The Only 10 Creative Writing Prompts You Need

by Joe Bunting | 55 comments

You get better at any skill through practice. Prompts are a great way to practice writing (as you might imagine, we're really into practice here), and in this post, I have ten of our best creative writing prompts.

Try a few out, and if you're ready to take the next step in your writing, check out our 100 Best Short Story Ideas.

10 Best Creative Writing Prompts

How To Use These Creative Writing Prompts

At the end of every article on The Write Practice, we include a writing prompt so you can put what you just learned to use immediately. And we invite you to share your writing with our community so you can get feedback on your work.

The Write Practice is more than just a writing blog. It's a writing workbook, and we think it's the best one on the Internet (of course, we're a bit biased).

One of the most important parts of practice is getting feedback, and we want to help YOU get feedback on your writing. To do that, choose one of the prompts, write for 15 minutes, and then copy and paste your practice into the box at the bottom to post your practice in our forum for feedback. You'll be able to read others' practice and give feedback too.

And if you want even more prompts, you can download our workbook, 14 Prompts, for free here (it's normally, $5.99).

Want a month of prompts?
Click here to download our free calendar of writing prompts to kickstart your writing habit!
Download Free Prompts Here

Our Most Popular Creative Writing Prompts

Why not try using two or three of these creative writing prompts in your writing today? Who knows, you might even begin something that becomes your next novel to write or short story. It's happened to Write Practicers before!

Enjoy the writing prompts!

My 3 Favorite Writing Prompts

  • Write about a time you felt out of place, awkward, and uncomfortable. Try not to focus on your feelings, but project your feelings onto the things around you.
  • Write about a ghost. How do they feel about the world? What do they see and hear? How did they become a ghost?
  • Your characters haven’t gotten any sleep. Write about why, and how they respond to being sleepless.

Now, let's look at the rest of our favorite prompts! 

1. Grandfathers

Write about a grandfather, maybe your grandfather or your character's grandfather. What memories do you/does your character associate with him?

See the prompt: Grandfathers

Creative Writing Prompts

2. Sleepless

Your characters haven’t gotten any sleep. Write about it.

See the prompt: Sleepless

Creative Writing Prompts

3. Out of Place

Write about a time you felt out of place, awkward, and uncomfortable. Try not to focus on your feelings, but project your feelings onto the things around you.

See the prompt: Out of Place

Creative Writing Prompts

4. Longing

Write about longing. How does it feel to go about a normal day when your character wants something else?

See the prompt: Longing

Creative Writing Prompts

5. Write About Yourself

Write about yourself.

See the writing prompt: Write About Yourself

Creative Writing Prompts

6. Ghosts

Write about a ghost. How do they feel about the world? What do they see and hear? How did they become a ghost?

See the prompt: 3 Reasons to Write About Ghosts

Creative Writing Prompts

7. Road Trip

Write about a road trip. Is your character escaping something? Is your character looking for something? Hint at the thing without telling us while describing what the character sees.

See the writing prompt: Road Trip

Creative Writing Prompts

8. Morning

Write about the morning. What are your character's morning routines? What is special about this morning?

See the prompt: Morning

Creative Writing Prompts

9. The Beach

Write about the beach. Is your character reflecting on something important that has happened to them? Describe the memory while overlaying the sights, sounds, and smells of the beach onto them.

See the prompt: The Beach

Creative Writing Prompts

10. Autumn

Write about autumn. Natural surroundings can bring up old memories and odd feelings. Describe what your character sees, feels, and most of all does.

See the prompt: Autumn

Creative Writing Prompts

Want a month of prompts?
Click here to download our free calendar of writing prompts to kickstart your writing habit!
Download Free Prompts Here

Do you use writing prompts in your writing? What is your favorite prompt for ideas? Share in the comments.


For today's practice, choose one of these prompts and write for fifteen minutes. When you're finished with your practice, share it in the Pro Practice Workshop. Don't forget to leave feedback for three other writers. Not a community member yet? Join us

Happy writing!

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Joe Bunting is an author and the leader of The Write Practice community. He is also the author of the new book Crowdsourcing Paris, a real life adventure story set in France. It was a #1 New Release on Amazon. Follow him on Instagram (@jhbunting).

Want best-seller coaching? Book Joe here.


  1. TheCody

    It usually takes the living to confirm you’re dead. That’s why Saginaw didn’t know for months he’d passed. He was a hermit, had lived alone out in the woods for years. He still isn’t sure how or when he died.

    After it happened, he continued to get up every morning and head out to the woodpile. Chopping was his release, his balance, his yoga. The repetitive grabbing and swinging and cracking and discarding brought him harmony.

    Until the day he realized nothing was happening.

    Like every other morning, he grabbed for the axe handle. This time, he noticed his hand passed right through it.

    “What the hell?” he said to himself.

    He looked down and saw the log cabin through his body, and knew he was dead. Thinking back, he realized he’d probably been dead for awhile. The familiar weight of the axe was a distant memory. He’d been grabbing and swinging and cracking and discarding nothing. He was going through the motions because they brought him peace.

