Creative Writing Club Musings

Prompt: Write about a genre through the eyes of another genre.

Wood elves gathered around a campfire on a dark night telling ghost stories. Adult orcs telling young orcs all the gruesome and terrible tales of what happens to young orcs if they don’t listen.

Horror is as if you were a princess trapped in a tower and an evil dragon is trying to kill you. Everything eerily quiet except for the click clack of dragon’s claws on stone as you hold your breath and think, “That fire is going to come through that window any minute and burn me alive.”

Horror is as if you were in the forest on a full moon doing regular fantasy things when you hear a howl. You see those glinting eyes in the moonlight of the werewolf mere feet away that is going to eat you. You know running is futile, but you try anyway.

Horror is when you fall off your ship on the ocean, but that’s ok because you can swim. Wait, what’s that brushing your leg? You frantically swim back, heart pounding out of your chest when you get pulled under and see a mermaid. Not the pretty ones in fairy tales, but the scaly, red-eyed monster dragging you to the depths.

Horror doesn’t only happen in the real world.

Prompt: Write about a dream you remember having as a child.

Sasha wiped the sweat from her brow. The chasm spread before her, red hot lava sending scorching waves upwards where she stood. Not only did she have to jump from one precarious rock column to another, there were giant axes threatening to cut her to pieces. At the very least, they would push her into the lava below.

“Looks like it’s now or never. Are you ready, Sir Toot Toot?” The little purple plush elephant in her arms tooted what may have been a battle cry. “Alright,” Sasha said, reassured, “let’s do this.”

Like a sports athlete about to make the final and greatest play, Sasha bounced on her feet a few times, drew some quick breaths, and made a running start for her first leap. She easily landed square in the middle of the first column. Only two more to go. This time, one of the axes was making its way across like a pendulum. She waited for it to pass by and jumped to the next platform. It wobbled dangerously when she landed but leveled itself out.

Sasha knew the last platform would be the most difficult. There wasn’t much to launch off of on her current pillar and the ax swung twice as fast as the others. When the ax had hardly passed the column, she jumped off with all her might. Halfway through the air, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Throwing Sir Toot Toot onto the ledge, she hoped she did it in time. To her relief, a fuzzy purple snout shot out and wrapped around her arm and hoisted her up.

As she was set down, Sir Toot Toot shrank back to his original size and happily jumped into her arms. Sasha looked at the flight of steps in front of her with pride. She’d made it. Climbing the steps, she could see the treasure before her. That Crayola toolkit with its 100 markers, 500 colored pencils, and what had to be every color in Crayola history. As she picked up the bright pink case, the world suddenly began to tremble. Rocks fell from the ceiling, sloshing into the lava below. There was a booming voice.

“Wake up Sasha! It’s time to open the presents!”

Prompt: Write something based on the scrambled letters given.

Mulai awoke suddenly as bamboo whacked him across the face and he fell to the ground. Dazed, he saw black and white blobs towering over him. He rubbed his eyes as his world tried to focus back together.

“Come on, Jiwa! Did you forget I was on your back again?”

The giant panda looked at the ground and fidgeted with his paws in apparent guilt. Mulai stood up and brushed himself off before patting the panda’s large paw gently.

“I’m sorry, Jiwa, I didn’t mean to yell. Would you like to stop for a snack break? I think the elders can wait,” Mulai said which made Jiwa perk up in excitement. He grabbed the nearest bamboo stalk and began munching away while Mulai got his satchel that was strapped to Jiwa’s back. As he sat down next to his companion, he looked into the distance and saw the snow-capped mountains. It should only be a few days journey now.

Prompt: Write about a time something didn’t go according to plan.

The cool breeze ruffled Bec’s fur more than she would have liked. She twitched her nose to try to relieve an itch. How she wished she could scratch it.

“Let’s go study the rogue Aviants, she said. It’ll be fun, she said,” Bec ranted.

“This is fun…sort of,” Cynthia replied.

“Cynth, you’re cool and all, but being tied to you and dangled over a cliff isn’t my idea of fun.”

“Don’t worry, I got this.”

“Uh-huh. You said that when you tried to negotiate with them.”

“Turns out I’m a little rusty with birdspeak. I may or may not have said something offensive.”

