Welcome to this weeks Writing Prompt, I am going to post it today as I will be away from the PC tomorrow. This prompt came to me whilst in the shower as I was thinking about lines to begin a story, so below will be this line I thought of, and the goal is to write something; a poem, a short story, a paragraph, a letter etc. Anything.
The only “rule” so to speak is that this line either has to be the FIRST line or the LAST line of the writing. I find that doing this always helps seeing how peoples writing differs, because with the same prompt and either first line or last line, people will find their own ways of getting there, or starting from there.
I will be doing it soon, I am going to use it as the first line of a story and I will post it as soon as it is complete.
So what is the line?
Everything went black.
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Pingback: Surgery | Susan Daniels Poetry
here’s one…
http://wp.me/s2lN8u-surgery
This is great, a short and snappy poem, I especially love this “brain switched off
with a chemical snap”
Here’s mine
http://kaelbail.wordpress.com/2012/07/11/writing-prompt-everything-went-black/
This is great, it left me wanting more! It raised some good questions and leaves a lot to the readers imagination, fantastic!
Here’s Mine
http://writerhime.wordpress.com/2012/07/12/writing-prompt-everything-went-black/
Wow this is really good, as a lover of concerts this is very relatable, there is nothing quite like the rush of seeing people you admire on stage. The atmosphere in a concert is something that everyone should experience in their life time too.
Here’s mine:
There were twelve of us at the dinner table when my sister and I washed dishes. I was never in a hurry to finish the chore because of the evening entertainment just outside the kitchen window. The main character, a blazing ball of hot orange, bowed for the final curtain call. Exiting stage right, it hung back a little sharing the limelight with its supporting cast, the streaks of brilliant colors. These streaks would blend and bend like ribbon candy. I held my applause, gripping the last plate, entranced. Next, I’d drain and refill the sink to wash the pots and pans. Like an automaton, I’d scrub them, my attention fixed on those colors. They were different every night. One night the reds would dominate with a stage presence so profound that cold stones wept and glimmered with tears. On other nights, the yellows and pinks prevailed. Their dainty and wispy wings would flutter a final good-bye. Sometimes all the bands would orchestrate together in a medley so compelling that it I would genuflect. Nothing compared to those sunsets until everything went black.
Wow this is really good, I love the descriptions and the fact that the character doesn’t rush the washing up like most people would, and that she actually likes it. Good job!