    Saginaw wasn’t sure what a ghost was supposed to do with his free time. He tried strolling through the woods and watching animals. They never spooked like he expected. It was boring.

    Within days, he realized how much he missed his chopping. He returned home and tried doing it like a mime – empty hand reaching up and striking down on nothing. But now it made him feel useless.

    According to the books he’d read during his life, the dead had the ability to interact with the real world. He practiced, trying to control things with his translucent body. He found that he could create a type of wind with his movements. Grass would sway as he ran by and dandelions would shed their cotton if he swooshed his hand over them.

    That was the most he could do; wind would never carry his axe. Ghosts couldn’t shed tears but it didn’t stop Saginaw from crying.

    He cried until he was angry. In a rage, he jumped up and, growling, grabbed the axe. It flew up with his hands.

    “Oh my God!”

    His anger vanished and the axe slipped through his fingers. He tried picking it up again, but it refused. Saginaw grew furious at his futility and kicked at the handle. His foot caught the wood and Saginaw realized what was happening.

    His raw anger fueled the power to move objects. The only way to do what calmed him was to lose his calm. A total catch-22.

    Sag fell to the ground. He’d never thought much about the afterlife. Glancing at the axe, he wondered, as dread lit fire to his insides, exactly where he was.

    • Giulia Esposito

      I like this piece a lot. It’s like a little story. That line, “Chopping was his release, his balance, his yoga.” is very telling, the yoga bit completing it beautifully. Thanks for sharing.

    • Adelaide Shaw

      An interesting take on life after death. What is it? Even when dead, the dead don’t know. A question to be never answered.

  2. Dawn Atkin

    Brilliant post.
    I love just starting with a prompt and letting my muse find her way. I could pick any one of these starters and write a series of short pieces. And then voile I have a mini collection to create into a mini e-book. Wow. You’ve just experienced my ‘light-bulb’ moment. I now have an idea for some free giveaways to my potential readers.

    After a couple of weeks of dull creative urge, this post has just put a surge of creative current back in my circuit. Thank goodness for that.
    Thanks Joe for the inspiration.


    • Joe Bunting

      Thanks so much, Dawn. So glad this got your creative juices flowing! 🙂

  3. Giulia Esposito

    I’m book marking this page, what a great post.

    Here’s what I wrote.

    The beach is empty. On a beautiful, perfect day, with a sky
    of crystal blue, the beach is empty. You can hear the surf slap against the
    sand, and the cry of gulls overhead. The white, fine sand stretches before you,
    so bright you have to squint against it. The day is hot, but not sweltering, and
    you marvel at the privilege of having the beach all to yourself. There is
    nothing here but, you, the gulls and the sound of the waves. The coconut smell
    of the lotion you are applying, the red of the beach towel laid down. You
    wonder if you should have brought a book, if you ought have left the ipod in
    the car, but then you sit down, watch the waves ebb and tide against the wet
    sand, and let the song of the sea lull you. A fleeting thought of awe wanders
    into your mind, at the quiet, extraordinary way that nature has, going on
    without human observation. The sea will always lap against the shore. The gulls
    will nest in the brush and seek their dinner from the sea. Even the fish,
    unseen, will make their homes and hatch eggs, all without anyone watching. It
    all continues without human eyes upon them, and it is marvellous. And then, in
    a moment like this, a perfect bubble in time, you might be allowed to witness
    it. Watch the gull walk along the rocks, its black shiny eye on you, watch the
    rhythmical way the waves roll and turn. See the crab burrow out from the sand,
    crawling along the shore.

    then in an instance, the bubble is broken. The moment shattered as the high
    voice of a child comes laughing into the sand. A couple follows close behind,
    their voices low. They make their place a distance away from you, but it is too
    late. The moment of grace with nature is over, the human world has once again
    inserted itself and the beach is no longer empty.

    • Dawn Atkin

      I love the beach. And I totally appreciate those moments/ times of immersion into the whole wonder of life at lands edge.

      And then being slapped back into the moment by the sound and presence of humans.

      Nice writing. Thanks for sharing.

    • Giulia Esposito

      Thanks for the feedback.

    • Catherine

      I loved this piece! Your wonderful word choice and clever phrasing helped to create a very vivid image of this gem of a beach, in my mind. It really sucked me in, so much so that I couldn’t help but feel a sharp twinge of sadness and disappointment when the human presence disrupted it all and popped the “perfect bubble in time”. Thank you for sharing such a lovely piece.

    • Giulia Esposito

      Thank you Catherine! That certainly is encouraging, and I appreciate the feedback.

    • Catherine

      You’re very welcome! I’m glad I could be of some help. Best of luck in all your writing endeavors!

    • Gregory Walsh

      No idea if you will find this a year later.

      I was reading this and at first I was like thinking. I have read this before. Crystal blue sky. Generic.

      And then I hit the line, “you ought have left the ipod in the car”. And it suddenly became personal.

