Got Fun?

Do you ever engage in word play? Or is writing strictly business all the time?

I'm a fan of playing with words - really playing, not just the everyday stuff.

Why? 

I believe word-ly fun stretches skills. Word games, activities, writing prompts, freewriting, you name it, they engage our mind and offer fresh angles and inspiration.

A few of my favorites...

Bricolage

Bricolage means "odd jobs" in French, and for this activity is interpreted as using what's on hand. Set the timer for 2 minutes (or more or less) and take a common item, such as a marble, bobby pin, paper clip, or raindrop and consider how it could be used to improvise.

Can the bobby pin open a padlock and help someone escape? Would the marble offer entertainment to an ailing child? Might the paper clip be rigged to repair a faulty engine, one that's needed to rescue lost travelers? One raindrop might be the catalyst that ended a drought.

You never know where Bricolage might take you, whether in problem solving or a "fly on the wall" type narrative.

Board games like Taboo and Balderdash

These games require creativity and interaction with others, sure to help you think fast on your feet. Anyone remember Password? Taboo is similar, making you skirt around certain words while making your partner guess the correct one. Balderdash's options offer tale spinning opportunities, just the thing to trigger the imagination.

Hemingway's Challenge

Hemingway was asked to write a six word story. His story?

For sale, baby shoes. Never used. 

How's that for practicing word economy? 

For more fun with words, check out Jean Fischer's recent post at Something to Write Home About.
There's a great assortment of links and ideas sure to suit any writer. Thanks Jean, your timing is impeccable! :)

What are your favorite ways to play with words? Have any Labor Day weekend plans?

Have a great weekend,
Karen

Photo credit: Stock Exchange

Stretching, Prompting, and a Contest

Stretching

Stretching our writing muscles is important. Why? I believe that it sharpens skills, enhances our experience, provides fresh perspective and ideas, and broadens our horizons. It's good, too, to break out of our comfort zone every so often and try something new. Keeping those muscles limber provides benefits beyond the keyboard. It helps keep our minds active and sharp. What do you think? Agree? Disagree? 

Prompting

This is a prompt I like to use to stretch, to brainstorm for ideas, or just for fun. Go ahead, give it a try. ;)

Bricolage is a French word for odd jobs. As an activity, it has been interpreted as succeeding at using only what’s at hand. A bricoleur is someone who uses something simple to solve a bigger problem. Ever see an old movie where someone uses a bobby pin to open a lock?

Bricolage is a great tool for writers. A writing activity similar to free writing, bricolage is an exercise in turning nothing into something. It helps you think and gets those creative juices flowing.

How do you bricolage? Choose a simple object like a pebble, a raindrop, a chocolate chip, or a pine needle. Set a timer for a few minutes and write about this item. What to write, you ask? Anything you want. Expound on all the redeemable qualities of the item; think of its many potential uses. Imagine that the item is narrating what goes on in its world during the day. Perhaps this simple item saved a starving nation, helped put out a fire…or?

The Contest

Coffeehouse for Writers is sponsoring a contest; the topic is "Dear Diary" (the healing power of reflective writing). See details here.

Also, if you register for an upcoming class at Coffeehouse for Writers you will be entered to win a free class, Blogging for Fun or For Profit with Jennifer Brown Banks.  Click here for info.



So, are you game? Care to try the prompt? Please share your bricolage with us!

What are your weekend plans? Any prompts in the mix?

Have a great weekend,
Karen

Copyright 2011. No part of this material may be reproduced in any form without prior permission of the author, Karen Lange.

 
Image credit: nvadim  http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1241571
                    anya-anya http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1214624

February Writing Prompt

"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." Abraham Lincoln

What does this quote bring to mind? That time you stuck your foot in your mouth? Oh, pardon me, that couldn't have been you, that time I stuck my foot in my mouth? :) It makes me wonder what prompted Mr. Lincoln to speak it out loud. He must have had his patience tried that day. 

