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Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #340

Posted: June 10, 2014 | Author: | Filed under: Copy Challenges | Tags: |87 Comments

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. Abundant
  2. Gritty
  3. Determined
  4. Chicago
  5. Coddle
  6. Humanity
  7. Primitive
  8. Volition
  9. Sundown
  10. Gyrate

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.)

87 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #340”

  1. Cathy Miller says:
    June 10, 2014 at 9:43 am

    The abundant presence of time mocked him with its silent sister. His rasping breath filled the small cage of confinement as he plotted his next move withgritty resolve. They would pay. They would all pay.

    Determined to once more experience the freedom of control, the killer remembered Chicago. Images of the mind would coddle the aching need. Humanity a stranger in a damaged soul.

    A primitive rhythm of survival drummed through his veins as anger fueled his volition for revenge. The sundown of silence burned hotter his need for escape. Thoughts tumbled into place. He stepped over death’s last gyrate in the form of a careless guard.

    It was time.

    Reply
  2. Steve Costello says:
    June 10, 2014 at 11:04 am

    Choices To Be Made

    I wasn’t in Chicago of my own volition, but I was determined to make the best of it.

    It was almost sundown, and I hadn’t yet found a place to stay, so I figured I could coddle myself by watching the exotic dancer gyrate.

    When she emphasized her abundant bosom by bending with her head touching the gritty floor of the runway, it aroused my primitive instincts.

    To keep from acting on those instincts, as I am happily married, I went to a better part of town seeking a better place to wait for it to be time to go home.

    Moral:

    Humanity is more than just basic instincts.

    Reply
  3. Choices To Be Made | My Creative Writing and Book Reviews says:
    June 10, 2014 at 11:21 am

    […] This is my submission for Creative Copy Challenge #340. […]

    Reply
  4. Eric Bolton says:
    June 10, 2014 at 11:44 am

    Ok. A continuation of my last one – PART 1 – CCC 339

    Even though he was three hundred yards from home, Daniels didn’t feel safe. Determined to make sure his family was protected, he started running again.

    He had no idea what to expect. Leslie had enough to take care of during the week, with the kids, the house and a husband gone during the week. He had no idea how she’d be able to handle what could possibly be humanity turning on each other.

    The few people he crossed over the past day and a half of running didn’t seem human any longer. They appeared to be infected with some inhumane virus. Like any sense of reason and compassion was erased from them. They turned to what he can only describe as primitive beings.

    On the road outside Corpus, he was shocked to see what appeared to be an infected man brutally attack a child. Before Daniels could react, a mob swarmed around the infected man and started beating him of their own volition with bats, fence posts and rebar. Daniels took cover in the trees, he did not have an abundant amount of ammunition and could not risk using or losing any of it unnecessarily. They celebrated by kicking, cussing, spitting and him. One in a Chicago Bulls jersey, started to gyrate like he was celebrating in the end zone after a touchdown ironically. The whole scene was something you would pay for to see in a gritty and gory grindhouse flick.

    He was a stone’s throw from his house. His chest and feet were killing him with each excruciating stride. Even though there was no sign of immediate trouble, this was no time to stop and coddle his injuries and aches. Now only less than an hour before sundown, he pushed through the pain to make sure his family was safe.

    With his .19mm’s safety off. He approached the steps to his front porch.

    Reply
  5. Anklebuster says:
    June 10, 2014 at 7:36 pm

    Swoop Caliente called upon his primitive senses—patience and stealth—to counteract his genetic disposition towards impatience. Having been coddled by the modern conveniences of humanity, his predatory instincts were duller than a butter knife. Caliente’s gritty and determined attitude more than compensated. He crouched and waited.

    Swan Vee paused to admire the long shadows on Chicago Road. She had thought she’d have abundant time to reach the Perimeter before sundown. She shrugged. No schedules, meetings or professors remained to gyrate her with a sense of urgency. Unfettered volition tasted too delicious in its newness. Still, atavistic hairs began to rise on the nape of her neck. She sniffed inquisitively.

    Reply
  6. bbanne says:
    June 10, 2014 at 7:44 pm

    I was determined to keep going. The end of my shift was in sight.

    I’d been working since sundown and my feet were killing me. I was tired of listening to the sour grapes of humanity spilling their souls to me as they spilt their beers. The bar was abundant in lonely souls.

    I wiped down the gritty, pockmarked surface of the bar for what seemed like the hundredth time, and looked for something else to do to kill time till my shift ended.

    I found myself polishing glasses with a clean cloth, watching them gyrate around my fingers in time to the sounds of Chicago… “If you leave me now, you take away the biggest part of me…” Probably not the happiest song to play to this crowd. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d come for a good time.

    I was not in the mood to coddle anyone tonight. Got a problem, buddy? Have a drink. Have another one. Good old alcohol; it’s a shot in the arm for mood changing.