      In Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, the author talks about how children draw symbols. You say draw a person and they draw a stick figure. For an adult it is generic. They don’t actually look at what they are drawing.

      The first part of that you write is like that and then suddenly small details, personal details, start to appear and the piece becomes much more powerful. In my opinion you drop out of the generic symbols of a beach and into your personal subjective view point, and the writing gets much better. More visceral.

      For me I would encourage you to go back and either drop or rewrite all the generic parts like crystal blue sky, which sounds symbolic, to something personal.

    • Leslie Hawthorne

      I love this…..

  4. Dawn Atkin

    I picked beach.

    Soft morning mist
    Gently rises to kiss
    Fan of dawn’s rays
    And slicing through silky southern teal
    Nullakai’s finger, long dark green
    Invites me in.
    Briney effervescence clings
    To salty diamond necklace
    Criss-crossing my
    Summer freckled chest
    And aquamarine mesmerised
    My sleepy sea stained eyes
    Sting to a blur
    As swollen turquoise curve
    Breaks this office face
    Drowning the frown
    Before it begins
    I am fresh again fresh
    This Monday morning.

    • Adelaide Shaw

      I’ve been intending to post a comment, but I don’t know much about blank verse or any other poetry other than Japanese short-form poetry such as haiku. What I notice about this poem is that some of the lines read awkwardly because of the lack of an article: a .

      “Fan of dawn’s rays,” I think would read better if it were “A fan of dawn’s rays.” Same with “To salty diamond necklace” which would be better as “To a salty diamond necklace.” Again, a missing “a” with “As swollen turquoise curve.” Also, I don’t understand “And aquamarine mesmerised.” .

      Otherwise, it’s a beautiful scene and a wonderful way to greet a Monday morning.


    • Dawn Atkin

      Thanks Adelaide. Great feedback.
      Aquamarine should have been two words – aqua marine.
      I guess I was trying to imply ocean water in a sparklier, gem like way, and taking poetic licence/ freedom by playing with the two words.

      Much appreciated.
      Dawn 🙂

  5. Dawn Atkin

    … And I picked ‘morning’.

    Dewey pearls lace the graceful dance of understory and spider webs weep fine filaments between sleeping boughs and awakening flowers. In hushed light creamy tones, sun softly shines awake dancing through curls of morning mist. And my body slips into the day, barefoot upon the forest floor.

    Early birds sing through the dawning light, their excitement bouncing from leaf to branch. They pause to consider my gaze then flutter on their busy way.

    This flesh of mine in autumn beige seeks a deeper walk, into the maze of awakening trees with liquorice trunks black and damp with dew.

    Only the forest is talking; the world is yet to yawn and stretch it’s sleepy limbs out of night warmed sheets. I am alone in full company of the promise of a new day.

    Strings of purple Hovea buds embrace my passing by, an ephemeral bracelet for one tiny moment, and leave a trace of sparkling silver pearls moist across my wrist. This freshness I bring to my lips. This gift I gently kiss. And I love myself awake.

    • Giulia Esposito

      This sort of reads like a poem, in fact a re-read proves it is! I almost missed that, I was reading too fast. Thank you for sharing.

    • Dawn Atkin

      Hi Giulia
      It was just a quick 15 minute muse, but yes, now that you’ve pointed it out it does read like poetry. Thanks for that feedback, I can have a play with it and offer it some shape.

      Did you like it? Or was it a bit to poetic and slow? I’d appreciate your feedback.

    • Giulia Esposito

      Oh, I did like it! I think the structure shape of the poem needs a bit of polish, it might read more smoothly if the lines were shorter. I actually like the languid feel it has, it expresses morning and nature well, how everything seems expanded and slower when you’re really looking at the tiny marvels found in the natural world.

  6. Tea, the Spirit, and a Pen


    He’s not a grandfather and I’m terrified he won’t become one. He’s be a great one. I’m positive.

    I really shouldn’t be afraid of hospitals. I grew up in one–Dad’s a doctor. I’m familiar with the tile floors and nurses knowing my name and my nickname. But now I’m afraid. He’s not in scrubs but instead in a gown. A nasty butterfly needle is digging into his skin. They always say it’s a small needle and won’t hurt. Don’t believe them.
    I’ve had nightmares about this. About driving from Mississippi back home because he’s had a heart attack. He’s never had any heart problems so that fear should be irrational. I should have been praying a seemingly ridiculous prayer. It’s a good thing I was praying even though I didn’t know why. Unknown prayer saved his life.
    As I sat with him on the hospital bed I felt so strange. I felt 7 and still desperately needing my dad. I can’t do anything without him. I don’t know how to be me without him. At the same time I felt grief for my future children. If he’s not better then those make believe kids will only have my stories to go on. They’d never believe me when I told them their grandfather was the greatest man to ever live.

    My brothers have stories. Absolutely hilarious stories of my dad that they both recounted on the way to the hospital room. As they did I realized I don’t have stories. I have facts, subjects, events. I have moments.

