BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)
- Anxious
- Chain
- Coercive
- Conventional
- Current
- Disposition
- Dynamic
- Inward
- Social
- Stalk
NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)
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Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
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{ 67 comments… read them below or add one }
He was an anxious, socially awkward stalker, an inward dynamic of dispositions fighting for control over his mind and his current victim’s fate. Should he use conventional stabbing weapons or something more coercive and fear-inducing like acid?
Or should he unchain her and thus unchain his wicked mind?
“Man, antagonists are so hard to write,” says the fiction writer.
Doesn’t sound to hard to me, from your description. LOL
@Steve, what’s harder today is spelling apparently. I misspelled coercive and inducing in my post. Corrected.
@shane ~ Decisions, decisions… love it!
@Shane-I guess you are just too nice.
Shane. That deserves a continuance of at least another CCC chalenge.
In order:
I have never been so anxious about keeping a chain mail going, but the originator was very coercive in their wording.
I know the conventional current wisdom is to not participate in chain mail. In fact, if I were at work, participating would be a violation of company internet usage policy. Disposition of the issue, will take some dynamic inward thinking about the social implications.
If I do not participate, will the originator continue to stalk me, by repeating my not participating to those in my social networking circles, or just follow through on his/her threats to annihilate everyone I know?
As I was not at work, so was not in danger of violating policy, I decided to forward the chain mail on, but only to those ten contacts that I really don’t care about.
Moral:
Don’t over think things that don’t really matter, just do what feels right.
@Steve: I love the way you think!
@sefeug-I love the morals to your story-they’re such a kick!
good advice
thanks
@Cathy Miller – I don’t know why I started adding a moral to these things. It has just taken on a life of its own. I even find myself adding them to my efforts at other writing prompt sites, like this post from yesterday <http://sefccw.posterous.com/three-word-wednesday-3ww-cciii-amwriting>
Some hack writer would probably say something along the lines that “a lesser man would be anxious“. Personally, Jake felt that having the muzzle of a ten millimeter pistol pressed to one’s temple would cause any sane man to be anxious at the very least.
“When I was your age Hutchins I was a chain smoker. You know how I quit? Nerves of steel.” The gun dug deeper into Jake’s skin, right where the President’s knuckle had been a minute before. “That hasn’t changed. I will kill you and I’ll do it myself. Won’t lose a minutes sleep over it.”
The speech was neither original nor particularly coercive. Jake didn’t doubt the man’s words were true though, for all that. “But?”
The gun broke contact with his skin. From his lopsided angle on the floor Jake watched Welborn walk to a nearby table. The elderly statesman lay the large frame pistol near a crystal decanter and poured a healthy splash of what was likely very expensive scotch into a rocks glass. “But that would hardly tell me why you’re here or how you came to know of the events of fifteen years ago and any connections I may…” Welborn sipped at the scotch. “Or may not have to them. Neither of us are conventional men Mr. Hutchins. Would you agree?”
Play along. “Fair enough.” Jake struggled to sit upright and finally succeeded. “Conventional men wouldn’t find themselves in either of our current situations.”
Welborn chuckled darkly. “Indeed. You have quite the chipper disposition considering just what your situation is.”
“Mama always told me to always look on the bright side of life. I’m not dead.” Jake tried to summon a smile.
“The night’s still young.” He slurped at the scotch again. “So you’ve got my attention with what you think you know. Please, go on.”
Never a particularly dynamic speaker, Jake knew that continued life would depend on his channeling the spirit of Scheherazade. Of course he knew enough truths that would perhaps be interesting enough by themselves. “I’m no conspiracy theorist Mr. Welborn, but the side of the world I’ve seen over the last forty years tells me that there are perhaps more outlandish things that are true than even most of those nuts would find easy to swallow. To put it succinctly, Hamlet was right.”
Welborn put down the scotch and picked up the pistol.
Jake kept talking, looking at the President’s eyes and not the muzzle of the gun. It helped him maintain an inward peace. “I know that the first time I heard that the government was involved in the attack on the Social Security Administration building I was skeptical to say the least.” At the mention of the most egregious attack on any federal building since the Pentagon incident, Jake was pleased to see Welborn’s eyes narrow. “I mean why would anyone hit it, much less our own government? It just seemed like such an odd target. Of all the government buildings in DC that one made the least amount of sense.”
As Jake spun out the story, Welborn began to stalk back and forth, pacing, but never taking his eyes off of Jake.
“Then when reports started coming out that it was part of a botched attempt on several buildings in the area things began to come together, or so the official reports indicated. The group that got tagged as being responsible, some militant atheists bent on eradicating all religious symbols from the Capital, was an easy enough scapegoat. All the media noise and subsequent trial was a good smokescreen for what was really going on. Too bad you failed.”
