Today is a new day, and with this new day, I am going to try something new. I follow the blog The Write Practiceand Joe Bunting created a new plug in for WordPress users that inserts a creative writing prompt at the top of the “Add New Post” page. I couldn’t help it. I had to download it.

But then I thought, “Well,” (because all great thoughts begin with “well”) “I don’t know if I want everyone reading my creative writing. I won’t have time to edit and revise a million times. I won’t have time to make changes.” Now that is very true. So, while you are reading, be patient. It won’t be the most best awesome-est stuff you’ve ever read. That’s fine. No one is perfect in the first draft.

Plus, I’m currently reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, and one of those keys to happiness is to do something new that causes you a little bit of stress. According to her, “If you do new things- visit a museum for the first time, learn a new game, travel to a new place, meet new people- you’re more apt to feel happy than people who stick to more familiar activities” (74). This does that. While I am familiar and comfortable with blogging, I am not so comfortable sharing my fiction. *Insert Nauseous Feeling Here*

The prompt for today is from the post titled “The Five Stages of Grief Can Help Your Writing”

Write a scene in which the main character of your current work in progress confronts one of the stages of grief. They could be dealing with their own mortality or that of a loved one, or maybe they’re really upset that someone ate the last chocolate chip cookie.

I stood outside the house, looking up at the massive structure.This is our house, I thought as angry tears clouded my vision, but I was tired of crying. It was painted white and was built in the old Southern style, with a huge front porch and a porch swing. The front door and shutters were all a fresh shade of navy blue and the cracked steps had been filled with quick crete and painted gray. I don’t want to move, I thought, emphatically stamping my right foot and turning to walk towards the barn.

I walked around the side of the house, the pet carrier dangling from my left hand, hitting my leg with every step. The grass was crunchy under my feet from the morning frost and my bare legs were covered in chill bumps. Mom had wanted me to wear pants this morning, but I had refused. I had been refusing on just about every request and issue since she told me that we were moving.

“This is my home,” I had told her.

“I know, sweetie, but we have to move. You’re going to go to a new school, make new friends, start fresh. I know it will be tough, but you need to be around people your own age. I’m only doing what I think is best for you,” she had said, pushing her mousy brown hair off of her forehead.

“Best for me,” I grumbled, making my way to the barn where I hoped I would find Meow. Meow was a tomcat that I had adopted without anyone knowing. Mom only realized what was going on when dead birds and field mice kept getting left by the front door.

The barn was large and looked like every other barn, except it wasn’t red. The paint was chipping off the sides in gray cascades, the blue tinted wood all that remained. My neck was bent back and I could barely see the rooster on top that told me which direction the wind was blowing. This is my barn, where all my adventures begin and end.

“I don’t want to leave,” I said as I sat down on the hard clay, waiting for Meow to show himself.

So, try your hand, download the plugin if you are a self-hosting wordpress user, or just try out the prompt. I did, and I only feel slightly nauseous. Plus, it’s been over two months since I’ve flexed this creative writing muscle. It will get stronger with time.



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