    -Reading Harry Potter together and standing in line for each book release.

    -Agatha Christie
    -Keeping Up Appearances
    -“I think I’ll go pay that bill.” “You know what I think you should do?” “What?” “Go pay that bill.” “Oh my gosh you’re brilliant!”
    -We are both left handed.

    -How to swing a bat.

    -How to replace a door.

    -How to drive.

    -Telling me his “M.D.” stood for “My Daddy.”
    -His Martin acoustic guitar
    -The smell of cedar wood and rain when he made duck calls in the basement.

    I don’t have hilarious stories of my dad I just have a lot of lessons. He taught me in every moment we spent together. Those moments were hilarious but I don’t think I could recreate them to become stories.

    I want him to be a grandfather because I didn’t know mine. He has to show my children how amazing he is because how could I possibly put that into words?
    He’s my very best friend. He thinks I can do absolutely anything. I know that I can because a quick phone call to him clears up any questions.

    He always has the answers.

    I need him to be a grandfather because I need him to keep being my dad.

    • EndlessExposition

      That was wonderful, simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking. I love it

    • Adelaide Shaw

      A warm tribute to your father. I hope he got well.

    • Jenna Orchard

      I really love this piece.

  7. Adelaide Shaw

    I chose morning as it was a few weeks ago up here in upstate NY.


    Spring is gearing up. At the far end of the front yard, where it rises to meet the road, crocus splash yellow, white and purple. Stems on the lilac bushes are knobby with green tipped leaf buds. Daffodils, some just poking through the soil, some already at their full height with swollen flower buds ready to burst. Through the open window the breeze is damp,ripe with the fragrance of wet dirt, last year’s leaves and manure from the field around the bend. There are busy calls from unseen birds and announcing honks from another gaggle of geese. There is, in this moment, everything that there is.

    coffee brewing
    the anticipation
    before the first sip

    • Dawn Atkin

      Lovely. I can almost feel myself standing beside you at the window.
      Great use of all the senses Adelaide.
      Thanks for sharing.

  8. Adelaide Shaw

    This post is in response to OUT OF PLACE

    A sorority beach house. Full of surging hormones and testosterone from the young women and the visiting frat boys who have a house down the road. Some girls have wandered there to see what’s going on. Most likely the same things that are going on here.

    It’s Easter Break at Laguna Beach. A week of fun, fun, fun! For some. For most. But not for the dark haired girl trying to play poker with two other girls and three guys. Trying to play because she is new at the game and loses every hand. She also loses at the witty, sexually laced repartee between the other five players. After four games and down to her last 10 pennies, she quits. It is not for her this game. The entire experience is not for her. She looks over the party goers. Beer, kisses and gropes are exchanged in corners.
    What goes on in the closed bedrooms is better not seen.

    She takes a beer, her first, and her cigarettes and goes out to the beach. This is what she came for: the beach, swimming during the day, reading what she didn’t have time for when crushed with class assignments, girl talk with a few friends. Even that is a disappointment as the girl talk usually turns to boys, a topic which is foreign to her experience.

    She’ll lie when she goes back to her classes. She’ll say the week was fun, a blast. Yeah. Partying every night. At least, she’ll have a tan to prove she was there.

    • Dawn Atkin

      Lovely demonstration of the odd teen, who out of place cannot even bare to bow to peer pressure. I liked the ending where she decided to lie to fit in.

      Can you please tell me what a ‘sorority’ house is exactly. (I’m not from the USA.)

      Thanks for sharing

    • Adelaide Shaw

      Many colleges have sororities, a club of sorts to which candidates are invited to be a member. In some colleges they can be very snobbish, at least that was the situation when I was in college. My college, a small woman’s college, was more democratic, in that a student chose the soriety she wanted and was accepted in it. There was no voting on who could come in and who could not. Bigger colleges have special housing for sororities and fraternities (the male equvilent of sororities).I don’t know what other sororities did, but the ones at my college, in addition to organizing teas, parties, picnics, etc., had a commitment to do some social work for the community. Being a Catholic college we gave Catechism lessons to young childdren in poor parishes where there was a shortage of teachers to give these lessons after school

      A sororiety beach house is just that: a house at the beach which the sorority rents for a time, the rent being paid for by charging a fee for each girl who wants to spend the week there. Easter week was usually a time of letting loose

      I hope this answers your question.

    • Dawn Atkin

      Thank you.

  9. Dawn Atkin

    Thanks again Joe
    Due to the inspiration of this post and it’s kickstarting my creative flow (I’ve been editing my first novel), I have decided to do the NaNo July Camp.

    Using some of the above prompts I am aiming to complete a collection of short stories, prose and poetic interludes. My goal is only 10,000 words. This will give me time to edit, shape and tease out detail. It’s winter in my part of the world. A cosy time to write beside the fireplace.

    A brief synopsis:
    A collection of short stories, prose and poetic interludes that reflect on the shadows, woods, winds and ocean waves of a south coast winter.