President Welborn stopped walking and stared at Jake, his eyes boring into the younger man’s. Something like humor floated in the dark pits. “What makes you think we failed?”
@Scott: Outstanding. I’m going to read that again.
Thanks! Glad you liked.
@scott ~ oooo, can’t wait for the continuation! This is exactly the kind of story I like to read.
Thanks Kool Aid!
@Scott-I love this story! Would make a great movie.
Scott, Agreat story. Sounds a bit like the fellow who wrote, “The hunt for red october.” Keep it going
I’ll take that as a great compliment. Much appreciated!
That’s sort of how I write. I play the movie in my head and write it as best I can.
In order:
)
The anxious chain of coercive thoughts seemed antithetical to the conventional wisdom I currently possessed. They shaped my disposition and changed my dynamic, turning my focus inward. No longer a social butterfly, I turned into a stalker!
(Not autobiographical, thankfully
@Kretha: Love how you strung these words together.
@Shane…Kretha…sounds like a science fiction character…hehe
@Karetha-very nice & glad to know it’s not autobiographical, but in case it is, would you lose my email?
Karetha, Wonderful short
The average person walks a mile in about 15 minutes. If an Olympian ran 2 miles, they would finish in 8 or 9 minutes or so. Stacy was neither walking nor an Olympian, so it took her close to 20 minutes to arrive at Kangaroo Kids. The windows were all dark but there were a few cars in the lot. Anxiously, she approached the front doors, hoping they were still there.
She tapped on the glass, peering inward watching for any sign of movement. She rapped harder, almost rudely, but considering her current disposition, she didn’t care. She wanted her son and the proper social mores be damned.
Just as she turned towards the chain-link fence around the play ground, she both heard and felt a massive explosion. She looked around frantically trying to find the source of the explosion and saw a huge fireball just to the south. What the hell?!? Stacy scanned the horizon around her and noticed for the first time, other smoke trails from various fires. Looking closer, she realized that several of the smoke trails also seemed to connect to contrails in the sky. “It’s like planes are falling out of the sky… What in the hell is going on here?”
Just then, she heard a voice. “Stacy?” She jumped as though she were being stalked and turned towards the voice. She saw Julie Richmond, mother to a classmate of Logan, and visibly relaxed.
“Julie, what the hell is going on?” She asked, frantic.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think anything is working. Nothing. There’s no electricity anywhere. I was at the gas station picking up a drink when the power went out. I had to be all coercive to the guy to let me out.” Julie explained. “Is there anyone here?”
“I don’t know,” Stacy answered. “No one is answering my knock. I know it’s a bit unconventional, but I was going to climb the fence and see if I can look in the windows. Then I heard the explosion. Are they plane crashes?”
Julie just shrugged a shoulder, trying not to appear panicky, but her eyes glittered dynamically with fear. “I don’t know…”
“Stay here and watch the door. I’m going over the fence,” Stacy climbed over and hopped to the ground. She approached one of the windows covered from the inside with art from the children. As she peeked in, she saw movement. Gently, she tapped on the door that led to the playground and tried to get the attention of the teacher.
@Kool Aid: Man, you’re killin’ me.
Can’t wait to find out what’s going on.
Yeah, ditto! Will this become a TV-series anytime soon? Then we can say “we knew her when…”
@Kool Aid-as Shane would say-Holy bleep-love this story!
Kool Aid. The good thing about reading submittals late is I don’t have to wait long to read the next episode. Excellent
I am quite anxious to begin a dynamic social chain of events which will change my current behavioral eating patterns forever. I must look inward as I have my first contest weigh-in this Wednesday and vow to keep my sunny disposition no matter how coercive
all the fattening food around me might be and know that I must adopt more conventional healthy menus and make the celery stalk (occasionally with a spoonful of peanut butter)
my best friend!! Wish me luck CCCers, $50,000 in prizes will be given out at the end!!!
Yes, this will be a good theme for you to follow, because it will help you stay on track. We are rooting for you!
@Margaret ~ you can do it!!
@Ma: If you add that peanut butter, I’m banning you from the CCC!
@Margaret-Holy-you-know-what-$50K would definitely inspire me! Good luck and remember CCC!
Margaret. The best prize you can win is slim. My sister lost 80 pounds once and said, “nothing taste better than losing weight.” I”m carring around 40 pounds to much. I call the 40 “Harvey” and say that I’m going to get rid of Harvey, the son of a bitch, if it kills me. I’ve also instructed my friends to call me, “Fat ass,” until I lose the weight
Good luck
Thank you all for your good wishes. I need to do this for my health and vanity and prize money is a great incentive. The money does not all go to one person, but will be distributed to teams and individuals who excel. But you’re right, A…the best prize would be slim.We women get to a certain age and the metabolism says “guess, what, bitch!!! this is payback for eating that way all those years….didn’t think you could getr away with it forever, did you”?
