Robin Louise

Writing Prompt Answers. Short Stories. Aspiring Novelist

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Manual Lessons

“It’ll be okay,” he assured her.

“You’re sure?”

He nodded so she got into the driver’s seat of his car. He shut the door behind her and she felt her breath leave her lungs as it slammed. She drew in her breath as he got into the passenger seat and began to teach her.

He taught her the different gears and the funky way his car was placed in reverse, he added an addendum with how most cars are placed in reverse. He explained the clutch and why it was important and what it had to do with the different gears. He then told her to push the clutch all the way in with her left foot and apply pressure to the breaks with her right foot as she started the car.

Her heart skipped a beat when the car roared to life and her left foot slipped off the clutch. The car jolted forward and then jerked backwards before promptly dying. She grumbled in frustration, tears coming to her eyes. He reassured her that it was going to be alright and convinced her to try again. She did, paying extra attention to her left foot. She was rewarded by not stalling out. He instructed her to keep the car in first and take it for a test drive around the empty parking lot. He told her how to shift to second and then to third when she picked up with pace. He taught her how to downshift. Once she got going, she was a natural.

He convinced her to take the car onto the actual road where there were other vehicles. She was unsure but he prompted her enough that she finally agreed and pulled out of the parking lot. He took care of the directions so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything except driving the car and keeping it from stalling.

They came across a train crossing the road and she pulled them to a gentle stop. He instructed her to place the car in neutral and pull the emergency brake so they wouldn’t have to worry about going anywhere until the train was done crossing.

Their talking turned to laughing, turned to kissing, turned to a honk from the car behind them. The train was gone and they hadn’t even noticed.

[4robinlouise-blog]

Date Night

    They were sitting on the couch at her parents house. Her parents had left for a date so they decided to stay in for theirs. They had watched a movie and an episode of the television show they had started together. Now, however, they were enjoying each other's company silently. He was reading his textbook in preparation for the inevitable pop quiz he was bound to have on Monday morning and she was playing a game on her phone.

    His legs were half perched on the coffee table in front of them and she had taken the liberty to sprawl on top of him, her knees bent over his lap. She was so engrossed in her game that she didn’t register him slowly close his textbook and set it down to stare intently at her face. 

    “Ohp, did you just lose?” He asked her, grinning.

    She glanced up and saw the textbook had been put away and that his eyes gazed persistently at her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she replied, “Yeah, but how did you know?” She looked around briefly, knowing that her parents didn’t have a mirror in their living room but wondering if maybe he placed one there to mess with her. She found no mirror.

    His grin widened. “Just play again and we’ll see if I really can tell.”

    She hit replay and began to tap at the screen trying to keep herself alive, when all of a sudden, “You just died again, didn’t you?”

    She continued to tap on the screen, refusing to look up at him. “No,” she said defiantly. He stayed silent and she glanced up at him and saw that he didn’t believe her. “Alright, yes,” she confessed. “Now tell me how you do it!”

    “In a few more deaths, I want to stretch my new superpower.” He cracked his knuckles and laughed as she glowered and hit the replay button again. She played five more games that he correctly concluded she died in before he relented. He smiled and tilted his head ever so slightly. “Whenever you lose, your lip does this cute little quiver that lasts for a millisecond. It’s your tel.”

    “It does not!” She was indigent.

    “Does so.”

    “Does not!”

    He moved his face closer to hers as he disagreed with her. Closer and closer he got with each rebuttal until he was close enough to kiss her before she could get the word ‘not’ out.

    “It’s a very cute tiny quiver though. And it does it every single time, which is rather endearing.” He kissed her again before she could try to disagree.

[4robinlouise-blog]

College Crush

    She sat at a table in the study area outside his door room, waiting for him to come home. She knew he would be home soon. There had just been a fire alarm and RAs had to be there when they were on duty. It was a Tuesday, he was on duty. It would have been creepy, her waiting for him to come home, but they had been flirting and talking and planning on a first date for the past week. Plus, she was under the guise of writing in her notebook, presumably for a homework assignment. If it didn’t look creepy, then it wasn’t. Right?

    He came down the hall and talked to the other RA on duty. Her eyes were locked on the blank page in front of her. He unlocked his door and said a quick greeting. His door was cracked open as he waited for a response. She gave one, smiling and feeling her cheeks flush.

    Letting his door shut gently he asked about her day before trying to impress her with his impressions. She laughed, probably more than she should have, making him believe he had succeeded. Anyone listening could figure out that she was laughing because she liked him and not because he was really all that funny.

    He looked down at his phone and his smile fell as he groaned. She asked him, “¿Que, quirdo?” He didn’t know what it meant, but he repeated her. Smiling, she tried to tell him that he couldn’t call her that because what he said was the masculine form of darling and she was in fact deserving of the feminine form.

