Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #619

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.

  1. Irish
  2. Limerick
  3. Bracket
  4. Dogsled
  5. Husky
  6. Rails
  7. Feast
  8. Patron Saint
  9. Musher
  10. March

4 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #619”

  1. KathleenMK says:

    “Oh how I wish me Irish eyes were smilin’,” Shane said as he looked down at the dogsled, in his husky voice that was signature to the O’Shaughnessy clan.

    “Oh Saint Francis of Assisi, as you be the Patron Saint of the critters, and Clancy has seen fit to put me on as his musher this day, please let us stay between the rails and let us march right into one of ‘er top spots in the brackets this day.”

    Shane’s thoughts cleared as the heard the night’s camp leader say, “In the words of a Frank Sinatra, ‘Alcohol may be a man’s worst enemy, but the Bible says love your enemy!’ And we have more than just that as our enemy out here. I will see you at the finish line men, and women alike.” Nuk Nuk looked along the line of sleds visually checking to see that no one’s towline was tangled. After all… these sled dogs had come too far in this 8 day trek to have a human get them hurt. Nuk Nuk saw they were are all safe. He rubbed his eyes. Is that … a bloody … that’s not a Husky… it’s … it’s a… bloody Irish wolfhound! Nuk Nuk was looking at Shane’s run of sled dogs.

    Meanwhile, Shane kibitzed, “Not the limerick I expected to hear at the beginnin’ of the last leg… but, I gotta agree… I will be a needin’ a bit of the old rye by the end of this here 938-mile trail. I really do like it that we be a honoring a run to save someone’s life. But… that single malt, that’s been callin’ my name for the last 850 miles, just might save mine.” Shane finished speaking to the lass manning the team to his left. “Oh my goodness… you look so much like Libby Riddles, did you know that?” he asked the 30-something gal. She rolled her eyes. “Yah. I bet you get that all the ‘ime. Plus… you’d have to be in yer mid-60… and nope there’s no way those brilliant sky blue eyes have seen that many years,” he mumbled more to himself than the Well, there promises to be a feast at the end of our beef jerky sustained trail…”

    “Caribou and salmon jerky,” she quickly quipped back.

    “OOOOhhh lassie, maybe we can share a bite or two at the end of this race…”

    The only answer Shane got was a spray of fresh snow up in his face.

    “Oh fine lassie, be that way. I’d rather have this view all the way to thing finish line, yes I would. Mush on boys, mush on,” Shane said has he lifted his reins and trotted behind the sled for 50 feet, before mounting the foot boards.

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