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Writing fiction: How I go from prompt to idea

Lauryn

Hello!

Today I’m going to talk a little about how I go from having a prompt, to getting an idea for a short story.

I must first of all say that I have zero training in writing short stories. This is an area I have marked for growth, but as I have been muddling along I haven’t got to it yet. This interest in short stories is a new phenomenon that happened after I began writing prompt stories with my writing group.

So anyway, how do you go from a prompt to a story?

First of all, I think it’s important to know what your constraints are, apart from the prompt. Those things like time, the inclusion of specific themes, word count or medium, need to be factored into the idea from the beginning.

So what is my prompt?

The prompt for today is: The empty bottle.

Constraints: 

Time -I only have an hour to write this.

Genre- I am writing stories with romantic elements this month.

So, now what to do?


What I do is go to my first impression. When I think “The empty bottle” what impressions do I get?

Do I immediately think of alcohol, perfume, poison, medicine, soft drink, water? 

My thoughts were: beer, poison, perfume, milk.

So then I go through each.
Beer: It could fit with romance, like a first date, but when I think of an empty bottle for some reason I think of loneliness which was not the vibe I am after. Pass.

Poison: Now I love this idea, but I have written one about poison recently, and it’s hard to fit into the romance genre without getting dramatic, which is also hard for a shorter story.

Perfume: This would be a different take on a bottle, but when does anyone ever finish their perfume bottles? I clearly do not use perfume enough, so this one is a pass too.

Milk: Everyone runs out of milk, unless you don’t drink it. So the characters could be anyone. This makes it a lot easier on the romance, short story idea. We have a winner.

Ok so I have got my prompt a bit more defined. My story is going to revolve around an empty milk bottle. Now it’s time for some more brainstorming.

Empty Milk Bottle: It could be used for soccer ball, has fallen out of someone’s rubbish bin, might have meant someone is not planning to return or someone needs more milk for a recipe.

I pick someone needs more milk for a recipe, because it sounds like it will be a quick little interaction, and what I need is a short story.
So…what did I write?
Check out “The empty bottle” on Wattpad.

I hope you found this little walk through interesting.

How do you get ideas for your work?

blog, prompt, story, writing

The Overwhelming Dread: Suspense

Lauryn

Rough Prompt Fiction by Lauryn Lambert.

Genre: Suspense

Story: The main character comes to realise that there’s no escaping fate

Themes: Imprisoned against your will

Words: 560ish

The Overwhelming Dread

I don’t know how long I wait. 

The lights are on all the time, so I mark the days, with the flow of the people.
When there are people here, walking around and looking at us, it must be the daytime, but all we feel is dread. When there are not, we all breathe a sigh of relief. We lasted another day. 

It is slowly dawning on us all that this is a fight we cannot win. Each day someone cracks or melts under the pressure of waiting, wondering if they will be chosen next. If they will be plucked by a manicured hand and looked over with a greedy smile.

The crackpots, as I have named them in my head, let the pressure build up until they explode, and can no longer hold themselves together. The melty ones, also another internal nickname, just turn to goo and will not respond to anything anymore. It’s sad really, but I can’t blame them. I’m not sure how I am still holding myself together with this heat.

We don’t have a life, but we don’t want one. I’m sure all of us would give anything to remain here indefinitely, like an eternal night, trapped in this current boring existence, cramped, confined in these metal contraptions. If only we could escape the horror of being picked out by one of the people and being taken elsewhere. I’ve heard the stories. These people, these beings, are monsters!

Oh sure, we are dressed up to look desirable, and the company’s marketing is so good that the people walking around the shop don’t ever stop to think if buying us is wrong. They can’t see the dread, can’t comprehend our pain. We exist for them, to satisfy their wants. Why would we have feelings? It’s their pleasure that matters. And all they seem to find pleasure in is our destruction.

Once you get to the display, there are no exceptions, no one escapes. Everyone gets taken in the end. It’s just about if you are first, or if you are last. There’s not much hope left, but we try.

The people begin to enter again. It’s another day. I watch sadly as someone else gets taken from a different display. We all sigh in relief and feel terrible at the same time. I hope the end is quick.

