Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #296

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. Hand
  2. Tuck
  3. Tick
  4. Oven
  5. Lucky
  6. Whole
  7. Lost
  8. Mood
  9. Sound
  10. Settle

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.)


21 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #296”

  1. “The hand that rocks the cradle has no time for even more buns in the oven.” Giselle slapped playfully at her groping husband as he impeded her path to the table. Lucky for them both, Beetle and the twins had no idea that future siblings were being postponed. All they cared about was when would they finally be able to tuck into the meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

    Giselle sighed. She really did believe that Beetle would rule the world. Mark set the mood during the first trimester, when he made sure that Bach played through her belly. Of course, his motivation was to create a superior chess player, having read somewhere that the sound of the composer’s mathematically based symphonies did weird, wonderful things to the brain. Giselle had bigger plans.

    Unfortunately, just as the young family began to settle into a routine, the twins came along. Giselle lost sight of her mission as she and Mark added a third tick to their tax return. Instead, she focused on feeding her men, darning their drawers and dominating every moment of their whole lives. She called it love…

  2. Liss Thomas says:

    I hope you guys don’t mind my continuations. I plan to keep going until the story is done and it might take a while. 🙂


    Tom and Saal faced off against the remaining wolf. They’d been lucky enough to track them and found the pack a mere two miles from the car. Two more wolves lay wounded with their tails tucked. Tom’s rage burned inside like a broiler oven as he snarled at a former friend. He stood as a wolf again with his fangs dripping saliva and ready to end the stand off.

    The sound of Jill’s terrified screams caught his ear. Tom’s mood faltered. He cut a quick glance at Saal who’s expression matched his own. The wolf before them bolted toward the sound and howled. Tom tore through the woods intent on getting to her first as Saal raced after the wolf. Tom dodge across a busy highway amid honks and screeching tires to gain the lead. A small light filtered through the dark woods. It grew lighter as Tom made his way to the restaurant were he’d left Jill. He saw the wolf off to the side with Saal close on his tail. Flashing lights were now visible through the cluster of trees. Tom had no choice but to shift to his human form and lose precious ground.

    “Jill!” he shouted as he broke through the tree line.
    “Daddy!” Jill stomped the officer’s foot and wrenched herself away and ran.

    An unimaginable pain settled on Tom as he realized he would lose the race. His heart slammed to a halt as he saw the whole chain of events tick by as if in slow motion. The wolf emerged from a row of cars and launched himself at Jill. She’d seem him just in time to throw her hands up to protect herself but only for a moment. The wolf’s powerful jaws clamped down hard on her arm. He shook his muzzle and wrenched her off her feet, slamming her into the unforgiving asphalt. Tom’s legs nearly buckled as he saw her lying motionless beneath her attacker. The wolf released her arm and stood poised to sink its blood soaked canines into her exposed neck.

    • kathleenkl says:

      Lisa —
      Nope we don’t mind the continuation… I am doing the same thing too….
      When the words play in… to my Shannon story… I let the piece show it. When the words lend to my Mind-full Conversations… or my Isabella story line… I just write to it. I think that this is a great way to allow us to write on our pieces. Even if they take a long time to write. I hope to put something together enough for submission… on the Shannon story (it’s my goal for this year).
      Here is to a Write Filled 2013.

    • @Liss: Don’t mind at all. As I always say, “Write On!”

  3. “I have to hand it to you, Mac, you don’t let a little thing like pride get in your way.”

    “Hey, I’ve got plenty of pride, Sam. You just don’t appreciate the nuances.”

    “I appreciate that you even know a word like nuances.”

    Mac chuckled as he leaned over to tuck the map back into the glove compartment of an unmarked car, blending into the fading rust of poverty.

    “Just because you came out of the womb with an i-Phone in your hand, Sam, doesn’t mean the old ways need to be replaced.”

    “Like paper maps.”

    “Exactly like paper maps.”

    “You mean that one printed before God invented computers? The one that is missing half the streets in the city and is so worthless even the recyclers won’t take it.”

    “Hey, this baby and I have a lot of history. Don’t tick me off with your disrespect.”

    “I don’t even want to know what you consider history.