For February's writing prompt, use whatever this quote brings to mind for a flash fiction or a non-fiction story. Or, use it as the opening line or in the body of the story. The choice is yours, and we'll get ready to be dazzled by your fiction greatness! No, really, I'm serious. I am sure it will be great, and great fun if you decide to let me share it here. No pressure of course. Write away!

Happy Writing, and Blessings to you:)

Maxwell is Back!

Raymonde Fauchard, of Everyday I Walk With You shares yet another wonderful version of the January Writing Prompt.

The Map

by Raymonde Fauchard

"The map is taped to the underside of the chair on the balcony," Maxwell whispered.

“What!!?” Alfie's voice registered surprise. If his eyes could have popped out they would have, if his mouth was not that of a 10 year old, he would have spat out his false teeth.  Alfie knew Maxwell could talk but this was completely out of Alfie’s and Maxwell’s normal conversations.  This was in public.

“Shush!” Maxwell whispered.

Alfie quickly looked around to see who else had heard them; it seemed no one had.  All other humans present were still engrossed in their conversation about Uncle Keno and his unlawful deeds; he had kind of listened whilst playing with his Nintendo DS.

Alfie lowered his voice, “What are you on about?”

Maxwell winked. Alfie shut his DS, grabbed Maxwell by the paw and ran out of the room, up the stairs, and into his room. He slammed the door and threw Maxwell on the bed.

Maxwell, you see, was Alfie’s oldest teddy, the one Gamma had bought Alfie when he was still a baby. Maxwell was the one Mum had put next to Alfie in his cot when Alfie had no way of saying yes, I want that teddy, or no, I really do not like that teddy. 

Have grown-ups done that to you?  Not ask if you want a toy and just assume that it is suitable for your age, and that you should just play with it?  Well Maxwell, Alfie had decided, was just that, a toy he had to play with to amuse the grownups, till one day Maxwell had started talking. The first time that had happened Alfie had just assumed that he must have flicked a button on Maxwell. He had picked him up and turned him around and found no button to flick, press, slide sideways, nothing. Maxwell was just talking.  

The next time it had happened Alfie had taken it for granted that a teddy given by Gamma would talk, she certainly never stopped and had an opinion and an utterance for everything!

And now a few years later, Maxwell, four paws in the air, was actually talking to Alfie about a map on a balcony.  Alfie got closer and made himself and Maxwell more comfortable and said, “Ok, start from the beginning.” 

Maxwell started telling him how during one of Uncle Keno’s brief visits to the apartment in the past few days, he had seen him tape something to the underside of the chair. (You see who would think that a teddy could see, never mind talk!!)  

That morning in the newspapers the headlines had been about the theft of one the Cocos Island treasure maps from the British Museum. That was what the adults had been spending most of the afternoon talking about. Of course, the apartment was the best place to hide it, if it was Uncle Keno’s deed.  It was on Bedford Square so close to the Museum and nobody would think of looking here.

Alfie interjected, “But you don’t know if it is the map!” Maxwell lifted his big beady eyes to the ceiling. Uncle Keno, you see, was a lovable rogue as far as Alfie was concerned, with many stories of faraway places and funny deeds. Keno could come and go as he pleased, in and out of the apartment even without a key but leave a stolen map!

“Sure I don’t know for sure, but I could lay my fur on it!” Maxwell said.

“OK," said Alfie. “What do we do?” 

“We?” said Maxwell. “May I remind you that I can only talk and roll my eyes? I told you because now it is up to you to come up with a plan.”

Could or should Alfie retrieve the map from under the chair on the balcony?  Or just say to Uncle Keno that he knew where the map was?  But Alfie was curious. What if it was not the map, just some silly prank!  But if it really was the map, that was even more exiting.

Alfie quickly walked to the door of his bedroom and opened it to listen out. The grown ups were still there, chatting over their cups of tea and afternoon cucumber sandwiches which he was now missing out on.  He walked back to the bed, tucked Maxwell under his arm and ran back downstairs. He helped himself on the way to some sandwiches, got told off for not putting them on a plate, ignored it and walked out on the balcony in the lovely lazy English sun.  He sat on the chair, put Maxwell on the wrought iron table, stuffed the sandwiches in his mouth and started to feel under the chair. Bingo! There was something! He carefully undid the sellotape from the chair. In his hand he had a flat parcel protected by a plastic bag. Maxwell winked, Alfie put the parcel under his shirt the best he could, and took Maxwell off the table. He pretended to give him the biggest hug in the world and walked back through the lounge still hugging Maxwell tightly.