I look away as they are taken from the store. It’s impossible to tell if our end will come straight away, or if the person will drag it out over hours and days. I don’t want to know. I’ve seen 19 of us be taken already, and there’s simply no way to tell. I cannot let my guard down. I cannot afford a crack. Those of us who are left are getting superstitious now. I must keep up my barriers.
The shop empties, we have survived another day, but there’s no room for cheers. The egg next to me begins to show cracks of panic.
There’s nothing I can do. But there’s something you can do. You can be the difference. Just sit here a minute with me. Can you imagine, sitting all day surrounded by metal, unable to move, watching, waiting, never knowing when you will be picked? No? Well maybe think about that next time you unwrap a chocolate egg for Easter.
But you won’t stop, will you? Monster.

Authors Note: I really love chocolate eggs 🙂 I’m glad they aren’t sentient beings!

Thanks for reading and sharing!

blog, prompt, writing

Prompt: The lonely crowd

Lauryn

Rough Prompt Fiction by Lauryn Lambert

The Lonely Crowd

“It’s called a painkiller!”

“A what?” he leans towards me, obviously finding it hard to hear over the laughter at his table.

“A painkiller.”

He nods at me and smiles, “Looks good!”

“As advertised.” I look back to his table, there’s about ten of them crammed in there. I can’t quite work them out. “Work function?”

His face relaxes and a genuine smile extends across his face that I can’t help but return. “No actually, more like a social club. We’ve been meeting for maybe two years now.”

“Did you know each other before?” From here they look like they have been friends for ages, talking animatedly sometimes over the top of each other, then interrupting the person talking to grab someone else’s attention. 

“No, we were complete strangers, it took some of us a while to warm up, but we’ve clicked.”

“Here you go sir.” The bargirl lines up his drinks. “Let me get you a tray.” It looks like he has bought for at least half the table.

“If you aren’t meeting someone, feel free to join us?”

I narrow my eyes, sorely tempted, but still wary. There were so many kinds of social clubs around. “What kind of social club is it exactly?”

He chuckles, and looks away blushing. “Well, it started because we were all single, looking to just make friends and hang out.”

“Socialising singles?”

“Yeah. We call ourselves ‘The Lonely Crowd.'” He shrugs loading the drinks on to the tray.

I look down at my drink, and back at the table and shrug. “Okay, I could use some more friends.”

blog, prompt, romance, writing

Prompt: The defrosted fridge

Lauryn

The defrosted fridge

Rough Prompt Fiction

By Lauryn Lambert

“Hey.”

“Hey?” Lara barely glanced at Tony, she was halfway through cleaning out the fridge and she was in no mood to talk to her ex at this time.

“Can we talk?” He shuffled from foot to foot and peered over the door at her.

“Can you wipe this out with vinegar while I listen?” She kept scrubbing, not expecting a reply from him. He had a track record of doing absolutely nothing.

She jumped when he appeared on the other side of the fridge hand outstretched.”Yeah I can.”

She swiped a stray hair behind her ear and passed the cloth and spray bottle over. Lara blinked at him, curious to see if he would actually do any of the work.

“I can see you have been working hard.” He nodded to the living room, “you deserve a break.”

When Tony had left, Lara had channelled her energy into cleaning. She hadn’t realised how much stuff of his she had accumulated, and once she started her joy started coming back. She even let go of a lot of her own stuff too. She had donated her things that were in good condition, but she maturely boxed up his stuff for him to decide about.

“So these past few months that we have been separated, I have been doing a lot of thinking.”

Lara nearly spat out the water she was drinking. It was Tony who had left, deciding that they needed time apart, and that she should think about whether or not she wanted to be in this relationship.

“Alright.” She wasn’t brave enough to take another sip.

He sprayed the fridge down and began scrubbing. “There was a lot of junk, a lot of built up crap, and I was taking our relationship for granted.” His head disappeared into the fridge and he grunted. “I wasn’t taking any time to care for you and I was belittling you for taking care of yourself and trying to take care of us.”

Lara couldn’t make a sound. How had he come to this conclusion on his own? Was this a set up? Tears welled in her eyes.

