Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #304

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. Poke
  3. Spin
  4. Mount
  5. Pester
  6. Remember
  7. Joint
  8. Ledge
  9. Heavy
  10. Fuss

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.)


54 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #304”

  1. Jen says:

    Esme doesn’t know. She doesn’t know from whence she came. And I can’t tell her. Not now. Not just because I don’t want to, but because she can’t hear me. She doesn’t know. The vast mount of knowledge she does not have staggers me.

    Once, many years ago, as she lurked on the ledge of true adulthood, when she had begun to pack away the childishness of adolescence, I thought she could see me. I thought, at the joint of college graduation and first job, there was a crack, through which I could have poked a glimmer, a seed. I thought, even, that I might have had the ability to utter the words: “You were conceived in rage.”

    To utter the words, to pester the remnants, to chip at what I remember and to dismantle the plaster of years, heavy and thick like the seal at a crypt, to remember the night, the horror, my pain, his violence, my shame. I could not do it.

    Instead I spin here, listless and unaware. As unaware as I want to be. They make their fuss, they straighten the dead sheets, they prick at the edges of my worthless hospital pillow, crinkly and flat and they think I don’t lie here raging to burst with the secrets I never had the courage to tell. The most dearly kept story, the one I held closest to me like the skin of my palm, is the truth. No matter from when she came, she is my daughter, this wild, bony, scattered child woman, and I love her.

  2. […] is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #304. Click on over and take the challenge yourself, or just read the comments to see what others have […]

  3. Meredith says:

    McClure walked into the shop expecting a big fuss but all she got was a heavy heavy feeling. She could see Terrence about midway through the store on the left. His bough poked above the ledge of the leopard patterned countertop they could never quite get rid of. As she approached him, he did his greeting spin, a little slower than usual.

    “Look, Terrence,” McClure said, “I don’t want to pester you with pleasantries so let’s just get down to what you remember of last night.”

    He didn’t make a move or speak for some time. She stared at the chip in the counter. Suddenly his joint (McClure refused to call it a finger) started to glow in bursts. He swiped his appendage upward and the light left a tail. McClure looked around to make sure nobody was anywhere near. Her eyes caught a mirror in the right section of the store. In it was that dang kid’s face. She looked toward the windows at the front of the shop then back to the mirror. Damn it, she’d been made. She mounted Terrence’s lap and they headed toward the back of the store.

  4. K says:

    Why make such a huge fuss about this? No one asks for it to happen.

    Why pester, poke, or prod into that person’s business?

    Leave her alone.

    Oh, you say it’s fun? Let’s see how you like it when you remember how heavy it was for you.

    People mount the ledge on the pinnacle of an enormous joint for these type of actions, yet you turn your back without a second glance.

    Fine, I see how it is. Everyone cares for you while no one bats an eyelid in her direction.

    In other words, it’s alright for you but not for her.

    That’s cute. Now, you’re physically dragging her into this mess.

    If you want, spin the web of lies. Strip her of her chipped dignity.

    Watch when no one has no reason to believe you anymore.

    Why do I protect her? Actually, it’s a funny story.

    There might not be a special occurrence behind it, but human life suffices enough as a reason.

    You experiment with and threaten this precious thing called life that’s not even yours.

    Ah, she’s an eyesore? Wow, that gives people justification to ridicule a human being to death.

    She’s not intelligent? I couldn’t tell because of the valuable insight and points she delivers in conversations.

    You accuse me of being superficial, but look in the mirror.

    Congratulations. You have created a monster.

    Next time you harm her, think about it.

    People have been blessed with the most beautiful thing in the world: life. Every single individual is smart, strong, beautiful, and talented.

    I’m not doing thing especially for her sake; I’m doing it because it’s right.

  5. Anklebuster says:

    February 1, 2237
    Aura shed her number. She had finally reached the Mount! The thin air made her head spin. This was it? Where were her friends and family?

