed into the Pinnacle to attend a national banquet. Solaced by the nearly devoid area, she stepped out from the alleyway. The waning sun bathed the setting in an orangish yellow. She felt strength surge into her. The plan, adumbrated by Crystal a week before, had been set in motion after many obstructions along the way. She hobbled toward the Pinnacle, feeling the stabbing pain of the laceration on her side. She tried not to concentrate on it. If there was to be a panacea for the outlook of this world, the tube in her hand contained it. A rueful smirk crossed her face as she approached the entrance. Yet again, an invitation to a banquet fell into her lap, and it will end like how it began with the Sovereign and her vying for victory. But unlike last time, this banquet spelled out the end of the road for her.

  8. Clothed in verdigris, the lady stepped out onto the sea wall. To the north and to the south, as far as she could see, they camped there, huddled together on the sand for warmth, fearful of the bone-chilling cold that would creep in on the heels of a setting sun. The few nearest her feet looked up at her expectantly, her body adumbrated by the setting sun, though they hardly dared to hope that the Mother of Exiles could save them now.
    There were so many of them – hundreds, maybe a thousand or more, driven from their homes by the murine plague, that inescapable pandemic. They were exhausted. They had fled the cities, the villages, and now – now there was nowhere else to go. They were lured here by the fresh, clean promise of rhythmic tides that washed the world clean each night by the light of a cold moon. An eloquent panegyric to the healing power of ocean salts and mineral waters gave them hope, though it had been delivered by the Medic General, mere hours before he, himself, succumbed. Some of them, desperate and miserable, just kept walking east until the dark and merciful sea swallowed them up.
    The masses crept in, each day, on anything that would float. The lady pulled the beacon from her cloak and flicked the switch: on, off, on, off, on, off. Each time the light went on, it chased the tenebrous shadows away, revealing the raw, plague-ravaged faces, the etymology of The Blue Death written on their lips—lips encrusted with bluish scabs, like old barnacles. Even the newborns were not spared. The raspy, labored breathing of the sick made the lady’s own chest tighten in sympathy. When she had their attention, she flicked her torch on and pointed it heavenward.
    Their tenuous hold on life depended on the panacea none knew existed. It would be disingenuous to pretend that there was enough to go around; it would be cruel to let them all drown in the tempestuous sea. In the end, she cast her lot with them, throwing wide her golden gates, inviting a shivering, fevered river of humanity to flood up her walkway and encamp on her estate. There was warm soup to feed them; there were loaves laced with the precious cure – and loaves without. Even the lady did not know which held life and which filled their bellies with empty comfort and unfounded hope. By morning’s light, it would be clear. For now… a bit of kindness shown with open arms would be enough. 

  9. […] Lady Lifts Her Lamp by Holly Jahangiri Shane Arthur of Creative Copy Challenge not only welcomed me back to the fold despite my unexplainable disappearance of a few months, he […]

  10. Lebbie says:

    Future scientists will adumbrate on its origins.  Tenuous theories will be debated, ranging from the absurd that will blame verdigris to the serious that will suggest a murine source.  Monuments will be erected and panegyrics will be delivered honoring the researchers who will eventually create the panacea.  Yet, history will be forever ignorant on the tenebrous root of the most deadly pandemic of the past millennium.  Mankind will never know the seed was unintentionally planted with a disingenuous welcoming feast for a visiting student of etymology.          

