#roadpaved

[theroadpavedwithwords]

Today's prompt from my 1001 prompt card kit issss

1) a nurse working the night shift

2) receiving terrible news

3) a room with only a single, dim lightbulb.

that one is surprisingly coherent. the ones I've been pulling for the last few days have all been surprisingly coherent.

Yesterday's was

1) someone being buried alive

2) planting a garden

3) a graveyard

don't forget to tag #roadpaved with your response!

[theroadpavedwithwords]

1050 Prompt

Today's People, Place, Situation Flashcards are...

1) A lonely marine biologist

2) An abandoned subway station

3) A horde of trolls (That's interesting, to say the least...)

Using one or any combination of these three, write a quick fiction/non-fiction/poem. I thought I'd make these 1050 prompts more fun - each entry will be entered in a draw each month for an edit/critique of a piece up to ten pages - the edit will cover basic mechanical and grammatical errors, while the critique will focus on plot, character development, and setting, as well as offering advice and thoughts on the future development of the piece.

Don't forget to tag #roadpaved in your responses, and happy writing!

-H

[khargaotte]

A l'ombre des pommiers en fruits

Chez les St-Andrez, les vacances d'été comportaient presque invariablement un séjour au manoir, celui où avait grandi Gabriel, et où Camille et lui s'étaient retirés au moment de leur retraite, celui qui abritait toutes les grandes réunions et réceptions familiales, le grand manoir, avec son immense parc, sa bibliothèque aux innombrables ouvrages, pour certains aussi vieux que la bâtisse elle-même, sa piscine, son verger… C'était d'ailleurs entre ces deux derniers lieux que s'étaient répartis les jumeaux, séparés par un soleil un peu trop enthousiaste qui ne convenait guère à la carnation de Sam, fragilisée par son don, alors que son frère ne rêvait que de s'ébattre dans l'eau pour se débarrasser de la chaleur ambiante. Il s'était donc installé dans le verger, gardant un œil sur son jumeau tout en parcourant un des nombreux volumes de la bibliothèque, à l'ombre d'un des pommiers, le tube de crème solaire à proximité pour en remettre dès que nécessaire et un chapeau sur la tête. Plongé dans le deuxième tome de cette série culte des années 2000, un apport de Camille à la bibliothèque, l'histoire d'un garçon qui apprenait le jour de son onzième anniversaire qu'il était un sorcier et devait partir pour une école de sorcellerie –l'auteure avait sans doute fait partie des élèves d'une des écoles européennes-, il ne pouvait s'empêcher de lever les yeux vers une des branches du pommier où un fruit, apparemment mûr à point et prêt à être cueilli, lui faisait de l'œil, agitant auprès de ses papilles la promesse d'un jus frais et désaltérant, pour peu qu'il se lève, le cueille, et daigne y planter les dents. Ce qu'il finit par faire, la branche étant, il fallait bien l'avouer, bien plus proche que la cuisine. Comme prévu, la pomme était mûre à point, juteuse et gorgée du soleil de cet après-midi d'août. Ce qui n'était pas prévu, en revanche, c'est la voix qui s'éleva aussi, en provenance, semblait-il, du tronc.

 - Bah ça va, faut pas se gêner, surtout ! Vas-y l'gamin, cueille toutes mes paummes tant qu't'y es, et avant l'heure en plus, si elles étaient prêtes, j'les aurais faites tomber tiens.

 Le timbre traînant, à l'accent normand prononcé, avait fait sursauter l'adolescent qui, tournant sur lui-même, sa pomme croquée toujours à la main, n'arrivait pas à en trouver le propriétaire.

 - Et regarde-moi quand j'te cause ! Ces jones, aucun respect, j'étais déjà là avant même qu'ton grand-père y soit né alors j'te dis, tu f'rais mieux d'être plus respectueux un peu là hein !

 De plus en plus inquiet, Sam fit le tour de l'arbre. Toujours rien, si ce n'était cette voix qui continuait à vociférer.

