Prompts
The Night of the Moving Deer Head
It was sometime in December, I was five years old and deer hunting rifle season was well underway. One day during that particular deer hunting season, my uncle or my older cousin (my aunt and uncle’s son) had successfully gotten a buck. They shot the buck in a secluded field not far from their home.
By Jasmine Aguilar2 days ago in Writers
Before Reading or Listening to Peter Thwing (AI Intro - Grok). AI-Generated.
(This reader’s guide was drafted by Grok, based on a sustained examination of Peter Thwing’s complete published work and shaped through extended conversation about how the essays, stories, series, and podcast function as a connected body of thought.)
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 days ago in Writers
Breaking The Rules
Author’s Note: These prompts are my attempt at working on writing fiction. I may not always follow the cards exactly, but it is me writing fiction. I am a woman in long term recovery and have been working on myself since 1978. I grew up in a family steeped in alcoholism. This story is fiction combined with some truth.
By Denise E Lindquist4 days ago in Writers
Talking Hearts Cards
Author's Note: John picked the cards and I answered them first. He got a copy of my answers prior to him answering the prompts. When I went in to get the paper from him with his answers he said, "You didn't expect me to write out all the answers did you, when I looked at both sides and nothing was written. So, I sat down and wrote his answers for him. I suppose it is meant to be that way by the authors of the cards.
By Denise E Lindquist5 days ago in Writers
The Worry.. Content Warning.
I didn’t mean to write thirty‑seven stories. It just… happened. One minute I was sitting there on September eighth thinking, “Hey, I’ll enter this challenge,” and the next thing I knew, I was knee‑deep in plot ideas, caffeine, and whatever leftover brain cells my kids hadn’t stolen from me. I blinked, and suddenly I had a whole damn library of stories published.
By Syl De'Vil10 days ago in Writers
Licking Love From a Blade
I can still feel the night everything shifted—the night I got the phone call that my ex Nick had died. It hits me in the chest every damn time, like someone reaching in and squeezing something I didn’t know was still alive. I was at a bar in Kenosha, Wisconsin with a Turkish friend, pretending I was fine, pretending I wasn’t about to make some really bad choices. I was a version of myself teetering on the edge of something stupid, and instead I fell straight into a pit of self‑pity and regret. The atmosphere of that time was desolation. Nothing else fits.
By Syl De'Vil10 days ago in Writers