    What was I doing here in this pit of primitive life? If I wanted to work in a bar, why couldn’t I have chosen something upmarket, with exotic cocktails and people who were going somewhere in life?

    As my shift ended I headed for the door. On the outside was a busy and vibrant world, quite the opposite of this one. I opened the door and took a deep breath of freedom, then of my own volition I turned slowly to walk back inside. Back to the place I belonged. Back to the people who were just like me.

    I took a seat, ordered a drink and prepared to spill my soul all over the bar.

    Reply
  7. Justin Matthews says:
    June 11, 2014 at 12:29 am

    The morning had barely been born, and already it was going badly. If Chandroc was a superstitious man, his primitive brain would have overrun reason and had him back home before he could say it was windy in Chicago. But Chandroc was not superstitious, nor did he know what Chicago was. His fish for his family were the only thing that was keeping him out in the bitter cold; its biting wind determined to remove flesh, as well as chill the very soul.

    Determined to not let the weather beat him, he hoisted the gritty net he had been mending and tossed it into the sea. Gravity began to take the net down into the dark water, each strand of rope snaking its way into the deep, seemingly of its own volition. Chandroc watched the net and then sat back, watching Sul, the dimmest of the three suns rise, feeling its meager heat on his face, and knowing that Rel and Rol would soon follow. Then the heat would be enough for him to remove his thick reindeer hide coat.

    Wind began to blow gently and his shoulder length grey hair moved in the breeze. There had to be fish, there just had to be. Hopefully he had cast his nets in one of the places that was not fished out, a place where the silver fish were abundant. He seemed to be alone on the water, very few crafts were out today, let alone this far. Most of the village would be at the Festival of the Morning Dawn, a new celebration that was recently instituted by the new government, that would last from sun up to sundown.

    Many were still not sure of this new government or the new celebrations they insisted were for the good, Chandroc was among them. “Times are changing Chandroch.” One of the newly elected senators had told him. “We have to let go of the past sometime, we have to adapt to this new world.” Chandroch the fisherman had just shrugged and left the man blathering to another who had joined the group. He was not sure how he felt about these celebrations. Just a way for the government to coddle the humanity before they crushed them with an iron grip.

    The net on the starboard side of the small boat twitched. Chandroc’s watchful green eye saw the movement and he froze. Holding his breath he prayed that this was it. The net twitched again. Chandroc grasped the rope that attached the net to the cleat on the gunwale. He pulled, just a bit. The net felt heavy. A good sign. He untied the rope and stood, rolling his powerful shoulders in preparation to pull in the catch. The catch that would save his family. He gave the net a powerful yank and it fought back, gyrating with pounds and pounds of fish. He smiled broadly and began to pull, his large callused hands sure on the wet rope, pulling in his livelihood. It was then that he heard the peal of unnatural thunder echo in the distance. He stopped pulling the net. He closed his eyes and began to pray to his gods that SHE had not come again to the planet.

    Reply
    • Anklebuster says:
      June 11, 2014 at 4:36 am

      Yep. This is the beginning of an epic novel. For sure. I love the setting!

      Nice entry, Justin.

      Cheers,

      Mitch

      Reply
    • bbanne says:
      June 11, 2014 at 6:32 pm

      Mitch is right. This is epic in every sense of the word. It was a fabulous read and I loved the way you used the words. You’ve painted a vivid picture for me.

      Reply
    • Kelly says:
      June 12, 2014 at 11:15 am

      Justin—I love the way this story is in no hurry. Just dragging me in so I can see every clinging bit of dirt on the gritty fishing net, and wonder where you’ll go next with it. can’t wait to find out who SHE is!

      Reply
    • kathleenMK says:
      June 16, 2014 at 10:05 am

      Justin ~~
      Chapter one maybe!

      I love how you had me relaxed and lightly pensive at the same time … with “Chandroc”.

      …his large callused hands sure on the wet rope, pulling in his livelihood….” I can see, one hand then then next pulling, pulling!

      … unnatural thunder echo in the distance. Okay… a storm… but not expected the storm of SHE.

      I hope the next set of words play well with this story for you.

      Kathleen

      Reply
  8. KathleenK says:
    June 11, 2014 at 10:37 am

    Not much time on a deadline day…. so here’s a ditty ~~

    There are an abundant amount of gritty determined Chicagoans who coddle humanity in a primitive manner, in hopes of saving them from the dangers that spill out onto the streets after sundown. Many with the volition to gyrate with the ill-repute.

    “Go out and save the souls you can,” Reverend Jim said to his parishioners at the mid-night mission.