    Where nature walks deep into the rhythm of this human’s hibernating season and beckons her into conversation with looming clouds, long shadows and the low breathing reach of winter sun.

    That she may see the beauty that dances between the tempest winter weather sweeping the landscape and her quiet resting inner world.

    Of course I’ll still be visiting TWP daily. For ongoing inspiration and community to share with.
    Dawn 🙂

  10. Catherine

    What a great, stimulating post! I chose the ‘Morning’ prompt.

    My eyes slowly creaked open, only to squint in the sun beam that had smacked my face, arousing me from sleep. But I hadn’t been asleep…had I? I couldn’t be sure. As I groggily sat up in bed, a chill ran down my spine as the air conditioning kissed my back-drenched with sweat. The next thing I took notice of was the pounding in my chest. It seemed that my heart had been beating wildly only moments ago, and now it was doing its best to resume normality. Yet that wasn’t all. There was a dull, aching that had come with the wild beating. In my mind’s eye, I could see a face, slowly fading from sight. It’s features were slowly becoming more and more obscure. Who was he? Why did I care? Hardly a minute had passed before the man’s face vanished from my mind entirely. Birds began to chirp cheerily outside my window, and without knowing why- a tear slipped down my face and darkened the baby blue sheets. I struggled to search my mind for the image of his face once more, but there was nothing. There never would be- except for the lone tear that spotted my sheets.

    • disqus_wXut3RRdNv

      Great start that draws your readers in; beginning of the day, mysterious dream image evoking intense emotion, loved it Catherine!

    • jaime

      This is amazing.

  11. Dizzy

    I chose the sleepless prompt. I kind of went deeper than I was trying to.

    She tossed. She turned. Her eyes wouldn’t stay shut. They
    would stay open either. She blinked. The dark of the night filled the room, and
    the smell of dust covered everything. The blankets on the bed were everywhere,
    and one the pillows had been thrown on the floor. The rest of the bedroom
    looked neat, beside the dark and glooming aroma.

    She had a specific person on her mind. Someone she had been
    wondering about for awhile. She didn’t have a crush, nor were they enemies. The
    person was just very… normal. She tried getting her mind on something else,
    only to be reminded on him somehow. The smell was like him, the smell of the

    She turned again, thinking of what happened that day. He had
    asked her a strange question; one that’s wasn’t like trying to know someone. It
    was just strange. “Do you like country music?” His words echoed in her mind.
    She had said no, and then he had left, without any sign.

    He wasn’t exactly a normal boy, but he wasn’t weird either.
    He wears black often, but sometimes he’ll wear pink. His hair is often messy,
    but sometimes, for no reason, it’s perfectly neat. He manly sticks to keeping
    quiet, but sometimes, he’s the most active in class.

  12. Gregory Walsh

    Found this post and took a stab at the grandfather prompt.

    I never knew my grandfather.

    A man walks towards me. Top hat, suit. Black against white mist. He is smiling. He is a handsome man. He does not take a step but if he did they would be long strides. Purposeful, directed. He is tall but does not tower over me. And he is looking at me. Not at me, not through me. At me. At the deep sliver of me before the echoes of memory. And smiling. A smile that reaches from ear to ear. A smile that starts in the gut and ends in the eyes. A smile that leaves me quivering inside my own skin. He knows my secret.

    How does he know. What if he tells someone.

    He sees me. No, he sees him. The lie of lies. He sees past the lies. He sees the lies I tell myself and he laughs. A laugh from the belly that shakes the mists he reaches out from.

    Small lies. Self-pity. Worthlessness. Fear. His eyes move past them, not even bothering to swat them aside.

    Something rests on my heart.

    I never knew my grandfather.

  13. Brigitte

    I was inspired when I read this post and I immediately made a story. However, I came up with my own prompt: Jealousy.

    I keep finding the wrong in her brown capturing eyes, hoping to see the darkness she has yet to reveal. I keep finding the treason in her refined movements, the plan in her bright smile, the sting in her sweet words yet I couldn’t find any. She is the sun, and everyone is flocking around her warmth but I am blinded. My eyes sting and my breath caught within my throat, afraid they will notice the insecurities blowing in and out of my lungs. Afraid to move for they might see the urge to block their words worshiping her, slowly pressing my stomach, burying me into the depths of the dark place I wouldn’t want to be in but I’m still falling, falling, and falling. I have to avoid the mirror and the vision of myself beside her, comparing and losing. I have to refrain from looking as it would pour fuel into the fire and I have to stay away, far away from her. She pleaded why am I keeping distance, as I remember how my stomach churns every time they prefer her, how I’m always in the shadow of her glow, and I retreated leaving her groping in the dark for an answer, like how I’m pathetically groping for salvation. I cry that night chanting apologies; I am lost and I have to find myself, hoping to be stable and solid so my molecules will not easily drown in hers. I am me and she is her as they point my parts apart from her. A heterogeneous system, as one, as sisters, as best friends. But not today. Today I’m lying on the thorns of my selfish inexcusable reasons devoid of any strength to get up. Today, I’m still avoiding the traces of her on my notebook and my map. I’m sorry, you are the best and the worst that has happened to me and for that pitiful reason, today at 10 am in our small warm coffee shop I will not be there. I will be somewhere else, a place cowards run off to, somewhere you wouldn’t have to go.