When he was back in his room, Maxwell ended up again with his paws in the air on the bed and Alfie was carefully opening the parcel. Inside there was a map, it looked very old with markings and what looked like codes.  There definitely was a cross and bone flag and what looked like the picture of an island.  Alfie was stunned! 

It was Maxwell‘s turn to speak again. ”I did tell you that the map was taped to the underside of the chair on the balcony.”

Copyright 2010, Raymonde Fauchard. Used with permission.

Maxwell Strikes Again

Here is another wonderful version of the January Writing Prompt.

 

This is exciting, two stories in less than one week! Feel free to jump on the bandwagon if you're so inclined:)

This version was written by Cecelia Lester of Following My King.

This Is A Test

by Cecelia Lester

            “The map is taped to the underside of the chair on the balcony.” Maxwell whispered.

            I looked at him with a question in my eyes. Our captors across the room eyed us with disdain. 

            My question, simply put, was: How did our butler know the map interested us? My husband Gavin owns a company that manufactures armaments for the federal government. His office building has a security force that patrols each floor. In order to get inside the building, each person has to have an electronic card to scan with a  picture ID issued by the ATF.

            For security and personal privacy reasons, we have a non-published phone number. But somehow a car followed him home tonight.

            These three strange men barged into our house just after he entered the house. They brandished guns and ordered us to do as they say. One of them exited the foyer and returned with Maxwell, our butler, in tow.

            “You know what we want.” The biggest of the men yelled. 

            “Take what you want!  I’ll open the safe.” My husband Derek begged them.

            “We don’t want your money.” The ring leader shouted.

            “You can take my wife’s jewelry, just please don’t hurt us.” Derek’s voice quivered.

            “You have the plans for the TW6 here. We want them.” 

            “I don’t bring things from the office home. I can’t.” Derek became frantic. All at once we heard a voice outside our house.

            “This is the FBI, come out. We have the house surrounded.” 

            Our trio of intruders started firing at the agents outside. The FBI people returned fire, winging each of our captors.

            After things settled down, Derek confessed to the investigators. He had removed a map of the area from his office. The map was not what was important. Embedded in the map was a microchip containing the plans for the TW6. 

            “I received a call from Washington. An FBI agent said the ATF needed to do a security check on the company.” Derek looked at me. “I’m sorry to involve you in this.”

            “All that is true.” Maxwell spoke up. “I was the agent who called Derek. The microchip is a phony. We set that up to see who would take the bait. We knew there were people inside the company who weren’t loyal to our side.”

            This incident with the intruders took place three months ago. Maxwell has returned to Washington and we now have a real butler.

Copyright 2010, Cecelia Lester. Used with permission.

Maxwell and the Map

Here's the first story from the January Writing Prompt!                         

This story is by Susan Wicker, from Writing Straight From the Heart.

I enjoyed her story, and I think you might too.                                      

The Map by Susan Wicker 

Rays of brilliant sunshine flooded the balcony, making it impossible to  hide. Maxwell peeked around the corner of the French doors and sighed.

“How am I ever going to get to that map?” He asked. He retreated to the mouse hole under the buffet in the dining room.  His stomach rumbled in hunger.

Why had he ever agreed to come to visit his cousin? At least back home on the farm there was plenty to eat.  The barn there was filled with all kinds of scraps as well as puddles of warm milk from the cows. The farmer’s garden was paradise!  One could eat until it felt like one’s stomach was going to burst and nobody cared.

Here, in the city, it was slim pickings.  The maid cleaned off the table immediately after the family ate and left not a single crumb . Maxwell knew because he tried, many times, to find a snack in the dining room but had absolutely no luck at all.