$50k is a lot of motivation.
“You nasty little social climber!”
His last words echoed around the apartment long after I had secured the door’s safety chain. “They’ll have to break that sucker down in a couple of days,” I thought,”but a few good shoves ought to do it.”
It really pained me to be the cause of this damage. The Super was a nice guy with the disposition of a lovable puppy; I know he’d been anxious about renting to me, me with no references and no current job. But I can be pretty coercive when necessary and my dynamic personality won him over in the end.
A little while of quiet inward-gazing brought me to the conclusion that I’d have to deal with this one in a more conventional way, not the usual intricate work I like to leave behind. His place in society demanded a somewhat dignified treatment.
Munching on a stalk of celery, I began laying out my tools.
*ears perked*
Do go on.
@Silvia: That was outstanding! I could take this so many ways. Is it a serial killer, is it a painter or sculpter? His last words?
I agree with Scott. Ears perked, go on indeed.
Thanks, you guys! I appreciate the positive comments. Yeah, serial killer. Perhaps I can turn it into a serial! Hear, hear, wit!
@Sylvia-I’m with Shane-so many ways-which means it’s one excellent write!
Great use of CCC words
I was once a sperm cell,
a dynamic seed
I left my Dad
from whence he peed
Inward I went
with a million others
Conventional were we
all sperm brothers
In a toxic current
to stalk an egg
Of callous disposition
that ovaries laid
With social supremacy
I swam past them all
And punctured a part
of the eggs stubborn wall
With coercive adhesion
and chain reaction
That split my DNA
into numerous fractions
Now I’m anxious
to see with time
If resemblance is hers
or really mine.
@A: Well done…and damn funny, too. I bet Margaret will love this one.
@A-I think I may have had some leakage-but not from the same place as your little cell-Toooo funny!
That is a riot! Well done.
Very clever and funny too.
Can you believe I am here during the week? I deserve a break today. ♪
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Death & the Detective Series
He told himself he was not anxious for a response. He was in control. It was his game, his rules. He did not need their validation. No, he would control the game. When he thought of the chain of events leading up to this moment, the emotion was almost too much to bear.
Looking over at the tall, slender woman, bound and gagged, he ran a long finger down the smooth surface of the Bowie blade. Smiling with coercive diplomacy, his heart quickened at the visible shaking of her body. And, such a fine body it was. Hers was not a conventional beauty, but indeed, she was beautiful.
Setting the knife aside, he slowly moved to her side. Reaching down, he grasped the dangling electrodes and attached them one by one. Muffled cries mixed with tears of torture, but this was his game. The anticipation of the agonizing current was almost as entertaining as the act itself. It brought such a sweet disposition to the game.
He loved the dynamic of each new player. Each brought her own style, her own inward fears, her own social grace.
He lifted the pure white lily from its glass embrace. Holding it by its thick, long stalk, he laid it across the trembling woman’s lap, and ran that same hand gently down her smooth, pale cheek.
“Let the games begin,” he whispered.
Wow, we women do seem to go to the dark side with these things. This is super-creepy!
Right on Cathy, I mean, write on
@Cathy Miller – Nicely done. I need a break every day myself. I usually go here and similar sites during my lunch hour to create my submissions, and check things out on my breaks, and comment.
Unfortunately, I can’t always get a break, so sometimes I miss commenting on some excellent writing attempts.
Carry on!
@sefeug-thanks-I am usually here only on the weekends. I feel like I am writing just for Shane & me.
You can tell it has been summertime.
@Cathy: ps. That’s so wicked! Wicked good!
@Sylvia-the highest of compliments. Thank you!
@A-write on I will
It has been a long time, but here goes…
Delia was anxious. She had been chain smoking Marboroughs, even though she’s sworn to quit a month ago. This was different, who would begrudge her a cigarette (OK, a a pack of cigarettes) under the current circumstances? The opposing side tried to coercive her into cooperating, and perhaps under conventional circumstances, she would be of a disposition to make the type of dynamic social changes they proposed.
This time, Delia knew in her inward parts, that she would win. Anxious, stress, but on the outside confident and strong. She put the cigarette out with her shoe and walked, tall and lean as a stalk of grass into the courtroom to plead her case.
@Clarabela: Nicely done. Love how you spun a pivotal long term moment into the present tense pressing moment. Nice mixture there.
As Carter dropped to one knee, Sophie spat out her wine with a loud sputter. Her normal sense of decorum and sensible disposition evaporated. She started to whisper, but before long her dynamic voice echoed throughout the restaurant.
