HERE ARE SOME FUCKING WRITING PROMPTS!

One of those days today. Weather outside’s like England, if England were much warmer due to hellish humidity. Can’t get any momentum on the book, and just kind of blurgh today. So, I ran a search for “I NEED SOME GOD DAMNED WRITING PROMPTS.”

When nothing came up, I decided to just make up a list of writing prompts for people who, much like me, turn to Google in their desperation and type-scream for prompts.

  1. Bob Dylan just walked into your office. He walks to your desk, pulls a chair out of thin air, and straddles it. He glares at you. You can tell he hates you, but for what reason, you have no idea. He proceeds to insult everything you hold dear, everything you think you’ve accomplished, and everything that you hope to ever accomplish. All in one breath, one uninterrupted stream of hate. Your prompt: Write down exactly what Bob Dylan said and then write down your response.
  2. Think of a band you despise. Everything they create grates on your ears and drives you ever closer to madness. Whenever you hear one of their “songs,” you are reminded of all of your regrets and wish for nothing more than to dive to the closest bottle. SURPRISE! They’re your new roommates! Write a TV pilot for a whacky sit-com where you and the band live in New York, Chicago, or Atlanta.
  3. You suddenly turn into anti-matter. The only thing keeping you from obliterating everything you touch–and, by proxy, the universe–is a weak magnetic field. How do you react? Pay special attention to the fact that you will no longer be able to eat or drink, as imbibing or ingesting would require you to bring matter into your special magnetic field.
  4. Oh no! You’re caught in a black hole! The good news is that, for some reason (let’s go with magnetic fields), the phenomenon’s gravity isn’t ripping you apart, atom-by-atom. However, the bad news is that time in a black hole moves so slow as to essentially not progress. Now that you’re eternal, what are your plans?
  5. You read a blog post about how the blogger wants nothing more than people to just relax and understand that, at the base of every struggle and competing worldview, everyone just wants to be happy and to not hurt others  too much in order to be happy. Being a good, red-blooded American, this makes you sick. Who is this disgusting, anti-American hippy to claim that you don’t want to hurt people? You want to hurt people! That’s why you have three shotguns! In the proud tradition of the Founding Fathers, you decide to write a letter to your local media outlet. What’s in this letter? Make sure not to use any basis in fact–facts are for liberal snobs.
  6. Create a religion. Make sure to write the entire religion’s Bible, complete with creation myth and litigious chapters detailing what sorts of clothes your followers are allowed to wear. Bonus points for creative and gruesome end-of-the-world scenarios that are vague enough to be interpreted for any point in the future.
  7. Choose an ethnic group you know nothing about. Say, I don’t know, the Kurds. Write a hate-filled diatribe against them. Then actually do some research and say why everything you just wrote is full of crap.
  8. Everyone has what I call “Vault Jokes.” Vault Jokes are bits of humor so abhorrent and disgusting that you would never say them in public. Even moreso, you wouldn’t tell them to anyone you hadn’t known for less than five years. They typically involve race, religion, class, or all three at once. What’s your Vault Joke? Amplify it by a power of ten, write it down. (NOTE: It is fully acceptable to drink yourself into oblivion after completing this exercise.
  9. Someone on the Internet has just insulting something you kind of like. Write down how much they suck.
  10. Uwe Boll is the executive producer of a film directed by Michael Bay, with help from M. Night Shyamalan. It’s based on the premise that Atlantis is actually the home of a demonic army led by Loki and Hades. They have tapped YOU to write the screenplay. What’s more, they’ve set up a meeting with FOX studios for tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Write the treatment to get that sweet, sweet Hollywood money.
  11. While there’s very, very, very, very, very little evidence for anything resembling an objective morality, and because of the observed nature of the universe, we can pretty much guarantee that every bit of matter in the universe–including humans–was created through long processes involving combinations of particles leading up to creation of elements and, eventually, matter including planets and life as we know it, there is no real imperative to be good, most people still decide not to go around killing each other. Sometimes that’s because of religion, but even religious people can be dicks. Same with people who buy into that whole scientific evidence stuff. Yet–YET–there are plenty of good people out there, and humanity is progressing towards an accepting, tolerant worldview. (Even though pockets of resistance refuse to acknowledge the inherent equality of every human.) There’s no prompt in there, I just felt like sharing that.
  12. Burning out, or fading away. Discuss. Use examples when necessary, emotion otherwise.
  13. Your dog has suddenly started talking. What shenanigans do you get up to?
  14. The Galactic Empire suddenly finds a wormhole that leads to Federation Space. Vader vs. Picard. Emperor Palpatine vs. … er… Worf. Who will win? Write a novel about it.
  15. I woke up this morning and had a feeling of imminent, crushing doom. What’s up with that?

