Ever felt like you want to write but you don’t know what to write? Kind of like what pregnant women feel when they’re hungry but get nauseous by pretty much everything. Whether it is to decide the content of your first blog post, the first chapter of your new book or the first line of the 3000 words essay you’re due to submit tomorrow. There’s a lot of pressure to not only capture the reader but also yourself. For all the non-writers out there (who probably stopped reading this post after the first sentence), it is actually damn important for the writer to be engrossed in their own story themselves too. When we don’t like our characters, we either destroy our laptops or destroy readers’ lives. (Yes, I’m looking at you, George R. R. Martin.)

Obviously, I turned to the one trusted friend who has always been there for us the night before every important project in school. The holy sanctimony that has heard our prayers and showered knowledge at us at our most desperate moments. The one and only confidant/ mentor who doesn’t tell us to fuck off even after hearing the most idiotic questions like “what would happen if a girl took viagra” and statements like “i hate it when i lose my white friends in snow”. GOOGLE. *insert praying emoji*

(I’m not kidding about the searches. Even Business Insider reported this.)

I asked Google for writing prompts and it directed me to various websites that, I kid you not, had more hilarious prompts than the sort of things people search about. Some of them were downright weird and/or useless. For example, one said, “You’re working in McDonald’s in 1988. You notice people with strange clothes coming in everyday, asking for Szechuan sauce.” That does not make me creative; it makes me hungry. And it’s 1988. Obviously the clothes they’re wearing are strange.

So I put in some good ones and a base of the story to help you through. If you feel like throwing your shoes at me, go ahead. It’ll only hit your laptop screen anyway.

 

a cat condo, a zodiac poster, a green tea latte in a golden chalice

Aka the untold story of Sybill Trelawney. An old lady with huge spectacles and shabby hair, petting her forty-sixth cat called absentmindedly as she peers into the golden chalice that she had been drinking her green tea latte in. As she gazes upon the remains of her tea leaves and career, she mutters about how if someone other than Whiskers had believed her about her prediction of the death of a child in school, Deathly Hallows would have been way shorter.

That’s what happens when you don’t have reliable wi-fi.

Aka the untold story of my life.

Genre: high fantasy

Person: a terrible writer

Problem: there’s a wedding that needs to be stopped

Obviously the writer is terrible if he’s high while writing fantasy. When you smoke a joint and think you can be J. R. R. Tolkien, the Marked series happens. In other words, it seems damn good fun at first but when you get sober again, the only words out of your mouth are synonyms of ‘utter idiotic douchebaggery’.

You are a terrorist trying to hijack a plane. Unknown to you and your team, so is everyone else on the plane.

An uncoordinated terrorist effort gone unpredictably wrong. But then again, they should have known better when they boarded a plane from Afghanistan to Syria.

Little does the Chicago Police Department know, they’ve infiltrated the mafia so much so that no criminals are left, just a bunch of undercover cops.

Well, duh, The mafia people all went to hijack the same plane.

 

…and now, for an actually good writing prompt:

“You’re pretty happy for a dead man.”

Said the Joker to his newest kill. He drew a smile with the knife before he stabbed him in the heart, What he didn’t expect was that the smile would look so damn genuine. He wanted him to hurt, not be happy. He lifted his knife again and managed to twist the gory joy on his face into the agony he’d imagined in his head. He chuckled, “Still mocking me, huh, dad?” and buried the blade of his bloody knife right between his eyebrows.

 

On that gruesome note, I bid you adieu.

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