    January 31, 2237
    Hark 44 opened his eyes slowly, fearful that his malfunctioning contacts would admit too much sunlight. As consciousness flooded his brain, he shook off the heavy mantle of artificially induced sleep. He rolled off the bed, seconds before he would remember that he and two other social misfits had camped on a ledge. He fell to his death at 9.8 meters per second squared. Good – he remembered his lessons.

    January 30, 2237
    Hark 45 politely declined the joint. Gawk 13 would pester him all night but, if Hark 45 wanted to get to the True Nirvana, it wouldn’t do to go tumbling off the edge of the cliff tomorrow. Gawk 13 was on the verge of reaching the Twelve Steps – he should know better than to lead others astray.

    January 29, 2237
    Jaw 89 tried to poke her head through her mother’s navel. Oops, wrong way.

    January 28, 2237
    Gawk 14 said a prayer over the stillborn child. He recorded the name on a disposable chip: Jaw 90, baby girl. He took the joint from the mother. The drained woman did not even put up a fuss. Too bad Aura 2 did not have this attitude before she went into labor. She’d be dead by the end of the month.

  6. Liss Thomas says:

    Sorry, I think it got a little long this time…

    Jill slammed the door to her bedroom as she made her way downstairs. She wore all black including her nails and lipstick to match her dark mood. After crying herself to sleep the previous night, she’d awakened pissed. Elyen had breakfast laid out but Jill ignored it, settling for coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar and a banana. She plugged her Skullcandy ear buds in and cracked up her playlist of Korn and Seather to drown out any potential for conversation. After downing her breakfast she wrenched open the back door to escape all company.

    “Don’t leave the yard,” Vrag yelled to make himself heard.

    Jill gave him a ‘Duh, I’m not stupid’ look before she slammed the backdoor so hard she though it would chip and splinter from its hinges. She sat on top of the picnic table and scanned the wooded area surrounding the backyard out of habit. He’d left again, not bothering to tell anyone where he’d gone. No one made a fuss so she didn’t either. Her father knew better than to pester her when she was in a bad mood and she hoped the others left her alone too.

    She turned down the music and listened to the earthy sounds around her. She practiced tracking by sound, her keen hearing picked up the softest of steps and scamperings. After honing her skills for the past few months, with joint sessions from her father and Saal, she picked up the sounds of rabbits digging in their burrows and rocks breaking from ledges. She heard a twig snap and a low curse from Vrag who’d snuck out the house to keep and eye on her. She ignored him. A buck scratched its horns on a large tree and a car parked down the hill from their cottage. She focused on it and on the heavy footsteps next as they neared the house and continued around to where she sat. She didn’t look back or acknowledge Officer Billy as he approached. She listened to his labored, out of shape breathing.

    “Where are your folks, young lady?”

    She ignored him and continued watching the woods and listening. She smelled blood and noticed the evidence bag from the corner of her eye. She remembered the crazy man and a tremor ran through her.

    “The FBI want to ask you some questions. They know you were up on Vertical Peak. They’re mounting an investigation and need you to come to the station to make a statement.”

    Jill gave him her best ‘eat shit and die’ look before she turned away. Whatever she’d say to the feds, crooked officer Billy would poke holes in it or spin it to keep her in custody. She doubted his story entirely. She felt eyes watching her and looked through the woods, past the larger trees and saw two sets. A brief moment of relief escaped her before her anger burned again.

    Officer Billy snatched an ear bud from her ear. “I have the right to haul your ass in without any parental involvement!” he yelled before he gripped her wrist and wrenched her to her feet. He leaned in and sneared, “I know what you are.”

    ‘Mistake.’ Jill thought. He released her quickly and grappled with the hand that appeared securely around his throat. Tom dragged Billy several feet away from Jill before he threw the man to the ground. Saal and Vrag both appeared to stand over the stunned officer as Tom raked him with a murderous glare.

    Jill stuffed her ear buds back in as her father walked back to her, leaving Billy to the others, who dragged him into the forest. He sat beside her on the picnic table and leaned his head to hers.

    “I know I scared you, leaving like I did. I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t have to.”

    Jill wiped a few angry tears away with her fist and said nothing. He gently pulled the ear buds away.