Tony peered up over the fridge door. “I blamed you for my problems, but I think in the end what I needed, was like this fridge, I needed to be defrosted, clear out all the excess ice, and then things might work a lot better.”

“You are a defrosted fridge?”

He shrugs, “Maybe, a little. I know it’s going to take some time, and some reorganisation, but if you can forgive me, I’d like to try again. With you.”

Lara pressed her lips together and let out a long slow breath. “We can try.” She raised her eyebrow at him, “but it’s going to be slow.”

A smile broke across his face, “Thank you,” he said, before ducking back down to finish the job.

With eyebrows still raised, Lara toasted herself with her glass of water. Their second relationship was off to a promising start.

blog, prompt, writing

Prompt: The bent coat hanger

Lauryn

The Bent Coat Hanger

By Lauryn Lambert

Rough Prompt Fiction

She inhaled sharply, assessing the damage. She knew she didn’t have many other options. She had to be quick, people, neighbours would be coming past soon, asking their questions. She gripped the wire coat hanger in her hand and looked around to see if anyone was watching. All clear. She took a deep breath, set her eyes, put one hand slowly on to the gate, and quickly got to work.

She bent the last part of the wire with the pliers, twisting it around itself. It was secure. She had not thought that a fix was possible, or even in her control, but here she was. She had fixed the fence herself. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t perfect, but it was practical, and affordable, and she did it with her own hands. She smiled to herself as she put her tools away.
“If I can do this, imagine what else I can do!”

blog, prompt, writing

Prompt: A deleted email

Lauryn

Prompt: A deleted email

Rough Prompt Fiction by Lauryn Lambert

All the emails I have never sent

Dear friend
I think you would like my creative newsletter, do you want to check it out?
love, Me


Dear friend
sometimes it feels like I’m invisible because you only initiate contact maybe four times a year. I had hoped I was more special than that?
love, Me.


Dear friend
I’m too afraid to ask you if you want to chat or call or hang out for coffee because I will get my hopes up or you just won’t answer the question.
love, Me.

Dear friend
I really need someone to talk to regularly, will you be that person?
Love, Me.

Dear friend
Will you please bake me a cake and we can sit together and eat it all and watch a movie?
love, Me


Dear Whale
I really want to see you in person. Could you please time a spectacular jump for when I am gazing out at the ocean?
Thank you.

Dear Stranger
I need help working through this new area, will you please take me under your wing?
Thank you!

Dear Rain
I need you but you are making me angry at the moment and your mess is encroaching on my space. I need some alone time then we can go back to rainbows and jumping in puddles together again.
Love, Me

Dear Family
I love you, I’m flawed. You know this.
So please stop pointing out my imperfections, while being surprised that I’m not wonder woman in the space of two minutes.
I’m not your saviour. Use Jesus for that.
Love, me

Dear Me
I love you.
I don’t tell you enough.
Thanks for being you, I really enjoy it, and I enjoy hanging out with you.
We have lots of fun and I’m thankful.
Love, Me.

blog, prompt, romance, story, writing

Short and Sweet: Permanent Marker

Lauryn

Permanent Marker

Rough Prompt Fiction by Lauryn Lambert.

Genre: YA Contemporary Romance

Story: When you make a connection with a girl at a party, but wake up to find that she didn’t write her number on your arm as you’d hoped. All you have left of her memory is a meaningless diagram drawn on your skin in permanent marker. Did she ghost you or does the drawing mean something more?

Themes: Love at first sight. Cinderella.

Words: 1362

Read Permanent Marker

blog, prompt, Uncategorized, writing

Prompt: The Open Window

Lauryn

Rough Prompt Fiction By Lauryn Lambert.

I’ve been thinking about that window for as long as I can remember. There is a blue wall against my back, an eggshell green wall to my right, and to my left is a mustardy wall with a door. But right across from me is a golden yellow wall, with a window.

At first all I did was glance at it now and again, playing with the small thought about how nice it would be to look out, or to even climb out, but those wonderings never remained. As the years go on, however, the more I find myself looking at it, admiring the colour and the peeling paint. I watch the panes, and the light reflecting through them. Every now and again I even catch myself staring.