 - Mais c'est qu'y m'écoute pas en plus ! J'm'en vais t'y donner une leçon à c'lui-là…

 Et soudainement, toutes les branches, comme agitées par un vent violent, se mirent à le fouetter, le faisant tomber au sol, là où il était allongé un peu plus tôt, tandis que sa pomme roulait dans et disparaissait dans l'herbe qui se faisait de plus en plus haute. Il avait beau se débattre, tenter de se dégager de cette attaque végétale, il ne pouvait que fermer les yeux pour leur éviter d'être piqués par des brindilles, tandis qu'il sentait de manière certaine l'une de ces fourbes branches venir chatouiller ses narines, provoquant un éternuement imminent, qui masque un rire qui semblait familier, une voix qu'il connaissait par cœur et qui n'était plus celle du vieux pommier… Anaël ? Dans un sursaut, Sam ouvrit les yeux, avant de les refermer presque aussitôt, ébloui par le soleil qui faisait une auréole dorée à son frère –à moins que l'auréole ne soit dégagée par le frère en question lui-même, un peu trop ravi du réveil en sursaut de son jumeau. Un verre de jus de fruit dans chaque main, il semblait avoir trouvé hilarant de voir combien de passage de pailles juste sous son nez il faudrait à Sam pour se réveiller de la sieste où il était plongé, alors que le livre, encore ouvert dans l'herbe, relatait l'accident d'une certaine voiture volante atterrissant dans un arbre plus que belliqueux.

[darkersolstice]

Homeric Epithets for some of my OCs

theroadpavedwithwords, per http://theroadpavedwithwords.tumblr.com/post/84367184935/interesting-character-exercise

Alexander: Oathkeeper, Arrow to True North

Tapestry: Weaver of Stories, Prophet of Moon-Fall, Knife-Dancer

Remiel: Flash of Colors, Spark-Eyed

Buffy: Lightning-Scarred, Butt of Fate’s Joke

Isadore: Keeper of Blades, Deft-Handed

Fran: Horse-Eyed, Guardian of Hospitality

Abigail: Steel-Spined, Time-Kissed, Daughter of Eternity

[theroadpavedwithwords]

Character Shenanigans Prompt

Your favourite character and your least favourite character kiss. Why? What happened? What happens next?

Don't forget to tag #roadpaved so that I can bathe in the wonder that is your creative genius!

[rosemarygreeneyes470]

Can you guess?

Can you guess what I'm describing? A description prompt: 

Smells like home and tea and a rainy day. A day spent simultaneously in bed and near lochs of Northern Scotland with blood, Bellona’s bridegroom, treachery, lies, prophecies and floating daggers.

  As the innards of this object flutter, as I flip the sheets one by one, my eyes searching and scanning, from left to right, my breath is taken away by flowery rhymes, from heartbeat prose, from crowns and enchantments. Hecate’s charms, both fair and foul, are not nearly as enticing as this. This journey that I have traveled before, twice now as I gallivant the familiar roads of hallucinations, supposed patricide, of hubris and fallen heroes. The emotions are not my own but as this bard holds my hand and guides me through this whirlwind that he’s woven, I marvel. I marvel again and again at the wickedness of man, which are now laid bare by a silver pen that scratched this map for me ages ago, in a different world.  

[gottagoghdraw]