  11. Anthony Smits says:

    Micah stayed by the rail where he’d slept. He sat up and leaned against it. Nothing was trying to kill him right now; he could rest. He felt the comfortable lump in the pouch of his crys belt, and glanced at Garth who was watching the town recede behind them. The boat heeled further as she stood out further from the mouth of the bay. He’d been musing over his Ma’s strange actions.
    “I know you aren’t wreathed yet, said Micah, “so maybe you don’t care, but have you noticed all the stillborn babies lately?
    “Is there a pandemic or something?”  Garth didn’t sound convinced. 
    Micah shook his head. “Someone or something, more likely.”  He couldn’t voice what he’d seen; his Ma preparing tea blends with poisonous herbs. Or what she’d said: a disingenuous reply that hadn’t reassured.
    A brass cleat was screwed into the rail near where his hand rested; he stroked a verdigris stain idly. “Maybe my Ma has been making mistakes.”
    “A tenuous connection. And Rose is feii-trained. They don’t make mistakes. Any panacea your Ma ever made for me did the trick. I used to love when she carefully-”
    “Enough,” interrupted Micah. “No need for a panegyric.” They were sailing through a patch of cloud shadow; sullen waves slapped the wooden sides. An increased wind whipped spray off the tops.
    The men both looked over the rail at the tenebrous sea. 
    “Shall we go below, Micah? I think the women are in the deck cabin.
    Micah shuddered. “Not me. I had a glance when we boarded. I’d have to be desperate to shelter in that murine hole.”
    Garth looked at the bird that rested on Micah’s wrist guard. “You could send Arn down there.” He grinned.
    Micah stroked his eagle’s head feathers softly. “Leave him, he’s happy resting. Why don’t you tell me about the  plan you have to change way we cast nets. Give me a quick adumbrate.”
    “A what?” Garth punched him lightly in the shoulder. “I didn’t take etymology, you know. Quit with the big words.”
    Arn opened an eye and flexed his claws. Grateful for his thick gauntlet, Micah wondered if the creature was considering a fist snack.

  12. Briony Coote says:

    It was table topics time at my Toastmasters Club and Gary Dunlop* was Table Topics Master of the meeting. For those who don’t know, table topics is where we speak for up to two minutes on a topic we probably know absolutely nothing about. It’s how we learn to speak off the cuff.

    Anyway, in true Gary Dunlop fashion, he had brought out his book on long and obscure words that you would need a dictionary to know the meaning of. Gary just loves to throw words like glebous, disingenuous, etymology or murine at us and watch how we make a two minute speech out of those words. With words like those, most of us had to resort to the last resort of table topics – make something up! And then we all groan when Gary comes out with the actual meaning of the word at the end.

    That was what Tony was currently doing with the latest word twister – panegyric. “I know what panegyric is because I’ve got it in my car – it’s part of the car’s mechanism….” And Tony goes into a long discourse of his totally made up career as a mechanic who had to repair panegyrics on a regular basis. Then at the end Gary tells us: “Panegyric – A public speech or published text in praise of someone or something.” We really squirm at that because we’re speech makers.

    If you’re lucky, Gary might give you some word you may have some vague idea about. Jane got ‘pandemic’ and was able to run with pandemics of swine flu and Asian bird flu. Henry got ‘verdigris’ and ran a topic on how verdigris was one of the green paints he uses for his acrylics. It wasn’t quite correct: “Verdigris – a green or greenish blue poisonous pigment resulting from the action of acetic acid on copper, consisting of one or more basic copper acetates.” Well, at least Henry got the ‘pigment’ bit right – sometimes it’s the sound of the word and verdigris did sound like something you use in painting. Lisa got ‘panacea’ and used it to follow on from Jane’s topic on pandemics to tell us how she was researching for panaceas that would cure us of these pandemics.

    Sometimes the word is just too difficult – someone tries to run with it but it soon proves tenuous and they give up and sit down despite all the helpful interjections and efforts to make something up. This is what happened when Fred got the word ‘tenebrous’ – he tried to make something out of how it must be part of an animal or something. But he soon ran out of thread and sat down.

    And there’s ‘adumbrate’ – I reckon it’s one of Gary’s favourites. The way he says it – it’s got such a powerful roll on the ‘dumb’. Whenever Gary runs this type of table topics you are guaranteed to hear ‘adumbrate’ in it somewhere. But we never remember – that’s what happens when we don’t use big words like these. So these words are all guaranteed to obfuscate us all over again at the next table topics session with Gary’s words.

    * His name has been changed, but we really do have him in our club, and he really does throw this kind of thing at us. So when I saw these words, I immediately knew how to use them.

  13. Cathy Miller says:

    Mort’s tufts of hair stood straight out as though channeling a distant planet. His glasses slipping down a bulbous nose fogged from the mix of chemicals. 

    Many thought him odd, but running the Panacea Palace was a challenge few would undertake. He cared little about the disingenuous praise of colleagues who snickered behind his back

    His formula was tenuous, at best, but it was all they had. Somewhere in its molecular make-up was the magic elixir for a pandemic world, hidden in the mystery of etymology.

    A flash of lightening went unnoticed as it illuminated the tenebrous tomb that was Mort’s home of choice, shared only by the murine dwellings that adumbrate a plan of doom.