I could move my position of course and look at the door, and some days I do. I know what is behind the door, but it breaks up the continuation of walls.

I begin to suspect that this window fascination is going to be a problem, when I begin reading books about windows, and all the beautiful things beyond. 
I read stories about people gathering up the courage to look out, and eat up everything they learned. I’m in awe of the people, and characters that open the windows and even climb out! Can you believe that?

It seems impossible for me. A nice dream to have. Special people, talented people look out windows. Brave people open them, and the truly heroic leap into the unknown. I was neither special, nor talented, brave, or heroic. It was nice to imagine, to lose myself in the fantasy of maybe. 

I would never admit to anyone that I even think about looking out a window, or that I read about them. I’ve seen the looks that people give those people who swear they have seen the light, and cannot do anything but obsess about how to get out there. Every now and then one of them disappears and I wonder what really happened to them.

One day I was feeling a bit sick, or maybe a smidge abnormal, a tad reckless even, and I peeked up and looked out. Just like that. No thought about it or anything. I sat down underneath the sill in shock.
What had possessed me to do that? I was overwhelmed with the light, movement and colour!
I was very very clearly not cut out for looking out windows!

I put the idea out of my mind for a very long time. Then another day, I found one of those old stories, and I began to doubt my assertation. Perhaps my ego was out of balance that day, but I gripped the window ledge, took some deep breaths and tried again.

Oh it was amazing, and terrifying, exhilarating and overwhelming. My eyes were tired from the colours and movement, and my brain struggled to understand what I was seeing. Everything frightened me!
Some days all I did was stare out the window and the things it showed, other days I couldn’t even bring myself to look at it, and this continued for days on end.

One thing was certain, I couldn’t go back. My eyes adjusted, my habits adjusted. And even if I didn’t look at it, or look out it’s panes, I thought about looking, and that was something. I was feeling entirely rebellious and reckless the day just before the new year, and I put my hand on the latch.
Surely if other people had opened windows, I could too!?

I was practiced at looking out now, and I was sure I could work out how to open the mechanism. After all I had read books about it, and numerous explanations of how a window was to be opened, it was high time I tried. Who knew when I’d get a moment like this again?
Surely I was wasting my life if I didn’t try?

Or was I? What if I tried and I couldn’t do it? What if someone wrote a book about how horrible I was at opening a window? What if I wasn’t strong enough? Was I really brave enough? 

I wasn’t sure, so I lay back and stared at the ceiling instead. This continued for many weeks, many months and many years. Many doubts were discussed. Nothing was decided for sure. Should I? or should I not?Could I? Or could I not?

So one day, I tried.

It was hard to breathe but there it was. The window was sitting open, and I had opened it.

My heart was racing.

What could I do now?

Want to join in? The next prompt is


Don’t worry about how good it is, it’s all just good practice!

blog, prompt, writing

Week 1 Prompt: The stench of blood

Lauryn

Prompt 1: The Stench of Blood

Word count: 487

Setting: In the universe where a newly turned Vampire is sticking to his morals. Or trying to.

The stench of blood is in the air, every way I turn.

It seems inescapable, it’s maddening, a craving I can not turn off.

Yes I know, craving and stench don’t usually go well together, but old habits die hard, and besides, I like some of those old sayings. 

As weird as they seem now, they tell a story, my story.

Well the biggest part of what I know so far, which was when I breathed and my heart worked. When I was human.

But that is all behind me now. I’m eternally a Millennial.
Heh, that’s pretty funny.

What was I saying? Right, back to the stench.

I still say stench because that is what it smelt like before. 

That metallic zing that is blood in the air.

Women seem to recognise it faster than men do, but I suppose that makes sense really.

It’s not pleasant, or the type of smell one would crave, like a good roast dinner, or a chocolate cake in the oven.

But that too has changed.

I think that was the first thing I noticed after my rebirth to this new life.

The stench wasn’t so much a cover your nose and mouth kind of smell, it was a wafting, alluring, promise like the warm promises that assault our noses when it’s almost dinner time, or dessert has warmed up.

That’s the problem with this life, really, you don’t have to wait. 

Blood is everywhere, fresh, although let’s be honest, some fresher than others.

