Let's face it - most of the time when we read something by an author, it has been through rounds of critiquing, beta-reading and editing. What you see as a finished product is often VERY VERY far from where it started. And I bet you didn't know that many authors do a lot of "practice" or "method" writing inbetween working on their drafts or editing. I thought it would be fun to show my readers what honest, in-the-moment writing looks like. No editing. Misspelling and plenty of errors abound. But it's often raw and honest and on-point. Sometimes, it's not. Sometimes, all it is is just a nice little exercise to jolt the muses awake for the "real thing." So once a month, I'll be a hosting a "writing prompt" post where I take on a new prompt and give it all I got. Feel free to jump in with your own version of the prompt in the comments or your blog!




The Pocket Muse: Ideas and Inspiration for Writing by Monica Wood


Write the following in the voice of a fifty-two year old man:

I could have avoided all that trouble if only I had remembered to...


My father, adorned in a black suit sat back in his leather chair, the ice in his bourbon chinking as he set it down on the side-table. He closed his eyes and said, "son, let me tell you a story..."  

Cherry Walker was a spit-fire through and through. She waltzed around that hillbilly town of ours like she owned it and didn't give a damn. She was the girl that men wanted to be with and the girl other girls loved to hate. She was a force to be reckoned with, that one. 

She could have chosen any one of us wayward boys, desperate for her attention, our hormones out of control. But you know what? She chose me. 

And it wasn't easy, kid. No, it wasn't. She was restless and moody. Impatient and hard to please. And her Daddy was as mean as the devil to her and anyone else he encountered.

We had our moments, your mother and I. But I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. 

I guess looking back, I could have avoided all that trouble if I had remembered to not fall in love with her. But that was about as easy as not breathing. Not eating. It wasn't going to happen. You know why? Because your mother lit up my whole world like the loud-ass Fourth of July fireworks. All blazing hot and spectacular. She made me want to a better man and a better father for you and your sister. 

That's the kind of love you want to find, kid. One that makes you realize you coulda avoided all the trouble, all the pain, but you chose not to.

The End