Funny Fall

I remember how you fit into fall as easily as the leaves changed. It was the way your mood would reflect the lazy days. I can still see your sleepy frame draped across the couch and how your eyes would squint shut when you yawned. But never in a million years would you let me catch you napping, no way. Guys like you didn’t nap. Guys like you stole glances at me when you thought I wasn’t looking. The times we would spend cuddled up on the loveseat that was too small for the both of us were some of the best. We couldn’t get close enough, there was just always a tiny space that we felt the need to fill. Sipping apple cider under that awful plaid, flannel blanket and watching some nighttime talk show we were too busy to actually pay attention to. I’d catch the goofy looks you so bluntly threw at me, and the ones you didn’t think I noticed. The ones where your sharp eyes would soften and a small contented smile played across your lips for the slightest second. I can recall the flecks of amber in your green eyes.Your eyes were like fall themselves, the green that gently faded to ribbons of amber and rich sienna towards the middle. I had stared at them sometimes when we’d be watching the stars by the window. They used to sparkle even brighter than those pin pricks in the sky. If we were feeling brave we’d sit out in the yard to see them, bundled up in our scarves and jackets as the wind rippled through the tree’s bare branches. You especially were an avid stargazer; you once told me I was the brightest one you had ever seen. I liked the way you would shake your head at my latest projects, like you just accepted the fact you couldnt use the dining room table for the next week and three days. There was always that little feeling of satisfaction when you would come in the door with the supplies I asked you to run out for. No matter how much you pretended to protest and hesitate we both knew you’d be returning home the next day with whatever my request was. Then you surprised me, hauling trashbags full of the most vibrant of fallen leaves from the park. You told me it was for whatever project I wanted to do, you’d let me hang them around the house and everything. Bring the season inside you said, in those little sayings you’d think up. The rustic brick wall, that we loved so much, was soon covered in a leaf garland mural. That dark maroon peeked through in certain spots to spell out our initials. I had been hesitent at first, not sure how you’d take the painfully corny gesture but, the bright smile on your face could have blinded me. You used to love when I’d hold you close at night. Your arm would be draped over me and our fingers intertwined out of habit. There was a slight draft of the crisp fall air because we’d always forget that last window in the bathroom. Sometimes we’d sit and talk for hours. It wasn’t that the conversations were important, or that they even needed to be had it was being too stubborn to fall asleep. Some nights you thought you’d try to be funny, by the time you were done you’d have me in tears. I still laugh at those dumb jokes when I think of them. Other nights we’d sit in comfortable silence. You had an infatuation with matching our hands against each other and seeing how different they were in size. Your ever-watching eyes were taking in every detail. Honestly, I thought I’d forever curse the day you bought that portable radio. It was when I splattered egg across the wall from you grabbing me by surprise in the middle of a song that I wanted to rip the cord from the outlet. That was until you spun me around, somehow managing to toss the skillet in the sink, and proceded to dance with me. I berated you with angry protests before being disarmed by your smug smirk. I still remember that snide little comment, ‘you’re an awful dancer’. What a beautiful memory you are. That slice of life that I spent with you is still intoxicating. You’re like a ghost limb, I catch myself thinking you’re still around all the time. It’s been years. That brick wall hasn’t seen fallen leaves since you left it. The kitchen isn’t the ballroom dancefloor we pretended it was. The bed is made up on your side in the morning and the nights are often cloudy. I’ve discovered how spacious and comfortable the loveseat is and how interesting those late night talk shows are. Its around October when fall creeps in and I finally shut the bathroom window to cut off the draft that had been nice in the summer. How easy it is to think of you in the midst of the cozy season. You in your large, heavy coat, that hangs on the hooks by the door, and I in my peacoat, walking through the leaf-strewn sidewalks. The way your breath came out in puffs of vapor as you spoke about the fireworks show going on in the leaves above us. There wasn’t a way to describe it besides a calm excitement for your favorite season. I find myself talking to someone who’s not there now, and I laugh a little about how funny it is. I enjoy a silence thats only shared by my thoughts and I, its funny how hard it is to quiet them. And its funny, how I can still feel your hand in mine sometimes, or that I can still see you walking down the hall. Its funny how I can hear your light footsteps at night, like those times you’d come home late and try not to wake me. I think its funny when I wait for you to come in the kitchen and sit at the counter as I make my breakfast. The way my eyes seem to catch you in the very corners of my vision until I look over and see it was a just a funny little trick. Its funny how much I miss you. Its funny how well you had fit into fall.

[theroadpavedwithwords]

Make Me Laugh Prompt #1

One of your characters ends up in a ridiculous situation. What is this situation? How do they respond? How do other characters react?

Don't forget to tag you responses #roadpaved!