Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #496

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 before and after each of your challenge words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH! Or, as cleverly done by a CCC-er you can CAPITALIZE the challenge words in your piece.

I am beginning to invite others to be the author of a week’s list of words, that means you too! All you have to do is email me at TheHandMaiden_Kathleen@hotmail.com

  1. Morning Time
  2. For my children
  3. Legs were shaped with his hands
  4. Laughter
  5. Wind
  6. Purpose
  7. Epitaph
  8. Legacy
  9. Minstrel
  10. Grateful
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18 Comments on “Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #496”

  1. Anklebuster says:

    “I am grateful for clever book titles on my parents’ bookshelves. Armed with my trusty dictionary, I have discovered some keen words. For today’s Show & Tell, I present Minstrel’s Daughter, by Judith Krantz. Minstrel is a dry, cold northerly wind that blows in squalls toward the Mediterranean coast of southern France. This is clever, because the main character is this French guy, Julien Minstrel. He was a painter…”

    “Let me stop you right there, Jacob. That word is pronounced mistral. You should always consult dictionaries with deliberate purpose. Not only should you learn definitions, you should also teach yourself how to say new words.”

    “Yes, Mr. Jones. I was wondering how come a word for periods had the same sound as a kind of wind.”

    “Sit down, Jacob. Susie, what did you bring for Show & Tell?”

    “I won this lamp on eBay. You may have seen it on Jean Shepherd’s A Christmas Story. The artist’s fingerprints are embedded in the plastic, because the legs were shaped with his hands. I wanted to leave a legacy for my children.

    Mild laughter sprinkled onto the classroom floor. Anthony Jones had had enough. “Sit down!”

    “I don’t know why I bothered to change the morning time routine. Clearly, the Ritalin hasn’t taken effect on some of you. I swear, each of you will have a dunce cap above the epitaph of your tombstone!”

    “Mr. Jones, why would anyone put taffy and hats on a pizza?”

    • Oh, you are too much! I think the children are delightful, and anyone dosing them with Ritalin doesn’t deserve to be their parent or teacher. Great use of the words, Mitchell.

    • KathleenMK says:

      Mitch, Mitch, Mitch ~ You have me chuckling and almost spilling my coffee, this a.m.!

      “…I was wondering how come a word for periods had the same sound as a kind of wind.”
      Clearly, the Ritalin hasn’t taken effect on some of you…

      I have missed the playground so, and I am reminded when I get a chance to come and read.

      Thank you for helping me smile and laugh today.

      Write On (Please!),

      Kathleen

  2. I would not be on speaking terms with morning time, were it not for my children. Each morning, unlike the lazy lie-a-beds that run wild in the neighborhood at all hours of the night, my children wake with laughter that rings out like the pealing of bells, carried on the wind. A band of merry minstrels, they find their purpose harmonizing madrigals beneath my window, coaxing me out of drowsy dreams. If not for them, I might refuse to wake and drag myself out from under the covers at all.

    It seems a thousand years ago, the accident that took my beloved artist husband George from me. The wave that swept him off the bridge carried my babies off, too. They always did like to follow where George, the delightful Pied Piper of our happy little hamlet home, would lead. I’m sure he’d have urged them to stay put, this one time, if only the water hadn’t filled his mouth and stilled his tongue before he could do it.

    When the news came, unhappy and blue and brash as brass to my doorstep, the cruel earth failed to open and swallow me whole. I could have happily dug my own grave. But the mocking sun kept on shining brightly, seeping through the blackout curtains like acrid, itchy smoke from a bonfire of poison ivy. I could not stay in bed and will myself to die, but I could not think of anything better to do.

    And that was when I found George’s legacy to me, his last and lasting work: six perfect little sculptures of my angels, Avalee, Ben, Chloe, Dierdre, Evan, and Frances. Their faces, their arms, their legs were shaped by his hands. The clay felt warm, almost lifelike. I hugged each one in turn, baptizing them with my tears, grateful for the too-short time we had together.

    And now, each morning, just as the rosy tint of sunlight reaches the horizon, I hear them. They sing to me of the sweetness of the day, coaxing me to rejoin the living, reassuring me that they, in their infinite patience and ethereal joy, will wait. I know that George, whose epitaph reads, “Creator of My Heart,” is there, too, shaping our next home with his nimble hands.

  3. […] short story was inspired by the Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #496 and is brought to you by the bolded words and phrases in the story. I toss the gauntlet to you, and […]

  4. /chet says:

    “Let a minstrel’s joke be my epitaph and my legacy be your laughter.”

    My father would not have approved of us inscribing a quotation from his will on his gravestone. He didn’t want a gravestone at all. When I implied that the cemetery would require some sort of marker, he said “Well in that case, I was always partial to cairns.”

    But my brother insisted. He has always been the one who craved our father’s affection and never knew how to get it. If I hadn’t been there to hold him up, he’d have put up a damned pyramid to the man.

    My father was a sculptor and became quite well known. If I told you his name, you would know it. When I think of him, I always wonder that he created things of such permanence while meditating on the ephemeralness of living. I don’t believe he saw any contradiction. “It’s what I do,” he’d say and shrug. “Be grateful if you have a purpose,” he said to me when I left for college, “and when the time comes, let it go to the wind.”

    My favorite of his works used to stand in the foyer of our apartment. Now it’s on loan to the Met. The image is of a young athlete straining to emerge from a boulder. If you look closely, you can make out a thumbprint left where he molded the knee. It’s one of our family’s inside jokes. A reminder to us that, no matter how famous the thing becomes, those legs were shaped with his hands. One of my earliest memories is asking why he didn’t smooth it over. He tousled my hair and answered “Well, I had to leave something for my children.”

    He said to bury him in the morning time. “Take the rest of the day to remember me if you must, then let me go and move on.”

    My brother goes there every Memorial Day but I have only been back once, on the anniversary of his death. I put a stack of three stones on his grave about where I thought his heart would lie.

  5. Victoria says:

    It was Morning Time, For my children. I could hear their Laughter coming from their playroom as I stretched in my bed, just a few more hours would be nice, maybe wait til the sun was up would be nice but I should know better by now, they are little vampires.
    The Wind was blowing wildly through the trees outside. A big storm was head our way. I was Grateful for grandpa to get those trees close to the house cut down. To protect the Legacy my great aunt left us. The home had great Purpose in its day, housing the woman who were fleeing from the war that their homes were in the middle of. The tales she told me on my visits. The Legs of the toy horse she made me still contained her fingerprints because they Were Shaped With Her Hands. I still have the Epitaph she had insisted on writing one day for her tomb stone. We did end up using it, I made copies for the rest of the family but I kept the original. That Minstrel CD is getting on my last nerve. My eldest insists on playing it at its maxed…

    I hope I did this right I capitalized the words

    • KathleenMK says:

      Miss Victoria ~ you did great!
      You can Captialize the first letter or all of the letters in the challenge words.

      Now… I loved this read. You brought the family’s life to life.

      Bravo.

      Write On,

      Kathleen


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