A fairytale but told in reverse. This could mean a many number of things. You could reverse the roles or the events, either works. It’s good practice and helps you move past figuring out what to write.
An excerpt from your life but told in a dramatic, over the top fashion. We’re all drama queens and you know it. This not only allows you to write what you know, but I’ve found it’s a wonderful way to expand your vocab because it forces you to look up big and fun words. And while these words are pretty frivolous in this specific context, these words will come in handy the next time you take on writing a story where they wouldn’t be so out of place.
Get inspired by history. Write short excerpts from the point of view of old historical figures. There are tons of interesting people to be discovered in the past.
Get inspired by art. Art and writing have a common purpose… to create a picture, so the two are clearly linked in one way or another. Perhaps this is why I find inspiration in the lovely paintings of the past. To do this yourself, pick out an interesting or unusual painting and use it as writing inspiration.
Write an over the top conspiracy theory. The more ridiculous, the better. This also can be tool for building your vocabulary while you have fun writing the worst lies you’ve ever conjured.
Write a piece specifically for mocking a cliche.
Write down a list of three aesthetics or objects that you really like for some reason or another. Now try and incorporate them into a story.
Take a fable or fairytale The primarily stars animal characters and humanize them. Or, if you’d like, take a human based fairytale and make all the characters forest animals.
Take a work that you really like and give it a mood shift and tell it in a fashion completely opposite of what it was originally but while keeping most of the main events. For example, you take a work of Edgar Allan Poe and give it a sunny, happy, comedic spin.
Challenge yourself to write a story where the narrative and events are completely confined in one room.
Pick a specific year to inspire your work.
Pick a historical figure to inspire your work.
Have your work center around a specific object. Like a mirror or a pen for example.
Have your work be inspired by a game. For example, chess, checkers, poker or just playing cards and their suites in general, Clue, monopoly, Candy Land, Shutes and Ladders, Mastermind, or Battleship to name a few. Think outside the box.
Once upon a time there was a lovely princess who lived in a lovely castle with a lovely library and a lovely king who was her father.
This princess lived her days out happily, reading in the library, playing in the gardens, and (her most favorite activity) playing chess with her dad.
But alas, a time came when the king died, leaving the queen behind to take care of the kingdom. Now the queen was a beautiful woman but she wasn’t necessarily a leader. There were enemies eyeing them and their land with greed. Now would be a decent opportunity to strike. The queen had to do something fast. So she arranged a political marriage between the princess and the prince of another kingdom, uniting them both under one banner. Soon there after, the queen died some say if heart break and some say of just plain stress..
Now the daughter was very sad at the loss of her parents and her arranged marriage, but she soon realized this is what fate had in store for her. So the coming year, she was married, and then the next year, was crowned queen alongside her husband who was crowned king.
They went on to have a daughter, named Iris. The king was disappointed, hoping his wife would have a boy, therefore producing an heir. However, after the daughter was born, the queen had miscarriage after miscarriage. It soon became obvious that this was to be their only child and heir. The king was very saddened at this however the queen did not mind, loving her daughter with the purest love a mother could ever offer. So while the king attended his kingly business and largely ignored his daughter, the queen would spend time with her in the tower playing chess with her and read her stories. She wished to give her twice the amount of love to replace her father’s.
But tragedy then struck yet again. Iris’s mother grew ill and quickly died not long after the princesse’s 15th birthday. This hit Iris very hard, Locking herself away in the tower for days to mourn. But she soon found strength through memory of her mother.
“Remember,” she used to tell her during their usual chess game. “The Queen is the most powerful piece in the board. You are the most powerful piece on the board Iris.”
And so, after a three days of solitude, Iris walked out of the tower, standing tall and brave. But still very sad.
Her years leading up to her 18th birthday were lonely ones, only gaining joy from her occasional trips to the town market, her daily rides, and of course her chess matches. She played nearly every single person of the castle staff, and beat them too. She had perfected her game it would seem.
Solemnly, Iris walked the courtyard of the tower she would soon be living in in the coming weeks. It was a tall, towering building, casting a dark shadow across it’s mosaic stone courtyard. It was once part of a old castle but now only a few crumbling walls and the tower remained.
Inside, the tower was rather plain with no decorations in its room but had some of the most beautiful architecture she had ever seen.
Iris decided she would not mind living here that much. Especially if she got to redecorate. But she supposed that hardly mattered as she would be only here as long as it took a prince to complete her test.