“Hold it, hold it, hold it, mister! I don’t know what cues you’ve read from me, but after three dates you should already know that I don’t agree with all of the mainstream conventional bullshit that you call a wedding. I don’t give a damn if the current trend is to hurry up and get married and I sure as hell don’t give a flying fuck about the social stigmas attached to being perpetually single. So before you start stalking me or buying diamonds or using other patriarchal coercive tactics, know this: I will never, ever, EVER marry you!”
He anxiously swallowed, cringed inwardly, and held up his pocket watch. “I dropped my chain.”
@Sara: Oh…my…goodness. Despite her aversion to conventional bullshit, I believe that dude’s getting lucky that night by default. Well done. Made me laugh.
Yay, thanks Shane! I think he’s pretty lucky too.
His legs twitched, causing Isabelle to be momentarily anxious as she wrapped the logging chain twice around his ankles, securing it with a large nut and bolt. Not a conventional way to heal a critter, but it seemed to be working well for her at this time. She was determined to be effectively coercive — clubbing him in the stomach, the shins, and the back of the head, just for good measures, as he had struggled for consciousness on all four. But that was not all she had planned for her ex-spouse.
His current disposition, an unimproved anti-social one, had brought him here. She knew it even if he would not admit it.
The dynamics of the target of his obsession, Isabelle, being in control inwardly threw him for a loop; just as she had counted on.
“I will teach you that it is socially unacceptable to stalk someone,” she said to the unconscious 6 foot plus heap of bones and muscles as she began to raise his heels to the rafters.
Ethan walked out of the gym with a confident smirk on his face, the only external evidence of his pleased disposition. The workout had been dynamic, challenging. He’d spent an extra twenty minutes at the bench press station, adding additional weights that his conventional weight training lacked.
As he stepped out onto the sidewalk to wait for the taxi, he relished the darkness. Twilight hailed the time of creatures of the night lurking in the shadows, of stalkers closing in on their prey, of coercive scumbags grooming their dates little by little until their unwelcome advances were received. It was his favorite time of the day, and he often waited anxiously for its arrival.
But currently, he was satisfied – a rare thing, indeed. Inwardly, he praised himself, still feeling the burn in his arms as the muscles strained tight against his shirt. He glanced disdainfully at the chain-smoking brute next to him, apparently waiting for his own ride. Ethan heard the soft flick, flick flick as one by one the man burned through cigarettes and tossed the crumpled butts on the sidewalk. The soft glow of their smoldering remains encircled the man like road kill fireflies. Ethan shook his head in pity of the obvious lack of intellect and social graces he had to endure.
When the taxi arrived, Ethan approached, but when he reached out to open the door, the thug cut in and roughly shoved him aside. He seemed to have extinguished the last of his pack.
“Get your own cab, gimp. This one’s mine,” the guy growled, slamming the door closed behind him.
Before Ethan could react, the car zoomed off, leaving him seething on the street. He repeatedly flexed and relaxed his muscles as he tried to get a hold of the situation. Rage boiled inside him.
Just then, he noticed a woman walking along the deserted street, making her way toward him. She was pretty, but more importantly, she was alone.
@Becca: YA GOT ME! I was not expecting the ending. That’s how you end a submission! Do continue.
IT DIDN’T HAPPEN THIS WAY
The candidate was instantly at ease in the office. Not a social butterfly, but as comfortable as if she’d always been there. If her disposition was any more dynamic she might have scared off her potential-future-coworkers. In the interview, her potential-future-boss seemed more anxious than she was, and that was a good thing.
“I’m no good at this,” he announced.
I’m very, very good at it, thought the woman who’d been on ten interviews a month for the last six months with no success. Sixty businesses with no use for her, she might think in an inward-facing moment of self-pity. Better to think, sixty businesses who allowed her to practice for her current interview.
“Conventional interviews aren’t as insightful for either party,” was what she said out loud, “so I’m glad you’re not too good at them.”
Mr. Potential-future-boss laughed. That had to be a good sign.
He explained where she’d be in the chain of command (right in the middle of things).
He explained that he had a life outside of work and expected other people to have a life, too. Wanted to see the people he worked with happy. (Without being coercive, this seemed to make her want to confess that at the moment she’d devote herself more than his average employee to the job, as she had no life at all. Did that sound woeful?)
“I’d love the job, Mr. Gates,” she said at last with what she hoped was an easy smile. “Just so I don’t come off as a stalker, calling every other day, about how long do you expect to leave the position open before making a decision?”
“Don’t worry, Melinda, you’ll hear from me long before the curtain comes down on 1987.”
Ms. French had a good feeling as she drove away from the Microsoft complex.
@Kelly: If only I could have crossed their path then, too.
Shane – Agreed. Don’t we all wish!