    Leaning against the wall, he folded in on himself and she let the fake argument go. Standing from her blank notebook she walked to where he was and rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “What’s the matter?” 

He told her his already busy schedule just got busier. She told him that he should learn how to say no. He smiled and they continued talking, her leaning against his door, him leaning against the opposite wall.

    Eventually, he walked toward his door. Reaching around her he grabbed the handle and whispered in her ear that he had to change into a suit to go to a meeting.

    She nodded and breathlessly agreed. His scent surrounded her, his smile making her knees weak and her heart beat faster. “Yeah, you should go make yourself pretty.” She tried to make it sound as though she weren’t flustered.

    His nose pressed against her cheek as he whispered his reply to her snide remark. “Always.” He paused and she felt his smile and heard her heart, “However, I will never be nearly as beautiful as you.”

    He grabbed her waist with his left hand and turned the door handle with his right, gently pushing her into his room while making sure she didn’t lose her balance. When the door closed behind them he kissed her, one hand on her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck.

[4robinlouise-blog]

    She sat at a table in the study area outside his door room, waiting for him to come home. She knew he would be home soon. There had just been a fire alarm and RAs had to be there when they were on duty. It was a Tuesday, he was on duty. It would have been creepy, her waiting for him to come home, but they had been flirting and talking and planning on a first date for the past week. Plus, she was under the guise of writing in her notebook, presumably for a homework assignment. If it didn’t look creepy, then it wasn’t. Right?

    He came down the hall and talked to the other RA on duty. Her eyes were locked on the blank page in front of her. He unlocked his door and said a quick greeting. His door was cracked open as he waited for a response. She gave one, smiling and feeling her cheeks flush.

    Letting his door shut gently he asked about her day before trying to impress her with his impressions. She laughed, probably more than she should have, making him believe he had succeeded. Anyone listening could figure out that she was laughing because she liked him and not because he was really all that funny.

    He looked down at his phone and his smile fell as he groaned. She asked him, “¿Que, quirdo?” He didn’t know what it meant, but he repeated her. Smiling, she tried to tell him that he couldn’t call her that because what he said was the masculine form of darling and she was in fact deserving of the feminine form.

    Leaning against the wall, he folded in on himself and she let the fake argument go. Standing from her blank notebook she walked to where he was and rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “What’s the matter?” 

He told her his already busy schedule just got busier. She told him that he should learn how to say no. He smiled and they continued talking, her leaning against his door, him leaning against the opposite wall.

    Eventually, he walked toward his door. Reaching around her he grabbed the handle and whispered in her ear that he had to change into a suit to go to a meeting.

    She nodded and breathlessly agreed. His scent surrounded her, his smile making her knees weak and her heart beat faster. “Yeah, you should go make yourself pretty.” She tried to make it sound as though she weren’t flustered.

    His nose pressed against her cheek as he whispered his reply to her snide remark. “Always.” He paused and she felt his smile and heard her heart, “However, I will never be nearly as beautiful as you.”

    He grabbed her waist with his left hand and turned the door handle with his right, gently pushing her into his room while making sure she didn’t lose her balance. When the door closed behind them he kissed her, one hand on her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck.

[4robinlouise-blog]

Sock Dancing

    The house was three floors, something she liked but didn’t need. All the decor and planning and architectural decisions were his and she let him run with it; she loved to watch him run. She loved the house. She would have been comfortable in a one story house with a garden but he loved having all the space.

    He walked in from the garage and shrugged off his jacket, stepped out of his shoes, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the first button of his collared shirt. He called out a greeting and waited for her answer before he descended the spiral staircase to the sub-level floor like he always did when he came home from work. Flipping the gas fireplace on, he opened the latest book he was reading. It was a biography about Thomas Jefferson, leather bound, first edition; it had been a birthday present from her. She didn’t care to read biographies but she loved when he read them and then told her about them. His eyes lit up and in those moments she loved loving what he did.

    She smiled to herself and went to their bedroom. It had high vaulted ceilings and a skylight to let them look at the stars. She pulled on the slipperiest, coziest, fluffiest socks she could find and hummed to herself as she skated around the room on the hardwood floors, dodging the rugs placed sporadically around the house. She giggled to herself, she hadn’t done this since she was small.

    Skating out of their bedroom she made her way to the stairs, sliding around the rugs, and slipping with every step. Drawing in the courage of her younger self she hoisted herself onto the banister and slid down to the main floor where she danced to the music playing in her head.

    There was a small balcony on the main floor that looked over the sub-level. She slid to the railing and leaned as far as she could over the side, her feet slipping off the ground completely, her entire weight balanced on her hip bones.