    Reply
  9. Kelly says:
    June 12, 2014 at 10:38 am

    I AM MY OWN FOG

    Sandburg’s Chicago was smog and fog
    The nascent youth learns to gyrate
    Mine was lilacs, wild roses, steam and cicadas, dust-covered sonorous sundowns
    sixty-odd years later
    Midwestern towns resist change.

    Hughes’ blues were black in Harlem
    Mine were tie-dyed tees
    He died when I was mere imagination.
    Weighted by long mourning for his insistent humanity,
    cement-block foundations crumble still.

    Leaving, leaving, I left gritty
    marks that left no mark at all on
    twenty-five states
    and several countries
    and faces, abundant
    faces
    whom I am faceless to today
    I have volition.
    I am part of my own fog, and blacks, and blues.

    Once, I determined
    once again
    to change the future.
    I would be the author, not the accolyte.
    And I would be,
    would be
    but for that wincing desire to be coddled between the pages
    of your book,
    but for that primitive desire to disappear
    on little cat feet, and return,
    to wake up and stretch in your lap.
    I have volition.
    I am my own fog,
    and blacks,
    and blues.

    Reply
    • bbanne says:
      June 12, 2014 at 5:00 pm

      What can I say but wow? I love it. Raw and beautiful. Your use of the words is brilliant.
      .

      Reply
      • Kelly says:
        June 12, 2014 at 6:25 pm

        Thanks, Anne. I rarely do this with CCCs, but this was my third try with these words. For some reason I couldn’t find the right flow until this came out today. Glad you like it!

        Reply
    • Cathy Miller says:
      June 12, 2014 at 5:30 pm

      Kelly – you hooked me with the title and took me on the wonderful journey of prose by Kelly. Loved it!

      Reply
    • kathleenMK says:
      June 16, 2014 at 9:54 am

      Kelly ~~ So much I am glad you tired, tired and tried again to use these words.
      marks that left no mark at all on…
      …whom I am faceless to today

      Wow… great. Images come to my mind.

      Thanks. And I am glad you are still joining us here at CCC (again).

      Kathleen

      Reply
    • Anklebuster says:
      June 16, 2014 at 11:31 pm

      Kelly,

      Even when I am too dull to glean the subtle, the lyrics alone are worthy.
      I’m one of those who stare vapidly at the Mona Lisa, missing the point.
      Yet, like the painting, your words are masterpieces framed in majesty.

      Ok, enough gushing. That was a pretty good poem.

      🙂

      Cheers,

      Mitch

      p.s. By any chance were you channeling the style of either or both Charles and Langston?

      Reply
  10. K says:
    June 14, 2014 at 8:30 pm

    Far past sundown, several stars pierce the veil of thin grey clouds, and the moon, half shrouded in darkness, peeks out, shining a feeble, pallid light. Cool breezes brush across her cheeks, mitigating the humid heat hanging in the air. The girl directs her gaze from the sky to the entrance of the building from her position on a bench. An abundance of people flow out of the door as the revolving door gyrates to allow them passage. The diverse population of humanity gathers on this pavilion that transcends space and welcomes this foreign place, some accompanied by a guide and some fending for themselves with pocket dictionaries. Among those people, she had arrived alone of her own volition all the while carrying the same primitive translator.

    The girl then veers her attention to the phone lying on her lap. Uncoddled by her parents and their supervision, here she sits, her once determined spirit extinguished by reality. Perhaps she should have chosen a destination within the borders of her country like Chicago or Baltimore, and that way, if an inconvenience were to crop up, her parents would have sufficient funds to bring her back. But given the opportunity and circumstances, she would never settle for anything less than her dream trip.

    Her fingers glide across the vacant screen of her phone, itching to call a certain number, yet at this point, she loses her gritty resolve. She heaves a sigh and takes another meaningless look around. Incoherent syllables stream out from the general populace’s mouths, and those who speak in her tongue come few and far between. Signs, though bearing familiar letters underneath foreign characters, only serve to remind the girl of her position: The world once wrapped in thin layers of plastic now lies before her, muddled in static.

    Reply
    • bbanne says:
      June 16, 2014 at 1:27 am

      Wow, great work, and that last line is a beauty. “The world once wrapped in thin layers of plastic now lies before her, muddled in static.” I would guess that many of us have felt that way before now, even amongst speakers of our native language.

      Wonderful use of the challenge words 🙂

      Reply
    • kathleenMK says:
      June 16, 2014 at 4:27 pm

      K~~
      …mitigating the humid heat hanging in the air… Oh how this is so true and brings back memories.

      And the rest of the piece! Well done. Maybe we will read of more of her escapades!

      Reply
    • Anklebuster says:
      June 16, 2014 at 11:36 pm

      K, you were there. You had to be. That place is so vividly detailed. 🙂
      Well, if you weren’t, then you are an apt magician – making scenes appear in front of the monitor. Wow!

      Cheers,

      Mitch

      Reply

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