“Well, that was obvious when they hung us over this cliff.” Bec shook her head. “You know, I’m surprised I haven’t gotten over my fear of heights after adventuring with you.” Bec was met with silence instead of a smart quip like she had expected. Being tied back to back meant she couldn’t actually see Cynthia.

She opened her mouth to speak again—talking kept her fear at bay—when a piercing whistle sliced through the air. The Aviants on guard didn’t have time to turn around before a griffin appeared. It was the same one that had gotten them to the colony along the cliffs.
How is it going to get us free? The realization hit her like a cart full of bricks.

“No, no, no. Cynth, wai-“

Another whistle rang through and the griffin cut the rope with a sharp talon. Bec’s stomach surged to her head and its contents threatened to leave her throat as they fell freely. Instead, she screamed so loud it hurt her own ears. What felt like an eternity but could only have been seconds later, they hit the hard saddle. Somehow their bonds were cut and Cynthia stretched beside her. Bec saw the singed ends of the rope and realized how close she had been to losing all her fur…again. She shook her head and stared at her partner in disbelief.

“You’re crazy.”

“I told you. I got this.”

Prompt: Take your favorite piece of advice and write something about it.

A young, dark brown Felinx sat in the large open fields of the Whispering Steppes. She didn’t seem to notice the crisp fall winds as she slumped her head in her hands. A few feet away stood a makeshift target with small daggers littering the ground beneath it. One single dagger had met its mark in the middle.

“Come on, pipsqueak. You can do it,” her older brother, Kaede, said beside her.

Bec held back a sniffle and stared at the grass in front of her. “I’ve missed every time, Kaede.” She gestured to the lone dagger on the target. “I’m never going to be as good as you. You got it on the first throw.” Still not looking at him, she felt him gently put his hand on her shoulder.

“You know what Mom and Dad told me when I first started? Not fake it until you make it—fake it until you become it. Now throw your next dagger like you know for sure you’re going to hit it. Keep doing that until you nail it every time.”

She finally looked at him; his sharp-toothed smile reached his eyes. She couldn’t help feeling a little bit better.

Reluctantly standing, she held the small, child-sized dagger in her hand gingerly before throwing it with everything she had. It sunk deep into the far right of the target, nearly missing it altogether. A smile broke out on her face as she turned to her brother. His grin was just as big as he ruffled the fur on the top of her head.

“See? You’re going to become it faster than you thought.”

Prompt: Write something based on the quote you’re given-“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Bec, please sit down. You’re drunk.” Cynthia tried to guide her partner back to a chair before she ended up hurting herself.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true. Goblins are nasty little things, but if you wanted to go on another of your silly little studies, I’d go anyway.” Bec took another swig of her ale as she plopped back into her seat.

Cynthia wondered how such a small body could hold so much alcohol. Bec hiccupped and then giggled at the sound she produced.

Maybe stopping for a drink on the way back to the college wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Luckily, Bec was small enough that when she finally fell asleep, Cynthia slung her over a shoulder before depositing her in the room they rented. Now that she thought about it, there was a nearby goblin camp she had wanted to stop at…

The next morning
“Hey, Bec! Wake up!”

Bec flattened her ears against her head at Cynthia’s booming voice. It probably wasn’t even that loud, but at this moment it sounded like thunderclaps competing to out-boom each other. What was worse was when Cynthia threw back the blinds and bright sunlight pierced through the room right as Bec started opening her eyes. She hissed and rolled, miscalculating the unknown bed she was on and landed on the floor. She rubbed her eyelids without opening them and didn’t have any intention of getting up.

“Why so early? We don’t have to be at the college for another two days, right? Plenty of time to sleep in.”

“Not if we’re going to stop by that goblin camp along the way.”

Bec’s eyes snapped open. She hated goblins. She lifted her head and squinted her eyes at Cynthia with as much defiance as she could muster. “Now why in Isros would I do that with you?”

A sneaky smile slid across Cynthia’s face. “Because we’re best friends, remember?”

Bec closed her eyes and let her head sink back to the ground. She pretended it was the softest pillow made of clouds.

After this, I’m never drinking again.

Prompt: Write about a time you conquered nature.

The 12,000-foot mountain was upon them. The crew had already hiked over fifty miles to get here and the time had come. Granted, they were already starting at 8,500 feet, but this was still going to be the hike of their lives.

The morning starts at a painstaking 3:45 am. The crew hobbles out of their tents sore and tired, but there is an air of excitement. The dreaded “packs on!” isn’t quite so dreaded with nearly empty packs. It’s 4:45 when the crew heads out.

