Tag Archives: writing prompt

Wednesday Writing Challenge (One Week Late)

Yes. I missed posting last week, as needed a week off from this challenge! Not because it’s boring, but because it’s truly challenging me to think in different ways (and I kinda hit a small slump >.<). But, cracking on with the challenge – this week was, again, from the Wonderbook: The Illustrated Guide To Creating Imaginative Fiction. Page 25, this week, as chosen by Jennifer Don. This was a doozy of a challenge. A picture prompt, nothing to really learn – bar writing from a prompt, I guess! This was just entirely different for me…a fun, short, flash fiction more than anything else, however. So – without further ado – the challenge (and prompt)!

Jugend Magazine, (c 1900)

 

If suddenly confronted by an image like this from Jugend magazine (c 1900), could you create a story about it? Write one right now.

You can see it’s hard, right? Well this is what I came up with – and think….1600s/1700s for the time in this. Or….Victiorian Britain. That works rather well!

He reclined, shoulders back, against a wavering tower of books, already searched through for answers. Not the smallest of men, Sir Benjamin Cherry rested his fists on his ample hips. Scurvy, his cockatoo and Scrumpy, his parrot fluttered down, landing on his shoulder and arm respectively. He was frowning, the birds quivering with fear. The reason – this unknown taxidermy-preserved creature, currently menacing him from the corner. It was almost like some kind of wild hybrid, of unbelievable proportions. The body was that of a fish, absurdly spotted. Set in some heavy stone, the creature also bore wings, as spotted as the body – matching those of a bat. Absurdly swollen, it looked about to burst, and he was pretty sure that was what was happening. Perhaps the heat had caused something to ferment inside…

Two days later, he still stood in the same place, though now joined with another three towering piles of books. Nothing had compared to what he had read. No creature, real or imagined, matched the unrealistic proportions of the one he had in front of him. He wandered closer, picking up one of the quills he’d been using to make notes. ‘This’ll make a good tool to check on it…I’m pretty sure, anyway. It had better not be Sir Thomas and Sir Barry poking fun at me again!’ He would be sure to wager against them next time they were sure to use. Turning to make sure both birds still remained safely tucked away behind bars, he drew in a deep breath before tentatively poking the flesh of the creature. He recoiled back.

There was no boom. No bang. No pop, to make his birds keel over of terror. Instead, he observed, through weary eyes…the creature losing air. A squeak, long, loud and shrill rang out. He pulled back, believing it to be some sort of incendiary device, until it moved again. It sagged, an empty sack on the ground, leaving behind an awful smell of rotting fish. He snorted, using a handkerchief tucked in his pocket and scented, to protect his sense of smell. He saw, pinned to the back of one of those wings, now loose from the fish flesh.

Sir Benjamin,

I truly hope you enjoyed the look at the world’s fast spotted flying fish.

Remember, take care of it! No sharp objects.

This fish can truly fly, but they are particularly vulnerable to damage.

I return in a fortnight.

Sir Boris.

Of course…Sir Benjamin had no option except to curse, loudly and fluidly, in a manner that did not suit his station as a noble sir.

 

 

Of course – this is why I dislike this challenge. It was rather limiting, in my opinion – however – why not join in? Come and have a go, and join me here next week for another challenge!

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Crimson Snow

Debra Jayne East is my guest today for the MK tour, and what a wonderful stop it is! We were given the challenge of a flash fiction to an image prompt – and Crimson Snow is what Debra came up with.

Crimson Snow

Amera Roberts pulled the covers closer as the frigid air assaulted her lithe body. Her arms and head were exposed by the pitifully thin covers, but she had nothing better to use. Her caretakers had left her six days ago on her eighteenth birthday and they had taken everything except her bed and dresser. She had got up for breakfast as usual and to her surprise, she opened the door to a bare room and scribbled note. She still turned the cryptic message over in her mind with anger. Time to worry about the meaning later, but now, she must try to survive with very little wood and an ever dwindling supply of food.

In the dim light of morning, her mind foggy from hunger, she procrastinated whether she should get up to check the fire. In her heart, she feared it must be out already, but she knew her life depended on getting some warmth in the frigid temperatures of early dawn. As her bare feet met the cold stone floor, she cringed at the brief contact before she found her slippers. Her breath painfully expelled frozen little puffs of air as she dressed herself.

Throwing the blanket over her shoulders, she ran the few steps to the hearth and grabbed the fire poker to scrape around in the ashes to find embers. Her heart began to sink. She had only one more match and wanted to save it for an emergency. Panic filled the empty space in her stomach and just as she dreaded the worst, a tiny, glowing, ruby ember sparked warmly and she let out an audible sigh. Frantic, she hurriedly gathered her basket of pinecones and threw a few on top to keep it burning.

Moments later, she laid the oak logs carefully and was rewarded with the crackle of burning wood. If her fire burned out she would have no way to cook her meager allotment of food. If she was really stingy with her rations she could hold out for three more days. It was difficult when she had not been full for almost a week. A dozen potatoes and half a loaf of bread could only go so far. One day she had given into weakness and consumed an extra cup of tea to stave off her hunger. Today, she was sorry for that extravagance because now her little tea box was empty and she would miss her morning cup.

Amera measured her small cup of meal carefully for porridge and added it to the bowl of hot water from the kettle. Sweetened with the last spoon of honey, she ate her meal in silence and waited for the light of dawn to warm up the room.

