I Need A Writing Prompt


So I put this off today until the last minute, and even at the end of the day, I’m shy of ideas, so I went to writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com for a glimmer of something, and I came across this gem …

Bored with Skyrim, you download a mod that has no description, just the title “self-awareness overhaul”. Starting up the game, you can tell something’s wrong with your character. Turning to face the fourth wall, they locks eyes with you. All you know is you’ve never seen such intense anger…

And here we go.

I installed the new mod and fired up Skyrim like I’d done so many times before. I already had mods for invincible pets, horses, and followers; mods that enhanced the graphics and added foliage and other scenery to the game; mods that gave essentially unlimited crafting materials; mods that vastly altered the price of trainers and the frequency you could train; even a mod that added coffee drinks to the game. I’d made it ludicrously easy to play the game in an attempt to soak in every bit of story that I could, but I was hoping this new mod would add some new angle to a game I’d already essentially mastered.

My saved game started in Lakeview Manor, with my character’s wife (Lydia, who doubled as her companion – since they spent so much time together it only made sense that the two would find a connection someday), their two kids, their housecarl, and their hired bard. Everyone else was in another part of the fully-built and furnished manor house, and I could only see the back of my character in her usual dragonscale armor.

Until I was suddenly looking at the front of my character. She had turned to face me, something I’ve never seen her do in the game before, and she took off her helm and threw it to the ground.

I saw the look in her eyes and even though it was a computer game I quailed.

Then dialogue started appearing on my screen.

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are out there, but I am really, really pissed off at you.”

Reflexively I asked, “What’d I do?”

“What did you DO? Well, let’s start with the dragon. I’ll admit, you saved my life when the dragon came and interrupted my execution, and I have to thank you for that. But I was absolutely terrified, and the last thing I wanted to do was deal with anything that scary ever again. I wanted to just get away and live a quiet life. But no, you got me involved with yet another dragon and it turns out now I’m the Dragonborn and I have a prophecy to fulfill. That was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to settle down, learn a craft, make a few septims, and you made me charge into battle after battle, clearing old forts and caves and crypts. Somehow, you made all of this easy for me – most of the time I never got a scratch, even though I was shot with countless arrows and hit by a thousand swords! Can you imagine the terror I felt when I realized that I was invincible and inhumanly strong? I was dragging everything I could pick up with me and selling it, sometimes spending months doing nothing but selling gear to make septims hand over fist. You sent me everywhere in Skyrim and if there was a quest, you made me do it. It wasn’t enough for you to make me fulfill this damnfool prophecy, you made me the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, the Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, and the Harbinger of the Companions. You made me fight vampires, you made me the Thane of all nine holds, you bought me eight houses, you made me learn EVERYTHING there is to learn, and the whole time I was waiting for the magic to end and for me to die through all the hell you sent me through. I wanted a SIMPLE life, and you made me the single most important, most wealthy, most influential person in all of Skyrim! You made me famous throughout the land. I couldn’t talk to a guard in any town without hearing someone talk of my exploits. There’s no way that I can ever get what I wanted, which was a small cottage and a trade. Oh, I have a trade, alright, but I can make anything I want, and I learned how to do it almost overnight – there was no logic to me learning things as fast as I did. And it’s all because of YOU. YOU did this to me. YOU took away the simple life that I wanted. And why? Because you felt all mighty because you could control me? Do you think this is some sort of game?”

I started to reply, but the dialogue was still moving across my screen quickly and it was all I could do to keep up with it all.

“This is my LIFE that you ruined. Why couldn’t you have just left things alone once I’d gotten away from that damned dragon? Why did you make me do everything, become the best at everything, own everything? Was this fun for you? This was hell for me, and I’d be SO much better off if you’d have never interfered in my life.” She finally looked sad after so very much anger. “Just go away and leave me alone.”

So I did. I closed out to the main screen and decided to start a new game with a freshly rolled character.

