Writing Prompts- Creative Copy Challenge #391

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> before and </b> after each of your challenge words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH.

  1. Scintilla – a spark or very small thing
  2. Seraglio – rich, luxurious oriental palace or harem
  3. Serendipity
  4. Summery
  5. Sumptuous
  6. Surreptitious
  7. Susquehanna – a river in Pennsylvania
  8. Susurration – to whisper, a hissing
  9. Scallop
  10. Scabies

23 Comments on “Writing Prompts- Creative Copy Challenge #391”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    Summery Silliness, in which the serendipity of mollusks colliding with bards and bodies of water offers a scintilla, a susurration even, of surreptitious word play.

    You may wonder, “Would Delaware her brand New Jersey ?”

    I ask you, “How now, brown cow?” A heifer is very hefty—best to gather wool.

    You shear twenty sick sheep, who give you such a bad case of scabies that you shoot one dead and sell the other 25. (Turns out they were not sick at all!)

    With three bags of wool, but no deadline looming, you weave your way weft and wight and pick a punk to whom you pawn your pouches. Paid in pence, instead of pounds, you pout your way to the pub for a pint. (A zombie lurks behind.) Mind your P’s and Q’s!

    Peter Piper picks your pocket and pays a pusher for a pack of powdered poison. Quick as Quaker oats, he quaffs a quart, along with a quantity of Quaaludes. (Two zombies lurk behind.)

    Sullen but satisfied, no doubt from the suds, you seek solace in the solarium of a seraglio. Embraced by eunuchs, winked at by whores, harassed by the harem, you head for the shores (the zombies stay behind.)

    = = = = =

    Sally sells seven seashells by the seashore, ignores supply and demand. Without a scintilla of sense, Sally simply succumbs to bloodsucking scum.

    Sally sells her stake to sister Susan. (The vampires run away.)

    Susan channels Shakespeare from across the English Channel. BBC plays “The Merry Wives of Windsor” on a windy Wednesday, which whips up waves along the Susquehanna River. The eponymous oyster—if you’re Lenapi (there is Delaware, again!)—inspires dear Susan, who switches to selling sumptuous scallops.

    Epilogue: Lest we take the bard at his word, the Sword of Damocles is not to be used to pry open our worldly oyster. Neither hair of horse, nor fiber of wool can long hold disaster from descending upon the heads of entrepreneurs, pushers and undead creatures.

    On the other hand, Excalibur won’t do, either. Perhaps a pen is best, as it is mightier. After all, Shakespeare wrote with a quill, not a qama.

  2. meg says:


    Call it fate
    Or destiny or simply being
    On a hot summery day while
    On an all too rare day to be off with no plans
    I listen to the whisper a solitary susurration
    A call to come in out of the heat leave off
    Grilling scallops. Come in come in.
    I leave the poet muse behind locked away
    In a no fun seraglio. Leave sumptuous poetry,
    And burning away even a scintilla of thought
    To head back to work scabies and

  3. Cathy Miller says:

    Oh, a syncopated stretch of the letter S. 😉

    With the slightest scintilla of hope, she searched the seraglio for the serendipity she lost. The summery sounds of sumptuous nights with their surreptitious message of tomorrow had gone silent.

    Shadows threatened like a Susquehanna warrior, leaping from the pages of her book. The susurration of danger slithered all around in a scalloped path of doom, leaving a scabies recurrence of fear.

  4. KathleenMK says:

    Okay… So it’s summer and the heat is up!

    “Shall we go to the seraglio in the mountains of Switzerland or the one on the island of Bali?”

    “As serendipity would have it, …” she said pausing to hold up the carry-on she had packed, “this is all I have packed,” she said with a smile.

    Not opposed to purchasing what they may need, he weighed the options. His mind began to race. Thoughts of her scantily clad body in a scintilla piece, or two, of fabric, tanned skin glistening in the sun under the lotion he imagined himself applying to her skin. With that image stuck in the forefront of his mind he said, “I will head us for the summery location.”

