Thursday Prompts

It’s been far too long since I visited one of my favorite writing sites, Creative Copy Challenge. Every Monday and Thursday, ten words are posted with a challenge: to write a cohesive piece using all ten words. Since I love love love this site, and the community of encouraging writers who take time to share their fun, insightful, creatively crafted words twice a week, I want to give them a shout out this week.

Here are Monday’s words, and my submission. Get on over there and add your voice to the mellifluous thunder.

  1. Precious
  2. Fragile
  3. Special
  4. Handle
  5. Done
  6. Damage
  7. Silver
  8. Plan
  9. Trust
  10. Little

The small hand opened, then its chubby pink fingers curled around the silver handle. Mama didn’t worry that Mercy would break it; the spoon, a precious gift from Auntie Mae, was not fragile. Auntie Mae planned and saved for the stainless steel trinket, a special gift for a special little one.  Mama trusted Auntie Mae, a kind of trust that does not tarnish like the sterling Auntie polished every Friday, that would not fade like the sheets she’d hung on the line that morning. Mercy looked from Mama to Auntie Mae, done with her toy, no damage done, she handed it to Mama and hugged tight to Auntie’s elephant knees, her knee highs drooping around swollen ankles, so big to hold up her heart, Mercy knew.

And these are today’s words:

  1. Narrow
  2. Shallow
  3. Broken
  4. Sign
  5. Straight
  6. Chase
  7. Screen
  8. Sneak
  9. Luck
  10. Between

Later, when the sun had broken their backs, and they’d opened all the windows, letting what little breeze there was between here and Kansas through the screens, they sat on the shallow bench, Mercy between them like a prayer.

The women knew it was not luck that brought them together, but luck that so far had kept their sneaking friendship, blooming as it was with narrow patches of bright green, from notice of the eyes that always peer, the squinting globes of the women prowling town, looking for signs that their precise, measured order was not as straight as they demanded.

Mama and Auntie rocked the swing, their tired feet pressing into the planks of the porch, chasing away the sun, away the hate, rocking her to sleep.



I have a friend who protects his writing until it is polished like brass. Not me. When I do these exercises, it is to grab fast at the words, to attempt to corral an idea with little pixels that make letters that make sentences that make the idea plain.

How about you? What do you do to practice your craft, whether writing or math or lawyering or doctoring or whatever?