    If only he could find the right formula, his life’s work would read like a panegyric of scientific success. He held his breath as the test tube liquid swirled into a verdigris mixture of hope.

    Had he done it?  

  14. Karetha Miller says:

    Sitting at his desk, Herbert pondered the best approach for the panegyric he hoped to release tomorrow in honor of his mother, Betty Jean Humboldt. She was turning 90 years old, and he wanted to recognize her contributions to the field of etymology. He gazed out the office window into the cloudy afternoon. The verdigris awning shaded the weak light from reaching the room, accentuating the tenebrous atmosphere around Herbert. He had scribbled down a few thoughts, mostly in adumbrate form with no detail or real idea of his purpose. He felt ill-equipped to write this piece without being disingenuous. His mother had been eccentric in her approach to the study of word origins. Somehow she believed that understanding would serve as a panacea. Herbert remembered the time of the rat pandemic in his boyhood home. His mother became convinced that studying all things murine would lead her to a solution. Herbert’s father told her the chance of success was tenuous, and then called the exterminator. The rat problem was solved. This approach was the story of Herbert’s childhood. His mother would approach life from an academic, theoretical perspective, while his pragmatic father took action and solved the problems. Turning back to his desk and the essay he was trying to write, Herbert sighed. Perhaps some artful flattery would save the day. There was no way he was going to tell the real story!

  15. Stephanie Lynn Nagel says:

    The etymology of love?
    A word with no history,
    Just feeling.
    The pandemic
    And the Panacea
    The tenebrous thrill 
    Of letting it cosume
    With a murine sensation
    Of squirming through your limbs
    It is the stem of all verdigris
    And the root of all cadmium
    But of all that it is
    It is never disingenou 

  16. Stephanie Lynn Nagel says:

    June 1, 2010

    You want to know the etymology of love?It is a word with no history,Just feeling.It is the pandemicAnd the Panacea.The tenebrous thrill Of letting it consumeWith a murine sensationOf squirming through your limbs.It is the stem of all verdigris,And the root of all cadmium.But of all that it is,It is neither disingenuous
    Nor tenuous. 
    Love: it is the base of all emotion-
    The most passionate of things.
    This is my adumbrate of a lesson
    That I learned
    From you. 

  17. Stephanie Lynn Nagel says:

    So I think my comment posted before. I messed up because my iphone would’t let me fix it for some reason. So here is the FINAL draft. Sorry!

    “June 1,2010”

    You want to know the etymology of love?
    It is a word with no history,
    But a feeling.
    It is the pandemic
    And the Panacea.
    The tenebrous thrill 
    Of letting it consume
    With a murine sensation
    Of squirming through your limbs.
    It is the stem of all verdigris,
    And the root of all cadmium.
    But of all that it is,
    It is neither disingenuous
    Nor tenuous. 
    Love: it is the base of all emotion;
    The most passionate of things.
    Without it there is neither splendor nor atrocity-
    Just being….
    This is my adumbrate of a lesson
    That I learned
    From you. 

  18. Rebecca says:

    Some ‘new age’ and self-help practitioners may give you a panacea for just about anything.
    Watch out because they could be disingenuous. 
    They prey on the tenuous and don’t reveal their tenebrous side.
    It’s almost as if people are murine for their cause.
    Listen carefully to the panegyric they spew – hear their words.
    Study their etymology.
    For these people may present adumbrate of advice that will work against you.
    It’s like verdigris that seeps into your mind, body, and soul.
    Stop the pandemic once and for all by finding the answers within yourself.

  19. Rebecca says:

    @Mitch… Thank you! It’s sad, but sometimes self-help isn’t any help. 🙂

    BTW: This was definitely a Creative Copy Challenge. Whew!

  20. Rebecca says:

    @Shane… It was a challenge!

  21. He straightened his bow tie and began his tirade. “Ah yes, it certainly is a tenuous panacea for the pandemic of ills that are blight on today’s society. The government’s panegyric towards their solution seemed to merely adumbrate the statistics showing the tenebrous effects that murine feces contributed, therefore preventing a concrete solution. I do believe they were disingenuous with their little verdigris coloured placebo. Even the etymology of the drug’s name points to the meaning of placebo. Yes, the future appears tenebrous.” 

    I sighed deeply. “Who the hell talks like you? All they said was take your vitamins, drink lots of water, don’t play with rat shit and you won’t get sick.”

  22. […] Creative Copy Challenge 278 […]

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