    ——-your undeserving best friend: jealousy

  14. sherpeace

    I just re-posted a post on my FB page about using images to help you write!
    I used many images to write my novel. El Salvador’s civil war was the most photographed war in history. I bet it still is!
    Thanks for a great post!
    Sherrie Miranda’s historically based, coming of age, Adventure novel “Secrets & Lies in El Salvador” is about an American girl in war-torn El Salvador:
    Her husband made a video for her novel. He wrote the song too:

  15. SilentPsyche


    The sun shone through a small gap where the panels of curtains met. Usually the curtains did their job and blacked out any light, but the angle she laid in bed today was the perfect place for the sun to shine right on her face. It beamed like a laser through her eyelids. She turned over in bed attempting to evade the warm light. Her subconscious knew something wasn’t right. She bolted upright and scrambled to find her phone which served as her alarm clock. Dead. What time is it? She ran to the kitchen to look at the clock on the oven. It was blinking 3:38. This can’t be right, the sun is shining bright as noon. The power must have gone off sometime during the night. She hurried back to her room to plug in her phone. It seemed like hours as she waited for it to charge enough to turn on. Panic started to set in. Finally! The iPhone beamed back to life. The clock on the home screen read 7:22. She was late. Late for her first day at her new job.

  16. Bethany

    I really enjoy creative writing and I hope to get better at it. I always have different ideas running through my head but I never actually put them on paper. I chose the “Morning” prompt and I feel like this is actually pretty good!
    The warm rays of the sun filled the room as Vaughn lay their asleep. It was about 10:45 in the morning, and Vaughn was still exhausted from yesterday’s job searching. He had been fired about three months ago and has been budgeting his money the best he can. Natalie, his girlfriend, has been giving him small amounts of money here and there. Bzzz, Bzzz…his phone starts ringing, causing him to wake up from his deep sleep. His violet eyes scan the screen of the phone. Vaughn sighs, noticing it’s a text from Natalie. He puts the phone back where it was and snuggled back under the warm covers. As soon as his platinum hair hit the pillow- bzzz, bzzz, bzzz…this time it was a call. Vaughn released a sigh of annoyance, noticing it was Natalie again.
    “Hello”, he answered.
    “Vaughn I cannot believe you forgot again, you know as much as I help you, you could be a little better at remembering things”, Natalie yelled through the speaker.
    “What are you talking about, Natalie, we didn’t plan anything today! You said you were tired” Vaughn explained, his patients wearing thin.
    “I just texted you and said ‘Meet me at the new café’, I’ve been waiting here for thirty minutes and you’re still not here!”, Natalie whined.
    “Okay, okay, I’m on my way Naty”
    Vaughn threw the covers off himself and started getting ready. He wouldn’t have heard the end of it if he didn’t go. While he was pacing through his apartment, he knocked down a picture frame. He bent down and froze when he saw the picture it displayed. It was him standing beside a girl with brown hair and tan skin. Her smile was gentle and calming and her violet eyes sparkled with joy. Vaughn gently held the frame and whispered,” Cerene…”.
    *Flashback to High School*
    “Will we still talk like we are now, Florida seems like its pretty far”, Vaughn asked nervously.
    “Of course we will, silly, you’re my best friend!” Cerene Exclaimed.
    Vaughn and Cerene had been friends since elementary school. They were always together. Unfortunately, Cerene’s family traveled a lot. Her father’s job required them to move from time time. Vaughn didn’t like this at all, sure he had other friends, but they weren’t his best friends like Cerene was. She was always there for him, even when he was sick, she would bring tea, movies, or just sit and talk with him. Everyone at school thought the two liked each other. It was true Vaughn liked Cerene but he never knew how she felt about him. Cerene was leaving a week after graduation. As the day grew closer, Vaughn noticed that Cerene just wasn’t her cheery self anymore. Instead she seemed depressed and disconnected from the world. He’d find her staring off into the distance a lot like she was thinking. Three days before she was supposed to leave, Vaughn got a call from Cerene.
    “Hey, Cerene, how’s it goin’”, Vaughn answered.
    “Hey Vanya… have some bad news” Cerene explained.
    Her voice was shaking, Vaughn wondered if she was about to cry.
    “What is it, Cerene” he asked, worried.
    “I’m…leaving earlier than I thought”, she said sadly.
    “But why, what happened to te week after graduation” he pleaded.
    “I’m sorry, Vanya, I tried to get extra time but my father said we have to leave earlier than expected!” she exclaimed.
    “Its okay, Cerene, its not your fault, but can I see you before you leave, please”, Vaughn asked with hope.
    “Of course, silly, you’re my best friend!”
    Vaughn snapped out of day dream when his phone started vibrating again.

