Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge # 395

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. Pastiche
  2. Ratatouille
  3. Lilt
  4. Murmuring
  5. Gossamer
  6. Fugacious
  7. Demesne
  8. Opprobrium
  9. Negatory
  10. Voracity

7 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge # 395”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    What is the point of being afraid to step out of the demesne of your comfort zone? Do you think observers will be murmuring about your voracity for attention? What makes you think anyone cares? If it will help you dispel this negatory perception, you must learn to recognize the degree of heat which emanates from your face. A huge difference separates the lilt of timidity from the roar of opprobrium.

    Just as you would not mistake the pastiche of a compost heap with a steaming bowl of ratatouille, do not confuse embarrassment with meekness. The former stands in contrast to the latter as an elephant to a mouse. Embarrassment is a looming monolith. Humility is a fugacious, gossamer web, easily swept from memory.

    • KathleenMK says:

      Mitch ~~ Well done.
      Just as you would not mistake the pastiche of a compost heap with a steaming bowl of ratatouille, do not confuse embarrassment with meekness.
      Not only a great use of the words but something that rings so true to my ears!

      And…Humility is a fugacious, gossamer web, easily swept from memory.
      What a good statement.


  2. KathleenMK says:

    As he approached her he couldn’t help but think her beauty is like that of the Mona Lisa. It is so pastiche. Then he wondered, Or was it Leonardo da Vinci who was imitating the work of the master of all artists?

    “Is the Ratatouille to your liking this evening Miss?” he asked as he approached her table.

    “Well, yes, thank you for asking,” the lilt of her voice made his groan tingle.

    “Is your Chardonnay a tasty accompaniment?” he asked motioning to her half-full wine glass.

    “Uuuummmm,” she moaned as she finished her current bite. “It is okay.”

    “An opprobrium?” he quizzically inquired.

    “It is not my all time favorite, but it was poured … it will do today,” she replied lifting the glass to her lips. As she took a sip he spoke.

    Negatory ghost rider, negatory, he said.

    He turned so quickly on his heals the gossamer skirt she wore fluttered on the wind he created with his exit. The voracity of his movements was amusing to her. She crinkled her nose, unsure of what he was doing. She set the glass back down on the table.

    “What is he up to?” her soft words could not be heard over the murmuring of the other patrons.

    Minutes later he returned table-side with a light green bottle in his hand, a top the base a fresh glass that hug down between his fingers.

    “Least you think I have a habit or a desire to be needlessly fugacious around you,” he rolled bottle the label of the Acacia Chardonnay. “May I suggest you discard that swill for… for a wine more to your liking?”

    She eyed the label. It was one of her all time favorite wines he held. “It would be rude of me to turn down such a generous offering, especially since you put so much effort in obtaining for me,” she said smiling.

    “Oh, it is nothing,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “I had this waiting just for an occasion like this. My demesne allows me to hold a few special bottles out and set them aside,” he said flipping the wine glass right side up and setting it on the table cloth in front of her. Next he set the bottle on the table whipping out a wine opener from his slack’s pocket.

    “All in hopes someone like me will want something… oaky and buttery?” she said as her mouth watered as she watched him insert the two metal prongs of the ay so just inside the mouth of the wine bottle. He seemed to effortlessly place the metal prongs between the glass and the cork, the cork that kept the golden liquid from them. He seesawed the prongs down between the glass and cork. Once reaching the full depth possible he reversed his hand pulling the cork out.

    To be continued….

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