To add insult to injury, there were all kinds of huge steel and wooden traps placed around the house that could do some serious damage or even kill!  If Maxwell ventured anywhere near those death machines, his whole body went into a massive tremble.

He was sulking in the mouse house living room when his chunky  cousin, Matilda, came waddling through the mouse hole to visit.

“Where’s the food?” she asked. 

“I couldn’t get any,” Maxwell said, tears suddenly stinging his eyes. He felt like a failure.  He had tried to get to the patio where Cousin Hector Mouse had left a map to the house pantry but it was too sunny out there to chance it.

 “Come on,” ordered Matilda. “Show me the balcony.” 

Maxwell and Matilda quietly made their way to the French doors in the dining room.

 “Where’s the map?” she said.

 “The map is taped to the underside of the chair on the balcony,” Maxwell whispered.

Matilda then asked Maxwell to do a very daring thing. Out on the balcony railing sat Westminister, the family’s tom cat.

“You distract Westminister while I get the map,”  Matilda told Maxwell.

Not wanting to seem like a wimp, Maxwell  started tiptoeing out to the balcony.  His heart was beating so hard it sounded like a drum in his ears.  He looked around to make sure Matilda was heading toward the chair with the map.  It was all systems go.

Westminister was sound asleep but could spring into action at the slightest sound.. Matilda made her way up the leg of the chair with the map.

Rrrrrrip. Rrrrrrrip.  She began to untape the map to the pantry from the underside of the chair.  Westminister shifted his big gray body on the balcony edge. Maxwell felt beads of sweat  forming above his eyes. He kept swallowing, praying that the big cat would stay asleep. 

“All this for a meal,” he thought.

Maxwell sat right near Westminister’s tail, ready to bite it with all his might if the cat woke up.  He nodded to Matilda to let her know everything was under control.

Matilda had the map in her mouth and inched her way back through the French doors and scurried to the mouse hole under the buffet. 

Suddenly Westminister stirred.  Maxwell turned around on the balcony ledge and ran faster than he’d ever run in his entire life. Down the ledge he went with Westminister right behind him. That doggone cat  heard the mouse and was determined to have a nice, mid-morning snack.

Maxwell made it to the mouse hole just in the knick of  time. Westminister’s whiskers where sticking into the mouse house dining room but there was no way he could go any farther. Westminister retreated in defeat to the balcony ledge.

Maxwell and Matilda, both now ecstatic as well as famished,  followed the map’s underground tunnel to the pantry and their efforts were well rewarded. Fat round cheeses, freshly baked cherry and blueberry pies, a big bowl of chocolate pudding, and a tray of sandwiches were all there on only one shelf. All kinds of other treats covered other shelves.

Nibble, nibble, nibble. The two mice ate until they could eat no more. They crept back to the mouse house with very full bellies.

Maxwell laid down on his mound of straw and patted his tummy. 

“Matilda, I’m sure glad you got that map,” he said but Matilda never heard a word. She was fast asleep and snoring, almost as loud as the cat. And that's how Matilda and Maxwell spent the entire afternoon.

Copyright 2010, Susan Wicker. Used with permission.

January Writing Prompt

It's about time for another writing prompt, don't you think? Use the following quote, either to open or within the context of a flash fiction story.

"The map is taped to the underside of the chair on the balcony," Maxwell whispered.

Who is Maxwell? Why is he whispering? Who is he talking to? Why is there a map taped to the chair? Where does the map lead? Tell us, tell us! I await your response, and hope that maybe you will grant me permission to share your story here. It's okay if if you choose not to, but my readers and I sure do like a good story. You retain all story rights, of course. Email me at karenelange@gmail.com

Blessings and Happy Writing! :)

Copyright 2010, Karen Lange.

That Bunch of Carrots

I was delighted when Raymonde Fauchard Newman of Everyday I Walk With You sent me her story that used my November Writing Prompt. I was even more pleased when she granted me permission to print it. Here is her wonderful story.

Carrots!!!

"How much is this bunch of carrots? Lydia asked.