    “Will you at least listen to me instead of Justin Beiber?” he said. Jill scowled and paused her ipod. Of course he’d hear the one guilty pleasure song on her FU playlist.

    “We need to go home,” he continued. “I’m going back to confront the King and I’m going to rescue your mother. I have a plan but it’ll have to be executed in my world.”

    Jill finally broke her silence. “Ok, when do we go? I want to fight too!”

    Tom laughed. “I’m going to go fight the King. You’re going back to school!”

  7. […] Originally appeared on CreativeCopyChallenge #304. […]

  8. […] Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #304 […]

    • zennjennc says:

      Here’s the text (follow the link above for bolding):

      “What’s the crisis!?” Leah called from the kitchen hoping he remembered to separate out her delicates.

      “It’s stuck on spin!”

      “Press the button!”

      “Still spinning!” he pestered again.

      “Turn it off!”

      “Won’t turn off!” he shouted, chipping away the last of her patience.

      “Alright, I’m coming! Keep your pants on!”

      Slipping from his washer mount, he caught Leah in a surprise kiss when she opened the door.

      “Mhm…something’s poking me,” fussing with zippers.

      “Just wait,” he replied as he pushed her up onto the ledge of the washer; her heavy dress slipping between the tangling joints of their bodies.

  9. “Hey, [Chip], do you [remember] when we dragged that skeet machine up Piney Mountain so we could [mount] it on that [ledge] and [spin] those old plates out over the valley?”

    “Yeah, that thing was so [heavy] I thought sure I was going to tear up every [joint] in my body. But we got it up there.”

    “That we did, that we did. And old Jake [Pester] made such a [fuss] about the few plates that soared so far they crashed into his barn and scared the living daylights out of his livestock.”

    “Ha! And folks sure did [poke] fun at him for running around claiming he was under attack by aliens.”

    “Yeah, but when he found out it was us, we sure got a tanning from Dad! I wonder if that contraption is still up there.”

    “Probably, but I bet it’s rusted solid now. Why, you want to fling more plates at the Pester farm?

    “No!” Dale rubbed his backside absently, “It was fun watching those old dishes go sailing out over the valley, but: no, we’d best be leaving that alone now.”

    “Yep, get yer mind back on the work, we’ve got chores to finish.”

    * * * *
    I don’t see a way to do bold, so I used brackets. Ah is jes stoopid ah reckon.

  10. Don says:

    The rock was starting to chip.

    Sal felt the heat on his brow from the adrenaline rush, and knew he had seconds before his anchor joint gave way above him. He spun to his right, spotting a small ledge. Pushing off with his crampons against the sheer rock face, he swung out, poking the air with his ax, hoping to connect with something, anything, solid.

    Mount Rainier wasn’t the most difficult climb he’d been on. Remember Devil’s Pulpit? That was heavy-duty, a climb Blake pestered him for months to brave with him. This climb was a helluva lot less fuss by comparison. At least on paper.

    None of that mattered now, as he was swinging 10,000 feet above Seattle, fighting for just one more inch to reach safety. The anchor cracked more with each swing of his rope, his weight pulling on the point, sending shards of rock down around him. His time was up, unless …


  11. Tanja Cilia says:

    Remember Pester Power. That was the only instruction Chip gave me, before he left. My job was to mount the advertising campaign. It was supposed to be a joint venture between me and Fuss-Free Fotos, but, ever reluctant to buy a pig in a poke, I put a heavy spin on the bumph and photo-shopped a hippopotamus standing on the ledge of the Empire State Building.

  12. A chip off the old poke. A spinner and a mounter with the pester of pleasure to remember. But now the alpha-joints are on the ledge, heavy with regret and fuss.

  13. This one was fun, felt the six shooter clanging against the belt.

    Rides into Town

    Spin jumping off the mount

    the man flipped a chip

    made a right fuss

    while rolling a joint

    before walking over

    the heavy porch ledge

    eyes poke through windows

    frightened faces remember

    as he steps into the saloon

    with intentions to pester

    and menace the townsfolk

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