Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #285

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.) NOTE: Our bolding plugin is gone, so you’ll have to put <b> and </b> around each of your words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH.

  1. Chip
  2. Flip
  3. Dip
  4. Drip
  5. Clip
  6. Sip
  7. Tip
  8. Hip
  9. Gyp
  10. Nip

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.)

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31 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #285”

  1. Ode to Ice Cream

    My flava’s, Chocolate Chip
    One lick makes me Flip
    No, not one! Double Dip!
    I’m too fast, it won’t Drip
    Disappearing at a quick Clip
    Down to the cone, more to Sip
    I need another, leave a big Tip
    Through the door, using my Hip
    It looks smaller! What a Gyp!
    You want a taste? Well, just a Nip

  2. A Hole in the Sun
    “Babe, trust me, mnemonics are way better than nabbing test results.” Jim Tombstone was tutoring his friend and secret crush. Maddy was a dim bulb in a crusty chandelier, but he really dug her. He spent hours putting this ditty together for her. Her look of skepticism almost made Jim doubt himself.

    “A poem, seriously?” Maddy rolled her eyes and stuffed another taro chip into her mouth. She didn’t mean to sound flip, but sometimes, Jim went overboard with his study techniques. Last week, he had made her analyze the chemical composition of the Canteen’s salsa dip!

    “Not just any poem, Mads. I’ve programmed subliminal linguistics into it so that, depending on where you place the stress on each line, your brain will associate it with either Physics, Math or Geology. By reciting the poem twice a day, you’re essentially drip-feeding your brain. Come on, try it!” He scrawled the text onto her tab.

    “I don’t see any Physics or Math stuff, let alone Geology. And why are those words red?” Maddy angled the tab away from the sunlight. She could just make out the words Whose woods these are, I think I know.

    Jim sighed. “Subliminal linguistics does not operate at the optic level. It relies on voice, which is why you have to put the stress on the colored words. You’ll have to train the program to recognize your voice, so that it won’t clip the output and garble the feedback loop. To make things easy, red is for geology, blue is for physics and green is for math. You think the color and the appropriate stressed words will come up. I got the idea after watching you do that thing with the chameleon.”

    Maddy blushed. “That’s so sweet…” She took a sip of Cara Cara juice, which made her think of the color orange. The text disappeared. She giggled, “Oops! Did I do that?” She tried to tip the tab counter-clockwise to undo the last change. Instead, she accidentally brushed the device against Jim’s hip, causing him to blush violently. Now Maddy burst out laughing at his discomfort.

    Jim felt the swell of embarrassed anger rising in his throat. You stupid bitch. I’m trying to help you and you mock me? What a gyp! I should nip this bud and crush it.

    Maddy’s eyes narrowed. “I am not a bitch!” To make her point, she grabbed him up and kissed him.

  3. […] is my submission to Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #285, to see the other submissions, or to add one of your own, just go to the link and follow the […]

  4. This one took a little longer, but here it goes:

    ******
    The Trouble With Flip

    Flip (not the comedian from the ’70s) has a habit of inserting words, rhyming with his name, into everyday conversation.

    The problem for most people is they are usually malapropisms.

    For example:

    “You should gyp the problem in the bud, before things get out of hand.”

    “I am considered quite the nipster down at the jazz club, where I have been known to have a drip of whiskey now and then.”

    “Oh! Go take a sip in the lake.”

    “Don’t forget to chip the waitress, when you pay the bill for us.”

    “Doc, I have a real pain in my dip. Especially when I try to put on my tip boots for fly fishing.”

    “Hand me that paper hip for these forms.”

    “That girl is a real cliptomaniac.”

    It has become so bad that most of his friends go out of their way, to avoid talking to him.

    Moral: Make sure you use words correctly, lest you end up as an outcast.

    *****

  5. K Beach says:

    I began by taking a nip of the amaretto from the hip flask and swirled it into some melted unsalted butter. I did sip a larger measure for myself and resolved to press on. The instructions were vague. His only tip was to make sure the butter melted fully, but I let it brown to bring out the nuttiness and then added the syrup. As the last drip slid into the melted gold, the syrup took on a look of lava. Next, to add the ground almonds and then to prepare the fruit.

    Each pear was peeled and sliced wafer thin and then with each piece overlapping on the pastry, a beautiful spiral took shape. I tried to clip some small flowers from the lavender, but gave up, knowing that deviations would be unappreciated. Then, after pouring the almond gold over the pears and baking, and waiting for the seemingly interminable cooling time, I gave in to temptation.

    Perhaps I was a chip off the old block after all. Perhaps I could only do what he did and not what he said. Removed from the tin and presented on the stand, the tarte bordaloue looked perfect, but not perfect enough. With the soul of an anarchist I did what was not expected and improved upon his perfection with every dip of my paintbrush into the melted dark chocolate. I painted the edges of the pastry and flaked edible gold over the top. His verdict? To silently concede that I had surpassed his game with skill.

  6. K Beach says:

    Missed the first paragraph:

    He did gyp me that afternoon. Short of trying to flip a coin to decide whether he was going to give me all of the information, I had to blindly accept his version and the subsequent results.