"Seventy-eight cents," answered the farmer smiling at her, with a quizzical look on his face.

"I also need 12 figs and 3 pomegranates, how much are they?"

What he was looking at was totally out of his ordinary. This beautiful woman was radiating joy, but whilst she was counting her coins, he spotted her hands, they were out of place so totally different to the rest of her face in colour, they were purple. He was intrigued and puzzled.

Lydia was unaware of the attention of the stall holder. She just had a single thought in her head: I must be ready. She had had this thought for a while now. Actually ever since her meeting by the river with the little short wiry man named Paul and his companion Silas...

She stopped for a second, reviewing in her head her shopping list. She had everything else she needed. She just wanted to hurry now, get home and prepare her meal. Today was the day.

Her thoughts drifted whilst she put the various items in her basket. One quite ordinary day by the river, had turned her world upside down. She was there that day to wash her cloth, her purple cloth and also praying with other women from her village and suddenly after hearing this man speak, she later learnt his name was Paul, her heart had opened and what happened she can only describe as if scales fell from her eyes, her ears heard words of life: God had made a way for her, she was saved. That same river which minutes before had been a convenient place to wash her cloth had become the place of her baptism; she had been plunged in a dye of purple, colour of royalty, to rise up the daughter of the King. The same could be said of her daughters, her maids and her younger sons. They all had heard the same good news and had become followers of Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God.

So after the initial excitement of the baptism, she had invited Paul and Silas back to her home. And nothing had happened yet, she had heard rumours of troubles and arrests, but each time she was trying to find out more, no actual news were coming forth, it had been weeks now, it certainly felt even longer.

Till today, she had woken up with a new certainty: today was the day, so she had jumped out of bed, cleaned the house, made sure everybody knew what they were doing, but she wanted to go and get the best produce from the market and bring them back to prepare.

On the way she was going to pick up the warm bread, bread she had kneaded herself very, very early this morning and dropped off at the common bakery in the centre of the village. She knew she had enough wine and oil in her cellar, this is the day... Was she ready enough? The excitement she had felt since the day of her salvation was contagious. She had always worshipped the God of her Fathers, so knew the Old Book well and in her mind kept going over her favourite passages, now making even more sense to her, especially about the Messiah. She felt so blessed.

She rushed back to start on preparing her meal and lay the table and suddenly they were there Paul and Silas leaving prison and entering Lydia’s house... just in time for a delicious meal and to see the brethren, they encourage everybody and left. Lydia felt even more thankful to God.

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Thank you Raymonde!

Blessings and Happy Writing:)

Carrots!! Copyright Raymonde Newman, 2009.

How About...?

How about a writing prompt? It's been a little while since we've had one, so thought I'd post one today:) It's always fun to see what my writer friends come up with. Everyone's perspective is unique and it generates a nice assortment of stories. So here goes:

Write a flash fiction story using this line as the opening:

"How much is this bunch of carrots? Lydia asked.

After you write it, please share the story! My email is karenelange(at)gmail(dot)com. Perhaps you won't even mind giving me permission to share it in a future post...but only if you want to, of course.

Happy Writing!

A Writing Prompt

Thought it might be interesting to have a writing prompt that involved a wild animal. Let's see what ideas this one generates:

An ad was placed in the local newspaper that only said “Wanted: Tame Elephant, call 555-1234.”

I will be happy to post any elephant stories here. Looking forward to seeing what your great minds come up with. Blessings to all. Happy writing!

Another Version of "You Did WHAT?"

Here is Cecelia Lester's version of the writing prompt from the August 27th post. Many thanks for sharing it with us, Cecelia! Click here to check out her blog, Following My King. Happy reading:)

The Conversation

“You did WHAT?” I knew I was going to be in trouble when I returned home with the police officer. My dad had left us a few years ago and we kids had to grow up fast. Mom worked two jobs to make ends meet.

“Ma’am, your son had a wreck this evening.” The policeman sat down in the chair.

“What happened?” Mom’s face blanched as she spoke.