  17. Bookie

    Today was a fresh day, leaves crunching beneath my boots and the sun beams stretching out for a new morning. I usually had these walks by myself, oftenly I’d get looks from my friends of concern and they had always questioned me as to why I never invited them along. But me and the Autumn season are meant to be alone, we’re meant to be one.

    My nose was red, and I had an occasional case of the sniffles not that I was really bothered about it. Nevertheless it might not be winter but the whispy breeze, and the coldness of the astomophere was indicating that it was near. I paused at the tree, in the middle of a meadow. A meadow packed with tall soft grass, flowers that were in the process of blooming and the silent birds that peacefully flew on by in the bright clear sky. I parked myself down, my back resting on the bark of the old tree my knees tucked into my chest while my arms rested on top of my knees.

    I felt my hair blow with the sudden blast of wind, like waves of an ocean as I felt tears prick in the corners of my eyes. Truth is, Autumn was the sad season. The season where I lost my younger brother, Despite his falling sand the countless times he was called names and picked on by the other children, he always managed to smile and laugh with me, which you wouldn’t expect from a brother and sister. After he passed I always came here, somehow his presence lingered near.
    My eyelids eventually gave away to the tiredness from my sobs, my throat was sore, so just as I fell asleep, a small murmered whispered in my ear, “Sweet dreams, Sis.” And a small smile creeped onto my face, as well as the last falling tear.

    • Leslie Hawthorne

      This is lovely. I believe it to be true.

  18. adi

    Do you remember the last year when I called you and requested to see me at Clifton beach in the evening. You might have forget that call but tell me have you forgot that last meeting also? You might have forgot that meeting but tell me have you forgot our last dance on the sand. The sun was setting and the sky turned red as if it had not slept since many last nights. Do you remember when your left foot was kissing my right foot and your right my my left. Do you remember when we danced on the music of sew waves. Do you remember when a wave touched our feet took the sand from beneath our feet away with it. Since that day I am hanging in the air. I don’t have anything to place my feet on.

  19. John Rodgers

    Using the prompt, “Road trip” and this is what I came up with.

    11:00 in the morning, my wheelchair is securely locked in the mechanism. I’m semi nervous and excited, watching out the window as the bus pulls away from the depot. Out the corner of my eye, I notice one seat up and over, a young boy is looking back at me. I give him a quick smile before he turns to his mother. She looks back to me then nudges his shoulder. A scolding expression on her face and speaking quietly to him him. I don’t hear what is said but I’m sure I can imagine her words. Parents, how they stifle a child’s curiosity.
    2:45 in the afternoon, the lift is shaky as I ride it down off the bus. I’m glad to have all four wheels on the ground.
    I have a couple of minutes before I have to board the next bus. Just enough time for a quick bathroom break. I’m passing the young boy again. We make eye contact. His mother is busy scrounging through her purse. Oops, I bet she lost her tickets. I pop a wheely as I ride pass the boy and a bright smile lights up his young face as he watches. I turn back around, looking at him and smile. Catching a glimpse of me, his mother grabs his hand and pulls him along toward a customer desk. My eyes are still on the little boy as he looks back to me once more. I quickly give him a thumbs up, then ride off toward the rest room, wheeling on my back tires.
    3:00, I’d just exited the bathroom. Time to board. The bus will be leaving in 10 minutes bound for Philadelphia. I see the boy and his mother once more as I wheel myself toward the bus’s lift.
    Catching the mother’s eye, I remark, “He’s a bright young boy. He’s very inquisitive, nurture him well.” She manages a curt smile and hurriedly walks toward her destination and I can’t help to watch them as the lift raises me up to enter the bus. I can’t help but wonder about the man he’ll grow up to be.

    • robert

      this story really made my day and i would honestly consider you to become an author. I will forever cherish this story as i can relate being wheelchair bound and now have been inspired to “pop a wheely” which i will continue to do in my every day life.You are the reason i wake up in the morning

    • tammy

      Robert i take a massive offence to this as i am also “wheelchair bound” and like to “pop a wheely” from time to time and would highly recommend deleting your comment

    • AJ

      As a fellow wheeler, I too take great pride in ‘popping wheelies’ whenever free time shows face in my schedule. The W.A. society (wheelers anonymous) are a faction of like minded individuals who all have a great passion for the art that is ‘paralytic parkour’. I come from a long line of wheelers, must be in my genes-sorry future kids L0L! Not a singe soul has stood tall in my family for many of years now, everyday’s a struggle, all worse than the last, but my strong will and high admiration pulls me through with a little grass from my friends if you get what i mean 😉 anyway, maybe we could arrange a date sometime soon, ill send you my details for future reference.

    • Lance

      Hey AJ, how you doing?
      cause im doing swell BUT i couldn’t help wondering about this faction im hearing of, i have some gnarly brain storms about a new stunt wheelchair as ive been having a lot of trouble going down the half pipe at my local skate park, i seem to be falling out my wheelchair every time i go down and cant get back up. approximately 1/3 paralytic parkourers die due to faulty wheelchairs, i hope you take my brain storms into deep consideration.