Quotes From An Accident Involving a Nashville MTA Bus and an Izuzu Rodeo

So, getting home today was fun. I took the number 5 bus from the central MTA station and, near Hume Fogg, the bus was involved in an accident with an Izuzu Rodeo. I don’t know who was responsible, since I was reading a book by Carl Sagan, but I do know from experience that the bus driver isn’t the best. At several points over the last couple of weeks, he’s almost been in wrecks, and I knew it was just a matter of time.

What I do know, however, is that the people who were on the bus alongside me had some serious issues centered around dealing with the compulsion to shout out stupid shit. To whit, I provide the following quotes. Context appears where necessary, but, by and large, the quotes are unedited.

  • “I got you son, I got eyes like a bald eagle, watchin what happen. In slow motion, man.”
  • Another one of the West End corridor buses passes by: “Yo, shit that’s the bus I need! What the hell bus am I on? 5? What’s that shit, I need to be on the 3! Yo, driver, why you make me get on the 5, yo?”
  • The woman in front of me, who had developed her own musk to the point of ripeness, and had a purse bulging with Whitney Houston memorabilia, was on the phone: “Yeah, dumb bitch was on the phone. Stupid to be on the phone when you drivin. Everyone knows that. Idiots always on the phone.”
  • The same woman: “You can’t drive anywhere. Everywhere’s an accident. Maybe one or three of em. What you watchin? Tyler Perry? That’s good, funny shit. Good for you. You need to laugh.”
  • A man with a prodigious, blonde mullet: “Man lookit her. Drivin an Izuzu Rodeo. Idiot.”
  • After six times telling his version of what happened in the wreck, a man’s version was countered by a woman’s. “Bitch, I got good-ass eyesight I know what I’m talkin about, you wrong. It was HER fault.” Good-ass.
  • “Supervisor. Yo. Listen. Lady had her phone–hey, yo–dog, listen–no I saw what happened.” “She only had her phone on after the wreck! Didn’t you see that?” “Oh, she had her phone on after? Shit.”
  • “Homebody! Supervisor, yo, I know what–no I didn’t see it.”
  • “Bitch probably got some nigga insurance.”
  • “YO! BITCH! WHEN WE GETTIN ANOTHER BUS? I GOTTA GET TO MY DESTINATION!”

And that, my friends, is why we need to fund education in the U.S. So idiocy, which knows no racial, religious, or ethnic bounds, may be expunged from the nation.

My Brief Time As A Marvel Writer

The following is a transcript of Aaron Simon’s appearance as the new sole writer of Spider-Man at Comic-Con, San Diego, where he was the featured speaker on a panel of Marvel writers. It is notable since he was fired shortly thereafter.

MC: So join me in welcoming the new writer of Spider-Man, Aaron Simon.

[Applause. Simon walks in from stage left. He wears what could be described as hobo clothes, has about three weeks’ facial hair growth, and it does not look like he has bathed in a while. He carries a bottle of whiskey in his right hand. As he approaches the table, a stage hand runs out of the wings and grabs the bottle. Words are exchanged, though it is unclear what was said, and, after a couple minutes of grunting and struggling, Simon lets the whiskey go. He sits at the table in front of him and positions the microphone in front of his face.]

AS: Hi. So. Uh. [He shields his eyes from the glare of the auditorium lights.] Fuck, those are bright. Can we get that shit turned down?

MC: Can we? [MC holds his hand to his ear.] No we can’t. Okay, Mr. Simon, how about you introduce yourself to everyone here. You’re kind of a newcomer to the comics industry, aren’t you?

AS: Fuck yeah. I don’t read this garbage.

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