    Mac loved this kid. After 20 years on the force, he never imagined he’d be mentoring this rookie. Okay, so maybe a few years removed from a rookie.

    The two of them had been baking in the oven interior of a car for most of the morning. Hoping for a lucky break that would bring the suspect to his cousin’s home, it was a race to see who won. Sleep-deprived, sweaty cops or the city’s record-breaking heat. Mac’s money was on them.

    “Three o’clock.”

    Mac’s whole demeanor shifted. Eyes went flat as the cop kicked in, tracking the slump-shouldered teenager in the black hoodie.

    “That’s our boy. Hit it.”

    Sam slammed the driver’s door into a groaning protest of pain as he vaulted over the hood, smacking the suspect into a pavement face plant.

    “Hands on your back. Now.”

    The agility of youth was not lost on Mac. If it wasn’t for the damn heat, he’d have beaten Sam to the punch. Yeah right.

    “I ain’t done nothing. You cops suck.”

    Mac was in no mood for the stuck needle of a tune he heard too many times.

    Yanking the kid by the back of his half-mast jeans, he spun him around to glare into his face.

    “Are you looking at me?”

    Lifting him off his feet, he bellowed, “Are you looking at me?

    “Yeah, M-F.”

    “If I hear one more sound out of that f***ing mouth of yours, I am going to reach down and pull your balls back through your ears. Got that?”

    Looking into Mac’s dead-serous stare, the teenager’s swagger stumbled to settle in a retreating nod.

    “See, Sam. Old ways still work.”

    “Okay, Grandpa.”

  4. […] Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #296 […]

  5. zennjennc says:

    Marie was a pretty young girl with luscious auburn curls. Though, she was in no mood to flirt with those who admired her looks as she made her way to the apothecary to find a cure for her father’s tick. She made it through the whole of the town without stopping to talk to anyone.

    Marie entered the shoppe and would have thought it abandoned except for the fowl smelling smoke. When the smoke settled, Marie noticed the wizened, old woman attending the shoppe.

    The shoppe attendant muttered a curse as she waved a wand over some shimmery objects she pulled out of the oven and placed on the counter, unaware of her customer. Marie hesitated and lingered at the door until the keeper noticed her arrival.

    “Can I help you?” the shoppe keeper hissed with displeasure as she cleaned up the shimmery objects with a flick of her hand and then deposited her wand in a deep pocket on her apron. Marie’s eyes followed every movement the old woman made. If only she could get her hands on that wand. She could heal her ailing father.

    “I..I..” Marie stuttered tucking an errant curl behind her ear.

    “Well spit it out child.” the old shoppe attendant impatiently implored.

    “I’ve come for some antidote for my father’s condition.” Marie finally uttered with a following sigh of relief.

    “Is that so, or is there there something else that you might be wanting?” The old woman interrogated as she edged ever closer to Marie. Once eye to eye with her, or as close as she could be with the height difference, she continued “I saw you watching my magic, I saw the desire in your eye, I know the magic that runs through your very blood.” She grabbed a hold of Marie’s wrist and inhaled the scent of her blood. Unable to believe how lucky she was to have fate send her a naive young girl with magic.

    “Look, your father is lost to his disease.” The woman demanded as she showed Marie her father’s last breaths in the crystal ball on the mantle. “You’ve come too late for an antidote, even as we speak you father draws his last breath.”

    “No,” Marie cried in disbelief, shaking free from the old woman, sinking to the floor in tears.

    Ignoring the sound of the the girl’s sobs, the old woman launched her devious plan. Holding out the wand, she offered with a crooked smile, ”I can teach you.”


  6. As I lay my hand on their heads at night, I realize tucking them in at night will end.
    The tick tock of time hardens them like ovens.
    Every second is a lucky tick of the whole you get to witness before it’s lost to the mood of time and teens.
    Sound the alarm.
    Don’t settle between seconds.

  7. kathleenkl says:

    Out of hand she tucked her tick— that she worried was a sign of Turrets — into her deeper cells, because she did not want others to notice.
    The oven? had been on all day.
    “I will be lucky if the whole in their stomachs are satisfactorily filled.”
    Lost in the content mood that fills the kitchen of a cook preparing a pleasing feast, the sound of family getting settled at the table was missed by the cook.

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