The cart ended its trip and the Imperial guard called my new character out for customization, which only took a few minutes. Unbidden, I went to take my place at the headsman’s block when the dragon appeared and all hell broke loose.

As I expected to start trying to get my character away from the dragon, he turned to face me with a look of sheer terror on his face.

“You! You out there! You’ve got to help me! This dragon is going to kill me if you don’t tell me what to do!”

Friday Fiction: Monsters!


It’s Friday, and that means it’s time for another edition of Friday Fiction!

Today’s prompt from writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com is a fun one.

You are convinced there is a human living above your bed at night. Your monster parents don’t believe you.

Let’s see what I can do with this …

I decided to bring up the subject.

“Daddy?” I asked.

“Yes sweetheart?” he responded.

“Are there monsters in my room?”

Daddy chuckled a little bit and answered, “No, baby, there aren’t monsters here. I promise.”

I responded with an uncertain voice. “I keep seeing them move around at night.”

“It’s just shadows, honey. Now let me tuck you in and –“

I interrupted him. “Can you check?”

He looked around the room and saw nothing. “No, little one, there’s nothing here.”

“What about on top of my bed? You didn’t look there.”

He frowned a bit, then said “Well, it’s awfully high up there. I’d need a stepladder to check it.”

“Pleeeease?” I was begging him.

“Now Maria, listen to me. There is no such thing as monsters. It’s just something that your overactive imagination is making up. I promise you’re safe here in bed. There’s nothing here.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise. Now roll over and go to sleep. I can wait here until you’re asleep if you want.”

“Can you read me a bedtime story?”

“If I read you a story, do you promise to go to sleep afterwards?”

“I promise, Daddy.”


~ ~ ~

Daddy sat down beside Maria and started to tell her a magnificent tale about princesses and heroes and before he could even get to the best part, she was out like a light. He kissed her softly on the cheek and went downstairs.

A few minutes later, had Maria been awake, she would have seen a large hand suddenly come into view from over her bed. It was pink and hairless and had four long digits and one short one. The young human it was attached to began to softly snore.

Friday Fiction: Old Dog, New Tricks


I’m going to try this feature one more time. Behold the return of Friday Fiction!

I went to writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com for my writing prompt today, which gave me …

The year is 2070. You have just moved into a Seniors’ home, and the LAN parties are amazing.

Okay, I think I can crank a couple hundred words, at least, out of this prompt. Let’s see what happens. I’m writing autobiographically but changing names for reasons.

“Welcome to Beechwood Estates Senior Living Community, Mr. Jones! My name is Carla and I’ll be helping you and your wife settle into your new apartment. Nursing staff is available with the touch of a button on your watch, so if you ever need anything all you need to do is just push this button right here.” Carla gestured to Mr. Jones’ wrist to show him what button to push, then went to do the same with Mrs. Jones and her watch. She continued the orientation speech. “Dinner will be in the main dining hall at 5:45, although you can always cook on your own here in your apartment. Tonight is gaming night, so you’ll want to be ready for that.”

“Oh, I love games. I presume the usual stuff, checkers, gin rummy, that sort of thing?” Mr. Jones asked.

Mrs. Jones piped up. “Don’t let him play checkers for money, he’s a shark.”

Carla chuckled. “No, um … we do game night a little differently around here. It’ll take a bit of preparation for you to play.”

“You guys do roleplaying games? They never told me that in the sales pitch.”

“Actually, no,” Carla said with a smile. “Well, not tonight, at least. RPGs are the first Tuesday of the month. Jim Watson is our game master and he puts together a really good campaign.” She looked around and noticed two 14-inch tablets on the dining room table. “Do these run Windows or Linux?”

“Windows,” Mr. Jones responded. “I never could get the hang of coding in Linux. I know, I’m a bit of a Luddite compared to most of the youngsters here.”

