“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”
J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Green

Our writing prompt for today was to write 25 sentences that start with the word "GREEN". Not an easy task. But a challenge is always good.
(Side note, write 'green' that many times and it stops sounding like a word.)



Green

1-Green beans are her favorite.

2-Green is the color of grass beneath my feet.

3-Green with envy for your life.

4-Green gobs of goobers get engorged.

5-Green means go.

6-Green eyes see better.

7-Green stripes on her dress distracted him.

8-Green and yellow spilled over the hillside like an ocean wave.

9-Green leaves signal the beginning of spring.

10-Green was her favorite color, until it wasn’t.

11-Green smoke plumed from the witch’s tiny chimney.

12-Green walls, green carpet, green chair—she thought she might 
vomit—green of course.

12-Green nails tapped against the keyboard, a flurry of lucky 
strokes.

13-Green moss crept up the wall leading the way to the broken 
window.

14-Green is the color of money, and want, and inequality.

15-Green soda sat in a tall glass, beads of sweat lolling down the 
side.

16-Green slime coated the dock creating a dangerous footpath.

17-Green began to spread across her stomach and up towards her 
heart.

18-“Green!” she shouted and everyone ran.

19-Green polkadots covered his silly tie.

20-Green is gross.

21-Green—all she could see from the hills to the horizon—green.

22-Green is actually very easy to be.

23-Green eyes stared back at him.

24-Green light meant she didn’t have to let off the gas.

25-Green men, tiny and fierce, chased her through the old house.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Writing Prompt- FootPrint

Phoebe gave John a withering look then turned away. She stormed up the stairs and shut the door with a  bang.

Idiot.

Who did he think he was anyway? Questioning her motives. Her motives were the same as his. All right, maybe she was more interested in the money, but he was too.

The house they lived in was old. The market was good. Selling seemed to be the right thing to do. Just thinking about a brand new house gave her butterflies. New carpet, appliances that worked, no incessant creaking.

John let his emotions control him. Sentimentality killed Phoebe. Why hang on to things? She just didn’t understand.

With a sigh, she plopped on the bed. At least it was new. She closed her eyes trying to block out the look on John’s face when she’d told him she called a realtor. Ridiculous.

The sound of a door closing downstairs made Phoebe open her eyes. She looked at the bedroom door and sighed. Her eyes wandered to the ceiling above her and her breath caught in her throat.

There on the textured ceiling was a footprint. Phoebe cocked her head to the side. Maybe it was…no, a footprint. More precise, a bootprint. A man’s size. John didn’t own any boots.

Before she could ponder further, Phoebe heard a noise. Footsteps on the hardwood stairs. Slow, steady, purposeful steps. Hadn’t John just left? The steps stopped outside her room. Phoebe leaned up on one elbow.


Just outside her doorway she could see the tips of two, large, tan boots.