24 September 2023

Some Responses to Some Writing Prompts for Writing Practitioners

Some Responses

"No, it's not a chip; they're chips," the tween eye-rolls.

"Yea, but then one chip is a chip, cause the singular form for chips is chip," the other tween attempts.

"There is no singular form for chips," the eye-roller eye-rolls.

"Yes, there is," the attempter attempts.

"Oh, yea, what is it then?" the eye-roller challenges.

"It's CHIP. Cee, Aech, Iye, Pee. Chip. One chip," the attempter accepts.

"But that makes no sense. When would anyone ever use it? Hand me a chip? Where is the chip? I ate one chip? Do you have a chip?" the eye-roller laughs aloud.

"No, you don't..." the attempter attempts.

"No, you don't get it," the eye-roller dismisses with a flick of hair and a swift exit out of the kitchen.


The sandwich agreed to be there for you, and then you dropped it. 


Ladybug loathes being characterized as "disagreeable." The way that he'd put it is that he is very agreeable, but he does make it be known when he disagrees. "It's simple, really," Ladybug explains to nobody in particular. "If I agree, I agree. If I disagree, I disagree." 

But your character, I attempt, is disagreeable. "According to you," Ladybug scoffs. But I'm the teller of this story. "Then get it right," Ladybug huffs, middle legs crossed, but then upon hearing this, hanging loosely at his sides along with his other two sets of legs. "Stop it!" Ladybug shouts. "I'm not shouting!" Ladybug shouts. Ladybug sighs. "And all of the other characters wonder why I think cats suck?" Ladybug laments. "Oh, now you're silent," Ladybug marches off. "I'm not marching! This is how I walk," Ladybug snaps around, all six legs akimbo, scolding, and upon hearing this all three pairs of legs waft into the air as if Ladybug has lost his patience. 

"Stop characterizing me as such an asshole," Ladybug spits over his left shoulder as his shell, "It's not a shell!," releases his wings for flight. "Shut! Up!" 

It's like I said, Ladybug is disagreeable. 

"I can still hear you! And I am not!" Ladybug's faint voice reaches the plane of existence. Nobody agrees.


Authority was never something to which she was good at submitting. She's always been self-employed. Of the small-business ilk, her business will die with her, but it's been a good business, consistent, reliable, steady, enjoyable. But now, she's old, literally; she thought this day would never dawn, but here she is now, fretting about the sunset days of her life. She's been in her prime for so long, and even now, feels as if she only has upward to go, but the energy. Everything is a drain. She never realized that that was the problem. That surge, that vivacious go-get 'em attitude has faded. It's still there; she can rely upon it maybe once every other week, and when she does, she's exhausted for nearly a week after, recuperates for another week, and then she has another go-get 'em day; one splendid day with enough energy to feel young again.

And so, it's annoying that she must hold down a job. That she must do more work beyond her small business. Yes, the small business sustains her, but it does not make her money unless she does the work. And jobbing is such a drag. She wanted something easy. So why is she doing this stupid job full-time? Part-time is not enough to ever be able to retire. She frets. She feels the weight of economic anxiety with every achy back, every morning waking as if she's a wooden plank, every grumble of the tummy when she didn't eat exactly as she knows she must in order to not upset her fragile system. 

She can see the changing of the guard happening right beneath her nose, and she feels worthless. All of the work that she's done, all of the life she's contributed, she is invisible. Her life has amounted to, what?, her life, a life shared with no one, a life unknown to anyone except... her. 

Where does one go? She never wanted fans, although she has fans. All she ever needed was a friend. 


It is never a matter of belief; it's a matter of taste. Good taste can get you a lot of things that being quirky cannot. But then the individuality of the individual is lost when taste is something about which we can all agree. Someone is specifically quirky because their taste is not the same as that which is deemed "good."

Even though most would not agree that she had good taste, she did. 

Some Writing Prompts for Writing Practitioners