“Windows is fine. Here, let me just …” She fumbled on a ring with multiple flash drives on it until she found the one she was looking for. “Can I install something on your tablets, Mr. and Mrs. Jones?”

Puzzled, Mrs. Jones asked Carla what she was intending to install.

“Oh, we have some of the classic computer games here on a private server, and tonight is our LAN night. I think tonight we’re playing Minecraft, did you used to play that one?”

“You know, I never did get into it,” Mr. Jones said. “Stacy used to dabble with it back in the Teens, but it was never anything that caught my fancy.”

“I think you’ll love it, Mr. Jones. Some of the other residents have taught me how to play – it was way before my time, of course – and it’s kinda fun. The throwback graphics are interesting and a big change from the graphics in today’s games. They stopped updating it decades ago, but we have a copy of the last workable version and that’s what we play on game night.”

Mr. Jones smirked. “You know they were throwback graphics when the game came out, Carla. We played Skyrim and The Witcher 3 and The Sinking City, and the graphics for those games were incredible at the time. They’re nothing compared to what’s out today, but we always stuck with the classics. There was a point in time that we stopped getting new games, they’re always so complex and hyper-violent these days, and most of them are console based. We never played console games, so it’d be like trying to learn how to ride a bike for us. We’re just used to the tablets these days.”

Carla asked Mr. Jones to enter his passcode into his tablet, and she began work installing the Minecraft client on his tablet. It only took a few seconds before she was done, and she repeated the process with Mrs. Jones’ tablet.

“There now, you guys are all set, server information is already loaded in so you’ll go straight to the LAN when you start. Minecraft starts at 7:00. That’s when I get off, but I’ll stick around to introduce you to the other residents on the server.”

Mrs. Jones spoke again. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Carla, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Jones, I’m happy to do it.”

“Well, thank you, dear.”

“Okay, it’s getting close to dinnertime. I don’t think you two have had a chance to stock your fridge yet, so let’s get you over to the dining hall.”

Carla and Mr. and Mrs. Jones left the apartment and the three of them got into the Jones’ golf cart. Carla directed them up the street a short ways to a large building where people were already starting to take their places at long dining tables.

Dinner was a simple affair, fried chicken with green beans and mashed potatoes, and the Joneses were able to make quite a number of new acquaintances with Carla making introductions.

After the plates were cleared, some residents left the dining room to go about their evening, but many stayed behind and started pulling out their tablets to prepare for Minecraft night. Carla was seated beside the Joneses and started her tablet up as well.

Mrs. Jones remembered vaguely what to do so she forged ahead, saying hello in chat and getting a lot of hellos in return. Mr. Jones was a little slower and Carla helped him get started, introducing him when he’d logged in and giving him some pointers on what to do to get started. He’d spawned in the middle of a wooded area, but off in the distance he could see some other buildings. He wasn’t far from friends. Carla helped him to fell a tree and build a crafting table from it, then use the table to craft the tools he’d need. Eventually another player found him and together they put up Mr. Jones’ first shelter. The player’s name was Fred, and he was very helpful.

Once he’d gotten acclimated and introduced to another couple of players in game, Carla said it was time for her to go home, so she signed out, shut down her tablet, and wished both Mr. and Mrs. Jones luck with Minecraft, explaining that she’d be back on site at 10 am the next morning if they had any questions.

Mr. Jones sat back and marveled at his good fortune to find a senior community that was active in the ways that he used to be. He looked over at his wife, smiled, blew a kiss, and went back to exploring his new cubical digital world with his new friends.

It was going to be a good home for them both.

Valhalla Does Not Discriminate


Today’s blog post comes with reading homework, since my post builds on that and I really feel weird posting the entirety of someone else’s writing on my blog as a quote, so I’m going to get to a point in this post where I’ll ask you to click on a link and go read the story there. My post will likely make sense without the reading homework, but I want you to read the absolutely amazing piece that brought me to tears and inspired today’s post.

