Sentenced to Writing

This story didn't come from a writing prompt or story starter. It came from me, musing about how all these stories about mermaids let them breathe underwater and then breathe air just fine. Fish can't do that, so why should mermaids? Take a look to see where that led me. The surface was close, all she had to do was reach her fingers a little further and the water tension would break. The perfectly calm water lay like an ice sheet between her and the world beyond. Just a little further and she'd know for herself. Her parents' warning rang through her mind: You can't be seen. You will be hunted and killed or sold. The air world is not safe for our kind, stay in the water, where you can be safe. The water was all she'd ever known. It had fathoms yet to be explored. But she didn't want fathoms, she wanted stars. With rebellion burning in her heart, she twitched her tail fin ever so slightly, pushing her fingers upward, breaking the surface tension at last. Air s

Once upon a time Sir Gabriel and Sir Jerry had a younger sister, Princess Thea. She loved all things pretty. She loved sparkles and dresses and tutus and crowns. She loved dancing and laughing and listening to all their adventures. But above all, she loved unicorns.  Princess Thea wished from the bottom of her heart to have her very own unicorn. One bright sunny day, Princess Thea was dancing in the garden and watched as a single cloud flitted across the sky, dropping one light raindrop. She watched the raindrop fall, staring as it came closer and closer before landing on the ground in front of her. Imagine her surprise when a real, live unicorn appeared where the raindrop had fallen. A unicorn! She finally had her very own unicorn! It was bright blue with a long gray mane and a sparkly yellow horn. It was so happy to see Princess Thea. She giggled as the unicorn nuzzled her face and sneezed. "I'm going to call you Sparkle." Princess Thea said to her new best friend. Spar

There are thousands of writing resources available, but one that I have found most helpful and inspirational is the Writing Excuses Podcast . The host are Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, and Howard Tayler. They are both hilarious and helpful, all at the same time. If you are looking for experts to follow, start with these guys. On their website, they tell all new listeners to start with Season 10's episodes. Listen to an episode, do the homework, get better. That is their call to action. So here we go! You can follow along with me as I go through all of these episodes. If you want to join in, drop a link to where you're posting your content, or just add your content in the comments. Let's get writing! Writing Excuses 10.1: Seriously, Where Do You Get Your Ideas? The Assignment Write down five different story ideas in 150 words or less. Generate these ideas from these five sources: From an interview or conversation you’ve had From research you’ve done (reading science news, mi

This pocket story was inspired by the song Heart of a Hero by Club Danger. Grieg crept carefully through the darkness of the forest, taking care not to crunch even the smallest of leaves under his shoes. The moon hid itself in the sky, refusing to cast a mere glimmer of light through the foliage.  Sounds from ahead stopped Grieg in his tracks. He paused, frozen like a deer before flight. He listened. Someone from the large group ahead had crashed into something. The clank of metal on metal echoed through the still forest. They must be continuing on. So close! They are so close!  he thought excitedly.  Not daring to move quickly and risk giving away his position, he followed the group, just another dark shadow passing in the dark. His adrenaline heightened his senses. His racing heart thudded loudly in his ears, pressing frantically against his chest like a caged beast intent on escaping. Taking a short moment he closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing. At last his hea

Once upon a time there was a terrible bad guy who wanted to do terrible bad guy things. There was only one thing standing in his way: he had no clue why he wanted to do bad things. There is nothing worse than getting knee-deep into a story and finding out you have no idea why the villain is doing things. This glaring problem stopped my writing progress for months. I had a great story idea, and awesome characters to go with it, but I could not figure out what was motivating my villain to want to destroy the world. Without that piece I couldn't make any progress on my story. Who even is this guy? In the years that I'd been working on this story, I had neglected to think about what happened to all of my characters before they are introduced. Those experiences (still yet undiscovered) played a major role in the characters' decision making. This was glaringly obvious when it came to my villain. I needed him to want to destroy the world. That was the crux of my whole story. All o

Getting my thoughts written down is not always as easy as it should be. That blank canvas is intimidating. What if I mess it up?  When I was a senior in high school, I was in a class where we had to write a one page report every Friday about our week's activities. The class was over an hour long and we had the whole time to write this report, on computers, just one page. Simple enough.  Except every single Friday I would struggle for most of the class period to get a single sentence written on the page. That annoying cursor just kept blinking at me as if it was saying "Aren't you going to write something?" One day I'd had enough. I had my iPod with me, and a set of headphones. I asked the teacher if I could listen to some music while I worked on my report. She had no problems with that, so I sat down, plugged in my tunes, and looked at the computer screen. Five minutes later I had my report finished, edited, printed, and handed in. Needless to say, my teacher was

Prompt: You wake up with an irresistible drive to roam the woods in search of … something. You run out in your pajamas but soon you no longer need them. Taking to the sky with blue-black feathers, you soar overhead until you see one like you. He’s waiting. Crick threw off her covers, stifled in the oppressive heat of her bedroom. Her skin was sweat soaked, her shorts clung to her legs and her wet pajama shirt stuck to her chest. The air felt dead and heavy. She needed to move. Her windows were rusted shut with no hope of cracking them open to let in the cool night air. Instead she rushed out of her room, her baggy pajama shirt catching on the doorknob. “Really, door? Let me go.” She untangled her shirt, acquiring another hole in the already tattered shirt. Her parents’ room was at the end of the hallway. To get to the front door she’d have to sneak past their open door. They weren’t light sleepers by any means, but the floor in front of their room creaked. She suspected they did