She finished the last bite, then dared to look out the front door in case her beloved Spike had returned from a hunt with a tasty rabbit or other small game to eat. He had disappeared the next day after Fran and Gregory Braithworth had vanished and she wondered if he went to look for them. Fran did not have much use for the strange little black-faced dog but Gregory adored him. He took him hunting on his trips to the glen and saved little tidbits from his meal for him. The snowstorm had prevented her from looking more for her precious dog that night and now tears stung her eyes as she wondered his fate.

It was over five minutes until she pried the door open partially while the snow trickled in its opening. No sign of her small trusted friend. Now, there must be nearly a foot of snow on the ground and the air smelled of more. She would never see his tracks now if it snowed again. He may be dead by now if he didn’t find a barn or cave to go in. She would die also if she could not get out to gather wood and search for food.

Disheartened, she closed the door and went over by the fire to soak in its warmth and read the message for the tenth time. Carefully, she unfolded the scrap piece of parchment and read the few lines that made her temper boil.
“This, your eighteenth birthday. Our agreement is up. You are a burden to us no more. Your time is up Amara. You must face your destiny. Shortly, your husband to be will come for you. Do not run from him because he will find you and you will be sorry you ever ran. The snow will be crimson with your blood.”

Quickly, she folded the note in her pocket and ran to the closet… Husband to be? They had pledged her hand in marriage without even telling her and that he would kill her if she ran? What did they mean by arrangement anyway? All these years she stayed here dreaming of a life outside this glen. They told her nothing of getting married! She had stayed here to please her guardians only to face this calamity?

Through clenched teeth she pulled on old boots left behind by Gregory and wrapped herself as warmly as possible. She had no time to worry about some senile old groom who might come for her. She must go to find wood and food or die here but it would not be without trying.

Bravely, she tramped through the hard crust of white up the hill to the gate. She headed for a clump of trees with some saplings and felt in her pocket for the small hatchet she always carried with her when she went out alone. These woods always seemed ominous on the other side of the hill. She felt safe with Spike, who would bark at anything that moved, but now she was alone and greeted with silence. It took an hour to cross the meadow to the small forest of trees laden with fresh snow. She was exhausted by the time she got there and felt the cold creeping into her feet. Anxiously, she looked at the low-lying branches that were too thick for her to cut with so small a hatchet. Down through the trees she saw a clearing with several small cedars. She was sure she could make out a few broken limbs. Painstakingly, she trudged the path and was only a few feet from the trees when she heard the crunch of something coming through the woods behind her. Panic engulfed her as she glanced around to see the culprit of the disturbance. In the distance, she saw an ominous rider on a black horse bursting through the trees.

Amera’s raven tresses fell down from her wool cap as she lurched for the cedars to escape the rider. It dawned on her that the horseman might be her mysterious husband to be. That panicked her even more. As she stumbled in the snow, she suddenly remembered the warning Fran had scribbled in her message. “Don’t try to run, because he will find you. The snow will be crimson with your blood.”

The thought fueled her energy and she glanced behind to see he was less than a hundred yards behind. His face was hidden within the hood of his cape. She sucked in large breaths of cold air and headed for a small knoll covered with snowdrifts and rocks. All the while, the fear of not knowing his identity was like a bullet in her chest. Damn them for doing this to her!

As she neared the rocky hill, she stumbled and fell to one knee. Before she could pick herself up to run, a luminous weapon flew overhead and landed in the snow ahead of her. Frozen in shock she suddenly knew who her suitor was!

Merlin!

Debra Jayne East was born the oldest of six girls in Martinsville, Virginia. For as long as she could remember, she loved to keep journals, write poetry and short stories. She researched her family tree and suddenly she understood why. Her distant relative, Violet Florence Martin was an Irish author, born in 1862, who co-wrote a series of novels with cousin Edith Somerville under the pen name of Martin Ross in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Learning about her heritage encouraged her to follow her dreams. After she encountered a near-death experience during a routine surgery, she realized her time had come to follow her heart and pursue her calling to be a writer. Her first novel, Radiance:Love after Death was released by XOXO Publishing in June of last year.

Marena Jacobs was not your typical kind of heroine. She’s divorced, in her forties and a workaholic. “I always love to read about people and situations that are out of the norm. I believe many readers get tired of getting the same old cookie cutter description of a breathtakingly beautiful heroine and a devilishly handsome man.

“Most women don’t look like they just stepped from a photo shoot. We may have a few extra pounds, we sometimes have bad hair days and everything we say is not witty or perfect. Diversity is what makes us all beautiful and real. I think readers will like someone they can identify with. I will also say the paranormal aspect of my novel is based on a few things that really did happen for those of you who like that kind of thing, and you wont be disappointed. “

Debra lives in North Carolina close to the Blue Ridge Parkway and enjoys photography, volunteering and spending time with her family. Currently, she completing a second book in her Radiance series and also working on a science fiction novel.

Buy links and Social Media:

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Radiance-Love-after-Death-ebook/dp/B005KQ5E32/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1326066658&sr=8-1
XOXO Publishing http://www.xoxopublishing.com/Products/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=160#.T9aPyMg1oeM.twitter
http://debrajayneeast.blogspot.co.uk/
https://twitter.com/#!/juliet2cool4u
https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Debra-Jayne-East/177696055623372

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