    She saw him sitting in his chair, looking every bit as handsome as the day she married him, and she called out his name. He glanced up from his book, his head tilting back so he could see her. She waved at him, keeping one hand firmly on the railing to keep her from diving forward, but he shook his head. No. He gave her his winning smile, the one he always gave to tell her that he loved her even if he wasn’t going to give into her.

    She planted her feet back on the ground and skated over to the spiral staircase. Sliding down this banister, she skated over to his chair. Slipping behind it, she wrapped her arms around his neck gently, her hands resting on his chest. She kissed his cheek and whispered something in his ear. He smiled but shook his head again, re-focusing on his book.

    She slid to the record player he had bought one year at an auction house. Like the big house and the wooden floors it would not have bothered her if they didn’t have a record player. But he liked it and she loved how he enjoyed historic items. Grabbing her second favorite record (her favorite was the one with their first dance on it), she slid the record into place and turned the player on, waiting for the upbeat tune.

    He heard the scratch and the song begin to play. He smiled and tried to go back to reading. But he knew her well enough to know that she was going to get what she wanted. He pretended to continue reading while she skated up to him in her socks. Her bright orange fluffy socks made him smile and he tried to stifle it. She gently took the book from his hands, placed a bookmark in it, and set it on the side table. Taking his hands in hers, she pulled him from his seat and dragged him to slip and slide with her all around the sub-level of their home.

    They were on hardwood floors she didn’t care about, listening to a record she didn’t care that they owned, but she was happy. She had him, and he had her. In the end, that’s all that ever mattered.

[4robinlouise-blog]

Cold Lighthouse

The cool breeze caressed her body as she stood on the top of the lighthouse. The wind whipped around the building and her body. The waves lapped below her and she smiled, her eyes closed. This was the perfect spot. The perfect moment. There were no expectations; she just needed to be. That’s all she ever wanted.

The goosebumps crawled under her skin and she gripped her shawl around her more tightly knowing she should go inside but not wanting too. There were responsibilities inside, and the cold sea air filled her more than the warmth of the fire. It reflected her, the ocean made her feel seen.

Eventually he came. She knew he would; he always did.

He wrapped his arms around her, his body warm against hers. Whispering in her ear he asked how long she had been out here this time. She shrugged. She could never remember. You should come back inside. He told her. She nodded. She knew.

Finally, opening her eyes, she looked at the ocean. It was darker now; she had been out here longer than she had thought. She turned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, tucking her head into his chest. She let a tear fall onto his shirt before allowing herself to be led back into the lighthouse and out of the cold.

[4robinlouise-blog]

Describe a Color

It is the color behind your lids as you close your eyes at the sun. It is the sweet smell of citrus as your fingernails dig into the peel. It is warm. It is hot. It is walking through an overgrown field, the daffodils and sunflowers overtaken by dandelions you can’t make wishes on yet. It is too soon. You ask the bartender to make you a drink, it looks like the caribbean, but not the sea. It greets you in the morning, it twinkles at night. It’s the feeling when the smile lights up his eyes. It is fall as the leaves change color and float to the ground. It is pumpkin patches and corn mazes. Giggles and friends. It is fire. It is dangerous. Do not get close or it will consume you. It is a hug after a long day. It is gentle. It is bright.

[4robinlouise-blog]

Six Feet of Dirt - a short story

     Standing by the river, tears soaking her face, she was glad he was gone. The wood from the coffin and six feet of dirt and he still wasn’t far enough away.      Her bags were already packed, she was moving in with her best friend, Kyle, two thousand miles away. Two thousand miles plus six feet of dirt, plus the wood from the coffin? That should be far enough. Far enough for her not to see him stumble into her room. Far enough for her not to smell the whiskey on his breath. Far enough for her to forget.      Her mother’s hand touched the small of her back and she flinched before relaxing. “I’ll miss him too.”      Her mother was lying.      She remembered the look her mother had when she caught him walking out of her room early in the morning. She had never seen a look of hate so great except the expression from her own face in the mirror. She came home a few days later and her mother was researching poisons -- she had decided to take a chemistry class.      The coroner reported no foul play.      Her mother was too late of course. Too late by seven years. But it was the thought that counted.      Two thousand miles, six feet of dirt, and his coffin ought to do it.

[lexiewriter-deactivated20210228]

Does Your Novel Need An Antagonist?

I get this question a lot. First of all you need to forget absolutely everything you have been told throughout elementary and high school about writing stories. Only like 10% of the rules they give you when it comes to writing are true. 

NO, your novel absolutely does not need an antagonist to be legit. What it does need though however is CONFLICT. A story without conflict is hardly a story, ;let alone a vivid page turner that keeps you up. 