So she began to think. But her thoughts began to swirl of her looming future marriage to a stranger and her controlling father so she stopped and opted to hide in the castle library and stare at her chess set, wishing horribly that her mother was there. She fiddled with the lovely stone pieces, tracing the shape of the knight’s arched neck, the pawns round top, when she was suddenly struck with an idea.
“Always be the strongest piece on the board,” her mother’s voice echoed.
“Don’t worry, mother,” iris whispered. “I will be.”
All night iris worked feverishly. Sketched after sketch she drew of her idea for her test. So when the morning came her eyes stung and she was utterly exhausted. But she did not rest- time was awasting!
She hurriedly ran down the castle stairs and into the courtyard where she met the black smith. She showed him her blueprints and sketches and of her idea. She asked him if he would help (she would pay him handsomely of course she added)
The black smith complied and began work as she requested. As the week dragged slowly on, the Princess was scarce, checking on the black smith constantly and sometimes even rolling up her sleeves and helping with the work herself. They were loosing time. The end of the week was near.
Part of her doubted that they were going to make it. But on the fifth night her handmaidens and servants told her that they knew what she was up to. They told her to not to worry- they had not alerted her father of her activities. Not only that, they had heard through the castle gossip that they had fallen behind and they all wished to help.
So That evening a group of young servant girls showed up at the black smiths forged with aprons and their sleeves rolled up and ready to work. And that night they finished. And early!
And then the seventh day came.
The king demanded to see his daughters test for he had suitors waiting already.
Iris led the king to the tower’s checkered tile court yard and gestured for him to look.
Set up on opposing ends of the court yard arranged on the alternating squares were giant, metallic chess pieces. The pieces were giant, roughly about a head taller than most men though hollow so they could be pushed and moved with ease. There was a set of white pieces on the end closest to them and a set of black further away.
“What on earth-?” The king began.
“It’s my test,” iris explained. “Whichever suitor can beat me in chess may get my hand in marriage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the king responded.
“It’s my test,” the Princess pointed out, refusing to back down.
Finally the king agreed, thinking that surely some prince would beat her. But he was very very wrong
Game after game iris would crow those wonderful words, “checkmate!”
A week went by and the suitors began loosing interest and went to find other princesses with easier tests.
Iris’s father was angry at first but there wasn’t much he could do. He had to abide by his family’s tradition.
And so iris spent the next 10 years in her tower, and sometimes venturing out into the forest and generally led a peaceful life.
It wasn’t long after those ten years that the king opted to retire and step down from the throne, becoming sick in his old age.
And so iris, now completely grown and ambitious, volunteered to take over. The people agreed unanimously- she was to be their queen.
Being so wonderful at chess led to her being a excellent tactician during war time, defending and conquering when needed. So the kingdom knew an era of peace beneath the chess princess.
I, my dear friends, am a project bouncer. All too often I’m struck with a lightning bolt of creativity that fuels me roughly for a week only to dissipate as quickly as It came.
And so I’m left with a story concept that is pushed to the back shelf that is already crowded with other dead ideas and concepts that I l tell myself I’ll get to later. And of course, later never comes.
I think the most frustrating bit about this aspect of personality is that fact that I always feel like I’m overflowing with ideas and yet I don’t actually get anything done. After the end of a creative jolt I’m left with nothing but a vague character description and plot outline and a blank word document. It’s like I’m encountering writers block before I’ve even started. I can’t focus on one idea long enough and everything feels like it’ll result in a dead end.
But, as I’ve come to figure out, my problem isn’t necessarily the time that I have with an idea that’s giving me issues. It’s the way I use it.
You see, if you’re anything like me, your creative eureka! Moments happen often frequently but they are fleeting. Generally what I do with this time is… well nothing. And that, my dear friends, is my problem. I squander my creative bursts on… daydreaming? Nothing productive anyway.
So here’s how I combatted this issue. The solution was really simple actually.
Every inspiring idea and concept that comes to my head revolving around this topic, I write down. Everything. All the random bits of dialogue, all the random character details, the scenes… all of it.
And needed to put to use my creative energy right away. I needed to stop “letting it simmer” because that leads to me burning out. I learned that I needed to take advantage of this flash of inspiration and actually WRITE. There’s no room for perfection. I just need to DO it cause pretty soon I’m going to loose steam and that’ll be the end of it.
And, so, by the end of a weeks time (and my creative high), I should have the hardest part of the story out of the way; the beginning. And if I can get that down, I can run with it and see where the story takes me.
“The beginning is perhaps more difficult than anything else, but keep heart, it will turn out all right.”
“Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it.”
“The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.”
“I am always doing what I cannot do yet, in order to learn how to do it.”
“Art is to console those who are broken by life.”
“I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things.”
“For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”
“I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”
“I wish they would take me as I am.”
“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.”
“Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well.”
“I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.”
“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?”
“I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.”
“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.”
“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke.”
“The beginning is perhaps more difficult than anything else, but keep heart, it will turn out all right.”
I wake on a hill, the sun’s rays piercing the black. The grass is soft on my bare arms as I turn my head slightly to observe my surroundings. It seems I’m in a meadow of sorts, with little yellow flowers dotting the landscape. The golden light of the dawn falls upon the serene grassland. I swivel my head to my left and find another face of a young man, sleeping as I was. I then came to the realization that I was clutching something. I sit up quickly and find I am gripping this strange boy’s hand. He is about as old as I was though I am not exactly sure what age that is. In fact, I have no memory of how I got here. I let go of the boy’s hand and pull my knees to my chest and press my face against them, a sad feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. It had happened again. I throw my head back and groan, complaining to the heavens, though I doubt they hear as they’ve never listened before. “Why?” I utter. I would tell you my name but I don’t know that either. But whoever I am, I live in the world of Anamnesis, that much I know. In this land, we are under a cruel curse. Every year, on the last day of Summer, we forget everything. Every person we knew, every experience we had, and every moment worth remembering. However, knowledge of this curse plagues us no matter how many times we forget. We try to make the best of things, however, as much as one can. We meet people that we have probably met before and explored the landscape and the kingdoms around us once again. I don’t know how long this world has operated this way. I don’t know how old I am or how many times I’ve forgotten but somehow, myself and others alike since its been this way for a long time, further frustrating us. Long ago we would hunt and search this planet for answers. We dreamt of a day when we could remember. But when we turned up empty-handed and the sunset on the last day of summer once more, we grew tired and gave up on our questions being answered. Now we rise on the first winter morning and try and seize as much as we can with the time we have. My people build one year long kingdoms and empires but they all eventually fall away. So the kingdoms Anamnesis fight wars and siege each others castle for what else can they do? Can we not enjoy the next year since it is all of no worth since we are incapable of remembering? What other purpose is there? I smooth the edges of my sundress and look a the position of the sun as it rises higher into the sky. I glance down once more at the figure beside me before moving to stand. I probably knew him at one point. In fact, if I spent the last day of summer with him, he must have been special to me. Too bad I didn’t remember. I quietly began moving away from him. It was easier this way. Now to find a town or a kingdom to- “So you’re just going to abandon me?” A whirl around as I’m greeted by the sight of the boy sitting up and smiling at me. “Why not?” I say, shrugging dismissively. “I don’t know you.” “Not anymore I guess,” he said turning his face towards the sun and holding a hand to shield his eyes. “Such a shame.” “A shame indeed though it hardly matters, does it?” I say as I begin to fiddle with my loose, amber hair. A breeze lilted through the meadow, rustling the boy’s hair. “It can matter if we want it to,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’d introduce myself but-” “I know, you don’t have to bother explaining,” I turn my head and search the horizon for a sign of a building or a person. I didn’t usually find myself this secluded. I was pretty certain that the other times I’ve woken there was a town or kingdom nearby. “Well, there’s no use in us not being able to address each other,” The boy was still talking. “I guess not,” I say, staring at him blankly. Why was he still here? Just leave, it doesn’t matter! “Good! Glad you agree! I guess it’s up to me then!” he says, his smile growing wider. “What’s up to you?” I query. “To give you a name!” “What?!” I exclaim. “I didn’t give you permission to-” “How about Rebekah?” He offers. “What? No-” “You’re right, to outdated,” he puts a hand to his chin and squints at me. “Hmmm… you don’t look like a Natalie,” he speculates. I cross my arms, giving him a skeptical look, but remain silent for the moment. I’m actually curious as to what he’ll come up with. “Ah! I’ve got it!” He announces. He then bends down and plucks a small yellow flower from the earth. “Chrysanthemum!” I consider it. “I don’t haaate it,” I tilt my head