    I began by taking a nip of the amaretto from the hip flask and swirled it into some melted unsalted butter. I did sip a larger measure for myself and resolved to press on. The instructions were vague. His only tip was to make sure the butter melted fully, but I let it brown to bring out the nuttiness and then added the syrup. As the last drip slid into the melted gold, the syrup took on a look of lava. Next, to add the ground almonds and then to prepare the fruit.

    Each pear was peeled and sliced wafer thin and then with each piece overlapping on the pastry, a beautiful spiral took shape. I tried to clip some small flowers from the lavender, but gave up, knowing that deviations would be unappreciated. Then, after pouring the almond gold over the pears and baking, and waiting for the seemingly interminable cooling time, I gave in to temptation.

    Perhaps I was a chip off the old block after all. Perhaps I could only do what he did and not what he said. Removed from the tin and presented on the stand, the tarte bordaloue looked perfect, but not perfect enough. With the soul of an anarchist I did what was not expected and improved upon his perfection with every dip of my paintbrush into the melted dark chocolate. I painted the edges of the pastry and flaked edible gold over the top. His verdict? To silently concede that I had surpassed his game with skill.

  7. Jen says:

    Hey! Missed you guys!

    Dr. Babs arrived early, carrying a zebra print satchel stuffed with syringes. She flipped her hair behind her bare shoulder, a blonde cascade that tumbled across her back. She set out her stations while I supplied mine. Kale chips with bamboo roasted sea salt on the marble island to dip in organic avocado hummus, Patron and shot glasses at the wet bar, rosemary ice cubes near the fridge and the lemon ginger infused spring water. To be sure, I opened a selection of bottles from the cellar and brought out the crystal glasses. I used the goblet with the chip in it; it matched my mood.

    The ladies arrived, dripping with gems that tugged at the skin on their papery ears. Each of our manicured finger tips selected small bites of food, nibbling the molecules. Never too much.

    Dr. Babs—whose credentials as a physician gave me doubtful pangs due to the dubious foreshortening of her Christian name—asked for a volunteer. Sip and Nip parties were passing into gauche, and I’d be damned to have the last one. I volunteered to be first, and the ladies tittered behind their swollen knuckled fingers. After Dr. Babs clipped back my hair, she let a hand linger on her hip as she decided where to start and how much to plump. There was enough surface area to go full bore.

    We emptied the bottles. We licked our fat lips of the stupid salt. It was not a gyp. We were pleased.

  8. K says:

    You look like you’re about to flip, so grab some chips. Maybe if you lighten up a little, you can grab some dip. Your tone towards me drips with venom as you say you never want to see me again. You sip your drink and slam it down on the table after I call you out on your lie. I know exactly what you’re thinking. Although you hate to admit it, you feel drawn here like kids to candy which they nip. You accuse me gypping you out of your innocence when the truth is you’re still intact. I know other people’s opinions and tips clip your hopes of being near me, and you flinch every time I touch you.

    Chill out. I get the hint. Do you honestly think I attack young girls with the thought of their full hips in mind? If you do, congratulations I’m officially hurt. We might as well be strangers. There I’ve said everything about it, so stop threatening to leave. Plus if I were that type of person, you would be the last person I’d go after. Okay, I’m sorry! I’m kidding! Now, can’t we just sit down as friends and watch the movie?

  9. mistyfan says:

    Continuation from CCC 281-284

    The new pipes had arrived, and Henri and Abel were sweating and labouring to put them in. Abel made the final yank with his spanner and the last of the new pipes clipped into place.

    “Thank goodness for that.” He heaved a sigh of relief and rewarded himself with a sip from his hip flask. “But we can’t hang around here, Perrault. We’ve got to get back and clean up that bathroom; that Nazi swine’s really having gyp over it.”

    “What do you care about that Boche having gyp?” Henri chipped.

    “Nothing – except that it’s pretty damn obvious that when he’s in a mood, everyone pays for it. And I don’t want to be among them – do you? C’mon, let’s get that mess in the bathroom cleaned up, get paid, and get the bloody hell out of here.”

    Henri didn’t argue – he wanted to get out of here too. He had finished his own business with the gas pipes in record time, and really surprised himself with the work he’d done on them while waiting on Abel to come back. Now he wanted to get out as fast as possible, find some quiet corner where he could finish the job, and watch the Krauts flip out when they saw his handiwork. Then he would nip off to a where he would reward the bartender the most generous tip while he downed the most gratifying drink he’d ever had.

    The water had stopped flooding in the bathroom. However it was still dripping despite the efforts to clean up.

    “What more do you have to do?” Straum demanded.

    “We’ve mended the pipes, sir. Now we have to turn the mains back on while we check the systems. Then we clean up and you will have your bathroom back.”

    “Well, get on with it, then! This isn’t my idea of a dip!”

    Henri smiled as he thought about what kind of dip he’d love to give that Boche. Never mind; if all went as planned, he would soon have his dip all right – into the pits of Hell.

  10. If you double-dip a chip, it’s hip to flip it so the saliva-sipped-food-tip doesn’t drip into, or clip the rim of, the bowl and gyp the dip experience for everyone else. So, nip it in the bud and single dip.


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