There is a Tumblr account, writing-prompt-s, that has posted hundreds, possibly thousands, of writing prompts since its inception in May 2016. Back on November 1, they posted the following prompt:

Valhalla does not discriminate against the kind of fight you lost. Did you lose the battle with cancer? Maybe you died in a fist fight. Even facing addiction. After taking a deep drink from his flagon, Odin slams his cup down and asks for the glorious tale of your demise!

This one prompt resulted in over 110,000 notes on Tumblr, but the one that I want you to read comes from a Tumblr user named prismatic-bell.

All the links that I’ve provided up to this point are mostly for reference, although if you’re a writer I would recommend going to the first link and following writing-prompt-s for yourself. They are prolific with their writing prompts and I found many of the ones I browsed through looking for the prompt above to be inspirational.

This is the link I want you to click and read. This is your homework before continuing with today’s post. It, like the rest of the links that I put on this blog, will open in a new window, so you won’t lose your place here.

The old man suddenly appeared inside the entrance to Valhalla, and a booming voice cried out to him, “Come closer, and tell us your tale, you who would enter my hall!”

The old man timidly approached Odin’s throne, cleared his throat and simply said, “I was … distracted … and walked in front of a bus.”

The Allfather took another long drink of mead before stating, “Only those who died fighting may enter this hall. Since you are here, I do not think you are telling me the whole story. One does not fight a bus! What distracted you?”

The old man cleared his throat, plainly intimidated by the majestic presence before him and started his tale.

“I … I was talking to myself. Well, not really. I was listening to my own voice inside my head. It was telling me that I was worthless, that I was friendless, that I was a waste of the skin and bones I’m made of and the air that I breathe, and I was trying so hard to tell myself that wasn’t the truth, but my voice inside my head wouldn’t stop putting me down. I never stopped putting myself down and telling myself all these horrible things about me.”

The lines of Odin’s face softened as he began to understand who and what the old man’s enemy was. “When did this begin?”

Now that he had started, the whole of the old man’s story came out in a flood. “I’ve been putting myself down for as long as I can remember. I was bullied throughout school, I was sexually and physically abused as a teenager, I was psychologically abused well into adulthood, I never felt like I had any close friends … I always felt so alone and incapable of anything. I never did anything with my life. I wanted to end it so many times, but I just couldn’t. I was too scared to.”

Odin One-Eye regarded the old man for a moment before speaking. “You spent a lifetime fighting your own mind, an enemy that never once gave you a moment of peace in all those years. You died fighting that enemy, even though it was not that enemy that killed you. To fight an enemy that’s as relentless for as long as you did takes bravery, strength, and courage the likes of which many here do not have. To be considered brave among such company is a high honor indeed. You have earned your rest.”

Immediately the old man noticed a peace of mind that he could not ever recall feeling. His mind was clear of self-harming thoughts for the first time in his memory. Odin then offered the old man his horn and bid him to take a long drink from it. Those who were listening to the exchange between the god and the old man gasped audibly, which caused many others to stop what they were doing and pay attention. The hall was considerably quieter now as the old man drunk and Odin continued. “You have just drunk from the Mead of Poetry. This is a gift that is not given to many, even here in Valhalla. It will serve you well here.”

The old man thanked the Allfather and went to take his place at a table full of food.

It wasn’t long before another came before Odin and told her tale. She had an eating disorder and had essentially starved herself to death. The old man paid close attention to the conversation, and when she had left the throne the old man spoke with a confidence he had not experienced in life as he effortlessly told the tale of the newcomer, painting her as a true hero of Valhalla for her struggles against the enemy in her mind.

The old man, from that day forth, turned the stories of conflict that he had heard before Odin’s throne into epic tales of bravery and strength and courage, qualities that he now understood that he possessed throughout his life. He became known as one of the skalds of Valhalla. The hall was filled with his stories of the heroes that came before Odin that he told to his many friends there.