The first part of the journey involves singing and camaraderie in an attempt to lift the crews’ spirits. Stream crossings and endless switchbacks are not going to deter crew 850 today. The mountain is crowded for 7 am; crews and troops are playing leapfrog past each other on the way up.

The second part of the journey involves a twenty-six percent incline on gravelly rocks. The crew yells encouragement to each other while taking quick stops for the oldest member at 68. He threatens to haunt them if he dies after climbing this mountain for the sixth time. The boys and one foolhardy girl are carrying large rocks to the top in order to make “Baldy great again”. When the top is near, the crew starts cheering and racing.

It doesn’t even matter who wins. As soon as the crew crests the edge, the smaller members are pushed backward by the strong wind. The bigger members catch them for support. The top is breathtaking. The Rockies to one side. Colorado in the distance at another. The crew signs their legacy in the notebook at the top.

At noon on July 21, 2016, crew 850 conquers Baldy Mountain.

Prompt: Write a comedic scene in which someone has a secret passion and struggles to resist the temptation.

The controller on the table is beckoning me. I glance up from my laptop screen to look at it. So sleek, so new. I check the time on my laptop. 5:30 pm. I technically have some time to play. No, this homework needs to be done first. I focus again on writing my paper.

Three paragraphs later, I get up to get a snack. When I return to the couch, I see the controller. 6:30 pm. I still have time for that round. No, I still have three pages left to write and it’s due tomorrow. I get back to writing.

8:30 pm. Dinner break. This paper is taking me longer than I thought. The sentences aren’t coming quick enough—it takes ages to get out just a paragraph. Only one page left, but I’ve already exhausted all relevant information and I know it’s going to take me two hours to come up with something at this rate. 8:45 pm. Crap, it’s been fifteen minutes and I haven’t written anything. All I can think about is the new controller and its perfect buttons waiting to be mashed. I get up and move the controller under the table. If I can’t see it, it won’t entice me as much. I hope.

2:00 am. It’s over. The controller has beaten me. My laptop sits open by my side, untouched since midnight when I gave in, unable to coax my brain into being motivated enough to finish the paper.

4:30 am. My mind sinks into numbness as I stare with a hypnotized glare at the TV. A slow smile spreads across my lips. Only three more levels to go.

Prompt: Write a story based on the quote given-“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. The day had barely begun and I’d already completed so much. Murder, pillage, collect.

That port city didn’t stand a chance—the war in the north had taken away all the men needed for proper defense. Laborers had been taken to either serve or build weapons. The walls had fallen out of repair, weak and crumbling. They fell easily to my cannons.

I rolled a large, overly fanciful coin between my fingers that had belonged to a fat baron who met with me to negotiate the fate of the city. A crooked smile appeared when I remembered how much he pleaded with me to spare him; to hell with the rest of the common folk. How easily steel runs through fat. A knock at the door took me out me out of my reminiscence.

“Capt’n, storm’s a brewin’.”

I put my hat on my head and turned the humongous albatross feather to the left. The crooked grin reappeared.

What port will fall to my hand by the time the clocks strike thirteen tomorrow?

Prompt: Hall of Mirrors

Words couldn’t describe the mixture of sorrow and happiness that welled up inside Bec’s chest. She reached for the familiar face with features so similar to her own. One that had practically raised her as a child. He was crystal clear, rid of the fog of memory that time so cruelly created. Kaede’s youthful smile gleamed at her as his reflection mirrored her actions. For a brief moment, with her fingers settled on the glass, she pretended he was really there. That she could feel his warmth again, feel his fur underneath hers.

Suddenly, her older brother’s eyes went wide in fear when an ugly black blade sliced into his collar and dragged down his chest. Blood splattered on the glass as his hand slipped from hers. She screamed like she did fifteen years ago. She pounded her fists on the glass as he fell away, choking back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. The glass didn’t so much as fracture. It had been so long ago, but it still hurt so much.

Gathering back her senses, she stood straight and steeled her eyes at the bloodstained mirror. The pieces clicked into place.

“This is just some stupid illusion,” she muttered, struggling to steady her voice. “I need to get the hell out of here. Cynth can’t have all the fun on the outside.”

Turning away, Bec faced the house of mirrors that was her prison.