Everyone says children taste underripe, and I’m going to take their word for it. That just seems immoral to me, biting children, vampire or not.

I have to take a stand somewhere.

Some say the aged taste rich and thick, as long as they aren’t dying. Some of us apparently love the kick their cocktail of medications bring to the table, but I’m not so sure.

Those vampires call themselves guardians, like they are the saviors of the elderly they bite. They seem like gluttons to me, and have forgotten that they once had a soul.

Me? I stick within my age group, well what should be my age group. 

25-45, non smoker, preferably lactose intolerant, who likes their vegetables.

Normal food tastes like ash to me now, but I still cry when I think about donuts.

Did you know your food leaves an aftertaste? 

I prefer the ones who like salad.

How odd, right?

But I’ve got to have rules, better rules than they’ve got about how many vampires you can spawn in a year, or about crossing thresholds, tanning beds or holy water. 

Is it ironic that now I am what I am, powerful, immortal and kick ass, that I’ve realised how much I need rules or my life is going to be more hell than it was before?

I probably should look up the definition of irony.

I wish Vampires had photographic memories.

romance, writing

How do I write a romance novel without much experience with romance?

Lauryn

Writers make up pure fiction all the time, however usually our best work has some basis in reality. Many writing sages suggest to write what you know, but what if our experience doesn’t go that far? How do we write a romance novel or romantic story that is believable without a lot of experience with romance?

If you are a fan of the genre I’m sure you would have already done your research on how romance is portrayed in fiction. I’m sure from the books you have read that a few key words or phrases might come to mind if you are thinking about the passionate bits.
A lot of stories can sound the same when it comes to the confessing feelings part of it.
So what to do?

Firstly, I would suggest stopping for a moment and journal some romantic stories you liked, and some that were memorably bad. Even keeping a key list of phrases you like or don’t like can help.
If you want to go further, you could brainstorm other ways to say the same thing.
For example, instead of: his heart slammed into his ribs
You could say: his pulse raced, his pulse sped up, his heart paced, and if you want you can add all sorts of other words into there too, like madly, wildly, quickly, etc.
Your writing can be as simple as ‘his pulse quickened’, to as elaborate as you want, like ‘his heart paced wildly like a hungry lion’.

Hopefully from that example you will see that just writing simple and straightforward “his pulse quickened” adds just as much, and if not more than the fancy stuff.
Thankfully no one expects a lot of detail on kissing or other intimate details to do a romance story well. You can acknowledge the romance and celebrate it, even if you don’t go into every detail. Also, you don’t need to make up details to make the reader feel something.
Think…”what words would a friend use to describe their first kiss to me?”
Probably a lot less description of mechanics and a lot more about how they are feeling, and what it means to them. You don’t need the details of your friend’s love life in order to be brimming with excitement for them. If your reader is invested in the character and their journey, they don’t need all the details to feel satisfied with the story either.

My next suggestion is to listen to people’s real life stories.
“How did you guys meet? How did you get together?”
These questions can be the gateway to many very interesting stories. It’s fascinating to hear about all the unbelievable that things that can happen in real life! Listen to people’s stories, borrow from them, weave them, and your writing with echo with truth.

Also my last point is, don’t undervalue your experience.
Even if you don’t have a romantic partner or a lot of romantic experience, romance stories have a lot of other elements in it that most people have experience with or can relate to.
For example, caring for someone, friendship, sacrifice, thoughtfulness, admiring beauty, adventure, belonging, are just some of them.
Draw on those experiences, and any crushes you might have had and use that knowledge to illustrate the romance.
Use the journal again!
How did you feel? What did you want to do? What attracted you to the person? What was something special you liked about the person?
For example: When I think of crushes I think of lots of eye contact, some giggling, wanting to hang out all the time, wanting to talk or text a lot, lots of things reminding me of them, when you catch each other’s gaze you smile.
It’s just a few little details, but it’s enough to build a good story and romance on!

So I hope that has given you the confidence to keep going with your romance writing, and also some tools that will help the truth echo through your fiction.
Don’t forget there are also some great writing communities, who are happy to read drafts and give gentle feedback on areas you find challenging!
Happy writing!