    He pushed the intercom button, “Scotty, head us for Bali, will you?”

    “Ay,” they heard Scotty reply through the speaker box, “plottin’ a course for Bali Captain,” he said, playfully darning a Scottish accent for his reply.

    Dillon smiled back at Isabella, thankful for a willing pilot. Dillon moved closer to his love. Leaning in he kissed her bare shoulder.

    A soft sound hit his eardrums, such a susurration that he had to wonder if it was noise from the plane or someone actually speaking?

    “When’s the … last … you … mile… club …?”

    There it was again, he thought. He disengaged his lips from her skin. He looked up, checking to see if it had been Isabella who had spoken. His eyes were met with the sumptuous sight of her full, but still, lips. It must just be noises from the plane. And wishful thinking.

    Refocusing, he lowered his head not retreating to her shoulder. He licked his lips at the sight of curve of her neck. He nuzzled it. Breathing in, he inhaled the sensual aroma of spices and fresh citrus. Hints of Jasmine, roses, narcissus, amber, sandalwood and patchouli wafted up from her skin. He allowed his hands to caress her skin. She released a sigh. A sigh so filled with pleasure that he became fully aroused.

    “How could such a wonderful perfume have originally been designed for whores?” he spoke aloud.

    “What do you mean Love?” she asked trying not be offended.

    “You are wearing Tabu… are you not?”

    “Yes,” she said titling her head, waiting for more of an explanation.

    “Well Jean Carles may have been instructed to crafted a perfume for whores, in 1932, but his fragrance it only makes you, my lady, even smell better and better. It mixes with your own body’s chemistry and adds to your sensuality my love,” he said dropping his head to her cleavage and drawing in a long deep breath.

    “Ooooohhhhhh,” she said with a smile as she reached up and cupped the back of his head pulling it into ever so lightly.

    Encouraged by her lack of resistance he pressed his body against her’s. A moment passed before he was cupping her head in his hand. He brought her lips to his, kissing her deeply.

    Minutes later he repositioned them both on their side, they lay on the plush couch, their frontal planes pressed together, their bodies responded and began heating up, which only caused the mixture she had dabbed here and there to warm and be a subtle reminder of her sexuality and confidence. She unbuttoned his shirt gaining access to his well-defined pectorals. As her hands slid across his skin, around his ribs, to his back she allowed his hands to travel down her lower back to her bum. He took both cheeks in his hands, cupping them. Artfully she untucked this shirt. As her hands began moving back up his back his arms went up above his head and she slid his shirt off. Carelessly discarding it on the floor.

    His hands rejoined her skin on her bare back, “I love this halter dress,” they both thought simultaneously. The mere touch of his hands on her skin raised goose bumps on her. Her heart began to beat a little harder, a little faster.

    His hands played on her skin just above her waistband for a moment and then he ventured one hand to travel down her thigh to the dress’ hem. Once his fingers touched skin he reversed his movement letting his fingers lift the cotton ever so slightly as his hand began stroking her bare thigh. With each upward stroke he ran his hand up higher and higher.

    “Uuuuuummmmmm,” he moaned as he left his hand linger high up on her thigh and buttocks. He pulled his torso back a bit. He raised an eyebrow at her.

    “What?” she said teasingly.

    “Really?” he questioned with a smirk. She shrugged her shoulders.

    He peaked under her skirt to find no undergarment. “Uuuuummmmm,” this time the comment was involuntary. While he took in the sights she drew uneven scalloped lines on his skin. Her light touch enticed him.

    “I am sorry… did you think this dress called for lace panties?” she said knowing he loved her surreptitious moments and actions.

    “Oh nnnnnnnooooooo. No this is just fine,” he rose back up to meet her lips, leaving his hand to find its way to her middle. The kiss was light at first but as his hand discovered moisture the kiss deepened. He explored her mouth with his tongue and…. “Well, the Susquehanna has nothing on you today, not even at winter’s thaw,” he said lovingly.

    “It’s all your fault, ssscabies,” she was halted in rational thought.

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