“He came down the hill on Jackson Street and couldn’t stop for the stoplight. He had several choices. He could have hit the car coming toward him. He could have turned onto the side street and crashed into a truck. But he chose to run into the newspaper building.”

All I could do was think about what would have happened if I had hit that other car or that truck. I couldn’t talk for a while.

After the policeman left, Mom and I talked.

“Joey, I’m glad you weren’t hurt. How much damage was done to your car?”

“Mom, this is strange. I felt a hand on my shoulder as I headed toward that building, like someone was guiding me through the intersection. The grill is bent into the radiator. The head lights are broken. That’s all I could see.”

“You need to see about the brakes. Let’s get some sleep and tomorrow, when you come home from school, call Uncle Max and ask him to go with you to see about getting it fixed. I can take you to school in the morning but you’ll have to ride the bus home.”

“Thank you,” I was glad she understood how the wreck happened.

“That feeling you had might have been God’s hand guiding you through to safety. I pray for you and your brother and sisters every night.”

I went to bed that night so many years ago, thankful for a mother who prayed for her children. That car, my first, survived two more wrecks while I owned it. My brother and I felt we had lost a friend when we had to sell her. I know we aren’t supposed to think of our possessions as defining who we are but that old car still holds a spot in my memory. But my mom has a very special place in my heart. I knew she loved me and my brothers and sisters. That wreck happened over 20 years ago. Tonight, different things happened. My mother called me after we retired for the evening. She barely mumbled into the phone. I went to check on her and found her unresponsive. By the time the ambulance arrived and transported her to the hospital, she was gone.

We hurt for a while because we missed her. But we knew she sat at the feet of our Savior, and told Him about her family whom she loved so very much.

Copyright 2009, Cecelia Lester, A Quiet Spirit Writing Ministry. Used with permission.

You Did WHAT?

Carol Alexander wrote this flash fiction story using the writing prompt from Thursday's post. She kindly allowed me to share it here. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Thanks Carol! If you have a minute, check out Carol's blog, Everything Home...with Carol.



Don't forget to stop and comment on Monday's post (8/31/09) if you'd like to enter the book giveaway. I'm giving away Love's Pursuit by Siri Mitchell.

The Vase

by Carol Alexander

“You did WHAT?”

“I stopped at a few yard sales on the way home. Wait till you see what I got!”

“You bought something? Where did you get the money? I don’t even have money for groceries, for crying out loud!”

“Awe, come on, honey. I didn’t spend much. Look, ain’t it a beaut?”

I could not believe my ears and eyes. My unemployed husband goes to yard sales when I’m scraping coins together to buy groceries. And now, he’s spent that on the most hideous looking vase I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m sure my face screamed everything I was thinking.

“Aww, come on, Carol. You’ve got to love it.”

“Is it for me?”

“Do you want it?”

“No. It’s ugly. What did you spend on that thing?”

“Not much, I tell ya’. It’s something special. I just know it is.”

“Special, my eye. What did you pay for it?”

“Guess.”

“Five dollars.”

“NO! I got this exquisite piece for only 35 cents.”

“Thirty-five cents!?! Do you know what I could do with 35 cents? I can’t even buy groceries, for crying out loud, and you’re spending good money on this worthless junk!”

With that, I stormed into the house and left him in the garage, with his exquisite piece, combing through his antique books.

Weeks passed and I eventually calmed down. Tim stashed his vase in some safe place where I didn’t have to look at it. Eventually, the entire incident was forgotten. Until…

“What are you all smiles about?” I asked as Tim came in from the car.

“This,” he replied, cracking a brand new $100 bill in my face.

“Where’d that come from?”

“I sold it! He didn’t even bat an eye. I told you it was special.”

“Sold what? What are you talking about?”

“The majolica.”

“The what?”

“That vase I bought for 35 cents. I told you it was special. I was right. The dealer told me it was what you call majolica…some kind of pottery or something. Anyways, it’s worth a lot of money. He’s gonna put twice that on it.”

“What are you gonna do with the money?”

“After I take you out to dinner? Why, buy groceries, of course.”