slightly in thought. “Though it is a mouth-full.” “Fine, then we’ll just call you Chrys for short!” He says, placing his hands on his hips proudly. “Now your turn!” “My turn?” “Yeah! Give me a name!” he beams. “Do I have to?” “Pretty Please?” He begs. “Fine,” I concede. Then I look him up and down thoughtfully. The gears in my head begin to turn, thinking of the possibilities. He is rather tall, with slightly curly and unkempt brown hair. He is pale and his skin is speckled with light freckles. His eyes, as far as I can tell, are a greenish hazel color. He is in simple commoner clothes with a white tunic and brown breeches. As my gaze reaches his feet, I realize, to some surprise, he’s barefoot. “Judging by your attire, you weren’t anyone of great importance,” I think aloud. “Oh, that hurts me,” he says in mocking offense. “It really does.” “I’m just saying to don’t exactly look like a King Rupert,” I explain. “Well, I’m not getting any younger,” he says as he begins to tap his bare feet against the earth. “At this rate by the time you decide, we’ll forget again.” “Haha,” I say in a monotone voice. “Now hush so I can think.” I pause a moment more before saying, “Emeric.” He mulls the name over for a second longer before saying, “Could be worse.” “Okay, now that you’re satisfied, can I go?” I don’t even wait for an answer as I turn and start off to… wherever I’m going. “But where are you going?” The voice comes directly from behind me and I turn to see Emeric right behind me. “Why do you insist on continuing to bother me?” “I just wanna tag along,” he says, feigning innocence. “Besides, you don’t know where you’re going and neither do I. Why not walk together?” “Want me to provide you a list?” “Must be short considering you don’t know me,” he mumbles. “That’s at the top,” I tell him. “Yeah, yeah, your loss,” he continues to trot behind me, seemingly unaffected by my protests. “You must have been a whole lot nicer when you knew me.” “And you must have been a lot less insufferable,” I retort. “Being insufferable is part of my natural charm,” He informs me with a sniff. “You should consider your past self lucky!” “You know, we could have been just good friends,” I suggest, avoiding eye contact. “Somehow I doubt it,” he huffs. “But, as you said, it hardly matters.” We continued walking and came to the edge of the meadow. Here it met the treeline of a thick forest with tall clustered trees. We halt for a moment, eyeing the thick foliage. “Onward I suppose,” Emeric says. I glance down at his bare feet. “You sure?” I ask. “It’s sweet and all that you’re concerned for me but I’ll be okay,” Emeric remarks snarkily before striding into the forest. “Idiot,” I murmur before beginning to trek behind him. “You know,” He says, pushing a branch from out of his face. “You don’t have to walk behind me.” “I prefer to so you can knock down all the spider webs,” I say with a grin. “Hey-ack! Phbbbtt,” He begins to spit and gag and a let out a loud laugh, the sound echoing throughout the once silent wood. “So what do you think you’ll be this time around?” I call up to Emeric, trying to strike up a conversation. “Who knows,” I can see him shrug with a quick movement of his shoulders. “Pastry chef, stable boy, fisherman,” then he looks back at me grinning. “Maybe even a king.” “Good luck with that,” I smile. “How about you?” I think for a moment, the only sound to be heard is the crunching of leaves and branches beneath our feet as we continue walking. Then I speak, breaking the silence. “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I haven’t the foggiest notion of what I was so I’m pretty much am working with a blank slate.” “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Emeric points out. “Just be thankful you didn’t wake up in a jail cell or something like that.” “I jail cell might be preferable compared to waking alongside you,” I tease. “Harsh words, little girl,” He laughs. “Better be nice to me, or I won’t give you a job in my bakery or my castle?” “So you’ve narrowed it down? King or pastry chef? Choose wisely.” “Oh, I will,” Emeric gives a low chuckle. Then he suddenly stops in his tracks, causing me nearly to collide into his back. “It seems we’ve reached the edge of the wood,” Emeric says to me. “And our destination is just in sight.” I walk over to his side and look. Before us lies a valley, green a lush filled with a kind of purple wildflower. I can hear bees buzzing as they go from flower to flower. A stream runs no more than a few yards away, trickling deeper into the valley. And, just barely visible against the blue horizon, houses. “A village,” I say. “At long last.” “It’s not too far off,” Emeric says. “And its all downhill from here.” “Praise the Gods,” I huff. “But, looks like we’re going to have to get a bit wet,” Emeric eyes the stream. “But nothing we can’t handle.” “Well, come on then,” I say, striding forward. “Our future awaits!”
Quarantine has kept everyone home for the past five weeks. At first it was boring, but I am very glad that I have a home in which I like to reside. We have been taking on a bit more chores and yard work as we now have the time to tend to such matters. Today, my dad came home with a tractor and a plow which he had borrowed.
Usually, my mom would be tilling up the garden with a tiller this time of year only to have it break half way through and my dad would have to find time to fix it. It would not be a happy evening.