A lot of the times when people hear conflict their mind jumps straight to two people at odds, or where one wants to destroy the other one = this is having an antagonist and is fine for plenty of stories but not needed. 

Conflicts come in all shapes and sizes. Not having an antagonist means your story most likely has an internalized conflict that the protagonist has with themselves. This could be an eating disorder, they did something they feel guilty about, they set a goal and failed it ,anything. If you will take anything at all away from this post simply remember that CONFLICT does NOT automatically mean ANTAGONIST. 

Hope this helps! And as always happy writing! <3 :) Don’t forget to like, re blog and follow for more content like this!

[4robinlouise-blog]

Describe a Color

It is the feeling you get when the sand presses between your toes as you feel the ocean breeze against your face. It is cool to the touch as the water laps at your feet. It is welcome, it is kind. It is rough, it is cold, it is unforgiving. It is cold fingertips when ice and snow are blowing around you. It is warm skies. It is frozen nights. It is fresh air. It is your lungs freezing. It is both. Soft and sharp. The tears running down your face at a funeral. The tears running down your face at a wedding. Both. Like you.

[writing-prompt-s]

“How many times do I have to tell you? I will never date you.”

“Just to get things straight, never as in ‘when hell freezes over never’ or never as in 'when pigs fly never’?”

“Sure!” You shout frustrated, “When hell freezes over and pigs fly, I’ll date you!”

The next night, you find yourself having dinner with one of the most powerful beings in the world.

[4robinlouise-blog]

I looked at his chiseled jawline and his incredulous smirk and my blood boiled at his audacity to ask me out yet again. “How many times must I tell you? I will never date you.” His expression barely changed.

He finally nodded, furrowing his eyebrows, his eyes still gleaming. “Sure, sure. But just to clear things up, are we talking never as in ‘when hell freezes over’ or more like ‘when pigs fly’? I need to know what I’m working with.”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “Yes. Either! Both!” I yelled. “When hell freezes over and when pigs fly, then, I’ll date you.” I glared at him and tried not to be the one who blinked first.

He scrunched his face and sighed. “That’s a tall order.”

“You’re damn tootin’ it is.”

“But I can swing it for you.” As he turned away he blew me a small kiss and winked. 

-----

The next day as I was walking to work I heard a squeal from above me. Glancing up I saw a pig. Flying. I rubbed my eyes hard enough that little white dots flashed across my eyelids. I looked again. It was still there, and it was coming towards me. It wasn’t slowing down. I screamed and threw my hands over my head in a dire attempt to protect it.

I reopened my eyes and the city no longer stood before me. Instead a frozen wasteland stretched as far as my eye could see. My jaw dropped as I began to shiver.

A gentle hand grabbed mine and I looked up at that same chiseled jaw and incredulous smile. 

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes were alight and his hand was warm. “Is this hell?” My voice shook from my shivers

I looked back at the wasteland, I could just make out bodies shivering in the distance, curled around themselves for a semblance of warmth.

I felt him shrug. “Hell freezing wasn’t hard to swing at all. Dante was right about at least one thing.” His voice was smooth, the cold didn’t bother him. “The hard part was proving that hell was frozen over.” I looked up in time to see him roll his eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I just told you, it’s one of the reasons I like you. As for the flying pig, well, that will cause some ruckus for a while in the papers but I’m sure that eventually it will be disproved and claimed at a publicity stunt of some kind. Humans are so unwilling to believe even the things that they see with their own eyes. But you saw it and you believed it.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say.

“So,” he looked down at me and I held his eyes, in awe of something I could not explain, “about that date.”

[writingprompts365]

A character contemplates what it would be like to be a rock

[4robinlouise-blog]

Would being a rock be any different than her life now? She knew herself and she wouldn’t one of those pretty shiny rocks. She would be dull and have odd little bumps pop out of nowhere. People would still walk all over her and she would roll over and do nothing. She couldn’t fight, neither could a rock. She nodded to herself. Being a rock would be about the same except that rocks didn’t have feelings. Rocks didn’t cry, rocks weren’t easy to break, rocks stood the test of time. She aspired to be like a rock.

[4robinlouise-blog]

50 Word Story

I didn’t understand. How could I? I was immortal, my friends eternal. For us, there was no use for death. No concept of it. Strange how it left an empty feeling in me. How could someone be gone? Their soul somewhere else, their eyes having no spark. Death was cruel.

[4robinlouise-blog]

50 Word Story

It was intense, it was sweet, it induced fireworks. It wasn’t long, a few seconds at most. Nothing extravagant, not for show. However, it was my favorite kiss. It sealed a deal, sealed our fate. And the two shall become one. The best kiss was after we said ‘I do’.