    • Angus IV

      WOW lance you seem to have caught my attention because this is a everyday common struggle of most wheelers. We wheelers have to stick together and have each others backs even when we are both struggling to find our feet quite literally! the only thing i have to live on is hope and you know what they say about hope ‘breeds eternal misery’ .

  20. Rebecca Alcozer

    I found myself choosing the Grandfather Prompt.
    I felt my eyelids getting heavier as I placed my head on the car window. It was a quiet day. Even the sound of my mother and Grandmother talking seemed soothing. I was quickly brought back to reality by a voice message on my mother’s phone, from my grandfather. “I…a hospital. Please come..”
    ,he whispered, then silence.
    I felt my heart drop to my stomach as his voice echoed in my head.
    I froze. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move… All I could do was sit there, listening to my mother trying to hold back her tears as she was speeding on a busy street.
    Only my younger sister shaking my arm snapped me back. “What’s going on? Why are they crying?”, she desperately asked. In that second, it hit me. We might not get there in time.
    I tried to hold back my tears, I tried to be strong, but I couldn’t. I could hear my heart pounding louder than my thoughts. I felt my temperature rising by the second. My tears sliding down my chin. The only thing I resorted to doing was pray. “Please, not today. I’m not ready. Not this soon, let me hug him one more time. Don’t take him from me yet.”,I prayed in silence. Then the thoughts began to come. What was the last thing I said to him? When is the last time I told him I loved him?
    My thoughts were interrupted as my mother slammed the breaks on my grandparents driveway. “Stay in the car.” ,my mother snapped as she ran out.
    The wait seemed endless. Everything felt unreal. I felt helpless. Was he dead? This can’t be how he leaves. I didn’t get to say goodbye. No more fighting over the t.v controller with him again. We would never share a piece of cherry pie again. I’ll never get another poem from him. My attention quickly turned to the door as my sister began to cry, as she realized the situation. My mother and grandmother came out struggling to carry my grandfather. I didn’t know what to think. “Where’s the nearest E.R?” , I hear my grandma yell. We made it on time. There seemed to be a weight off my chest. My grandfathers even SLIGHT breathing, was prayers answered.

  21. john sefcik

    Road Trip

    After high school graduation we begin our journey, going to college; going here and there on vacations; work and exactly where we’re going isn’t clear. We can see down the road aways, sometime to the next turn, but our destination remains obscure. Often there are intersections and we glare down the different routes and make a choice and we’re off again. Job offers come and we change directions. We meet people and that may take is off in yet other directions. Then we start a family and the road seems to be long and hard. We wonder if we’re going down the right road. Will we get to nice place in the end? Will there be food and shelter waiting for us? Or will we run out of gas and be stranded, walking down the road? But we keep moving. Eventually the kids grow up and are in college and the road seems to open up and the scenery gets better. We start seeing what we think is our destination in the distance and our focus lands there. Are we going to make it – or can’t wait to make it. More intersections seem to keep the goal at bay, but we continue on. Kids are on their own road and we see them taking some of the same roads we travelled. But we make a turn and the goal is in view. We think back about the trip and how frustrating it was at the time and realize that it went by way too quickly. We long to be able to keep the trip going, taking in more sights and doing things that we didn’t stop and bother with previously. But we arrive as the sun sets. Out of gas. Cold. Hungry. Tired. And waiting for us is a huge lodge with a warm fireplace burning. A huge meal has been prepared. There is laughter, music and lots of people, many of whom we’ve known along the trip. It’s been a wonderful experience. And the talk is about the next road trip.

  22. Deb

    I absolutely love these! I just read a post about the benefits of using creative writing prompts and went looking for some to get started. Thanks so much for these!

  23. roni


    Its been days since Ronda landed, maybe tonight she will get some sleep.
    Jet Lag has been a nightmare. Started the night befor the flight, woke up every 2-3 hours and could not fall back to sleep. Ronka always stresses before trips. Really she stresses before everything.
    The 13 hours on the plane were completely sleepless as well. Ronka rarely ever can sleep on a plane. She brought a book but did not read. She had some podcasts but didnt listen. Her focus was not good enough for any of those. Not even for random thoughts. She watched a few movies but probably doesnt remember much.
    At the last 2 hours she found Remi Cube on the airplane entertainment system and thats where she finally found solace. Went into a frenzy of playing until the plane landed. Ronda does most things in a frenzy.
    Now she’s in her parents home. Day 3 and she hasnt got much sleep. On the surface things are ok. She hasnt spiraled out of control yet. But deep inside she can feel the shift…
    She is not fully ok. Getting a little more grumpy and restless by the minute.
    A big total eclipse is happening in a few hours. The energies must be affecting. Ronda is always greatly affected with the universe arround her. The weather, The full Moons, the astrological signs. Ronda needs a good night sleep. A few good night sleeps. She needs to get back on track. She’s been doing relatively good lately.



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