But with this plow, the blades slice and turn up the dirt quickly and effortlessly. It does turn out rocks however, so me and my siblings have to run along behind it and pick them up and throw them to the sides of the Garden to be collected later. But it’s not miserably work- the wind is blowing and rustling through the grass and trees, making for a cool work environment. And the dirt feels so nice on my bare feet, coming up to my ankles, chopped fine by the plow.
Then my sister begins singing off key, picking up rocks as she practically yells the words:
I’m on my way Driving at ninety down those country lanes Singing to “Tiny Dancer” And I miss the way you make me feel, and it’s real We watched the sunset over the castle on the hill
I don’t think I mind this farm work quite as much.
Synthesia is defined as a coalescing of one’s senses. It is a phenomenon where the five senses are securely linked. Today, it is described as a “disorder” though I would describe it as a sixth sense. It does not obstruct me. In fact, it avails me in experiencing and feeling life in a thoroughly different but beautiful way.
Where one hears music, I visually perceive a breathtaking exhibit of flashing and swirling color. My vision becomes a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues.
This particular aspect of my synthesia I have been most thankful for. After all, music has played a key role in marking momentous and memorable occasions.
I can recall lying in bed as a puerile child and my mother would sing me a lullaby to draw me to slumber. Lilac and blue hues flashed and then faded to ebony as I drifted off to slumber.
My first concert was a sight to behold. I could feel the beat of the music coursing through my veins as I raised my hands with the crowd and sang the words out loud and clear. The scarlet hue that tinted my view commixed with the flashing strobe lights as I became one with the crowd. I had never felt so alive.
Then the time came for my first prom. My view of the scene afore me blushed pink as I danced with someone for the first time.
And then came the time for me to marry. My vision virtually glowed yellow as the organ played but, throughout the golden mist, I could still see the love of my life at the end of the aisle.
Then there was the day my mother died. The music played soft and slow and greys and blues mixed with tears as I stared down at the floor. When I came home that night, a hollow feeling had rooted itself firmly in my gut. I did not listen to music for a very long time.
And then one day I turned on the radio and my vision of was bright once more.
At last, There came a time when I had my own child. Beautiful and bright-eyed, she lit up my life. I recollect taking her home and laying her in the crib for the first time and then singing the lullaby my mother had sung to lull me to sleep. Familiar hues danced before me and life was wonderful.
She grew up too quickly, as most children do, and her graduation was soon upon us. Orange was the shade that I saw as the music sounded throughout the large room and the graduates throw their hats and my daughter was grown.
Time passed swiftly and I have grown old and my body creaky. That leads me to where I am today, lying in a bed with startlingly white sheets and covers. My family circumvents me and they all look sad.
And then they begin to sing.
I can scarcely tell through the fog of my mind but I think it’s a hymn. And then, for the last time, the colors appear.
Scarlet Green Amber My pulse is slowing. Lilac Turquoise Blue Grey It’s time to rest. Pink Yellow White And then Black.
Consume knowledge at the same rate in you seek it. (Which should be like crazy. Stay curios, babe).
Tinker with things. Find a problem and then find a solution. Keep those mental gears ever turning.
Don’t blink. 😉 (but a wink is okay)
Wear Converse if you’re feelin it.
Remember the most interesting people are a little mad.
Have you considered a bow tie?
Astronomy will always be cool.
And chemistry.
And biology.
And pretty much any science because science is the appreciation of existing.
Just feed that ever curios mind of yours.
Space theories. Educate yourself.
Remember change is unavoidable and a part of life and should be embraced. but don’t lose yourself. Please don’t lose yourself. No matter how many seasons of “change” you go through, no matter how many regenerations you become, remember what makes you, you.
You have all of time and space. Where do you want to start?
My mechanical joints began to lock up and tenebrosity tinted the edge of my vision. My circuits were shutting down and a haze began to creep over my conscience. My artificial heart that rested in and warmed my core began to grow cold. The chilly sensation crept from my stomach to my chest and was starting to spread to my metal appendages. I could barely feel anything.
But throughout the mental fog, a voice broke through and a wave of fondness rushed over me as I listened to the gentle voice.
“Don’t worry,” It said soothingly. “You’re just going to sleep. You’ve got a long journey ahead. Now rest, and I promise I will wake you up when the time comes.”
Here, I could have sworn I heard a tinge of sadness in the voice, but I didn’t have long to consider it because in the next moment, my heart stopped completely and the world went dark entirely.
By the Brooke 