Prompts
It's A Challenge
Introduction My first challenge today is to get this article published before I have to run off to York. Yesterday was slightly traumatic having to deal with disappearing parcels and potential thefts, but they are now all in hand and dealt with but on to the subject of this thing.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 5 months ago in Writers
Turning Negatives Into Positives
Introduction When I am looking for inspiration sometimes I have negative thoughts, like the fact that most people don't see me as a creator in any way, I am just there when stuff needs to be done, and that makes things difficult and the lines from Bob Dylan's "Joey" come back to nail things home:
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 5 months ago in Writers
Before Reading or Listening to Peter Thwing (AI Intro - ChatGPT). AI-Generated.
(This reader’s guide was drafted with AI assistance through ChatGPT and shaped from a broader conversation about how Peter Thwing’s essays, stories, podcast episodes, and series function as a connected body of work.)
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast5 months ago in Writers
Creativity Is Synthesis, Not Spontaneity
The False Image of the Sudden Idea Creativity is often imagined as something sudden, mysterious, and self-contained. The common picture is a flash of inspiration that arrives whole, clean, and complete, as if the creative person simply receives the idea and writes it down before it disappears. Under that view, real ideas are supposed to feel untouched by process. They are supposed to appear naturally, without visible effort, refinement, conversation, revision, or struggle. Anything that emerges through articulation, outside feedback, tools, or repeated attempts can then be treated as less authentic because it did not arrive in its final form.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast5 months ago in Writers
He Was Rewritten After His Death. Honorable Mention in The Posthumous Author Challenge.
To comprehend Tim Carmichael, one must first descend into the shadowed recesses of Spillcorn. Deep within the ancient hills of Madison County there lies that forgotten settlement, hidden as though the mountains themselves had conspired to hide it from the modern world. No roaring highways disturbed its solemn quietness. No vast academies, no glittering halls of commerce, no restless tide of tourists found passage there. Indeed, many among the citizens of Asheville dwelt for decades within neighboring valleys without once hearing the name Spillcorn uttered aloud. Yet from that profound isolation there emerged the strange and singular imagination of Carmichael, whose spirit was forever marked by the loneliness of those remote elevations.
By Tim Carmichael5 months ago in Writers
Paul and John's 47-Words Short Story Unofficial Challenge Results!
Apologies, apologies, apologies! Paul and I have finally extracted ourselves from weeks in virtual confinement in our efforts to judge 53 stellar entries to the 47-word short story unofficial challenge, 54 if you include Harper's 2nd entry (which we did not, sorry Harper, rules may be for chumps, but they are still rules).
By Paul Stewart5 months ago in Writers
The Hand That Reached Back
The path was already there, though I could not remember stepping onto it. It opened beneath my feet as if the world had been waiting for me to notice it. Grass leaned softly against my ankles, bright with the kind of green that looks impossible until it is right in front of you. The air was warm, but not heavy. Sunlight poured through the high leaves in broken streams, touching the ground in gold and then disappearing again beneath patches of shade. It was not a field, but it was open like one. It was not a forest, but it breathed like one. The place refused to be only one thing. It stretched wide enough to run and deep enough to get lost. It gave room to laugh, but kept secrets between the trees.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast5 months ago in Writers
The Highlander. Content Warning.
The tiny plastic bag was beyond empty: all residue had been licked from the interior surface, then it had been turned inside out and licked again. The bar had been scraped with a razor blade, and the truth of the matter was that the cocaine was gone, it was an indecent hour to attempt to acquire more, and it was time to go home.
By Harper Lewis 5 months ago in Writers
