Welcome! We’re glad you found us.
Our Inspiration: Wordsmiths put pen to paper as they write from prompts and share their work aloud in a no-pressure atmosphere.
At a distance from us here in Narragansett, RI? Can’t make a meeting? That’s okay. We’ll post our prompts weekly, and would welcome your responses.
Wondering how to complete a prompt? Find a place to write. It doesn’t have to be quiet. You don’t have to be alone. It can be quiet, and you might write alone. But don’t worry, those aren’t requirements. The only requirements are these: Take a moment to clear your mind. Read the prompt. Set a timer for 20 minutes, and write. Write without editing much or at all. Write without listening to the voice in your head that says that what you’re writing isn’t any good. The goal is simply to get words on the page. As writers, we sometimes make a lot of excuses. We edit ourselves out of good ideas, or we feel that conditions must be ideal before we can write. Maybe your prompt response is mostly useless, but you can salvage one perfect sentence. Maybe you create a character that you find yourself wondering about later. Maybe you don’t write more than a few words. It doesn’t matter. The idea is to get writing, and to get in the practice of writing. And maybe, someday very soon, the timer will begin and you will be able to write something that you really, really like.
What is a writing prompt? According to Google, “A writing prompt is simply a topic around which you start jotting down ideas. The prompt could be a single word, a short phrase, a complete paragraph or even a picture, with the idea being to give you something to focus upon as you write.”
The best writing prompts can be anything. A line of poetry. A phrase you hear in a song. An insult. A photograph. An odd juxtaposition of words. A dream. A memory. Dialogue from a conversation you’re blatantly eavesdropping on. (We know. Generally speaking, you’re not supposed to end on a preposition. But you can definitely end with a proposition…that sounds promising.)
From http://www.dailywritingtips.com:
Here are four good reasons for writing to prompts :
- Sometimes it’s hard to start writing when faced with a blank page. Focusing on an unrelated prompt for a while helps get the creative juices flowing. If you write for just ten minutes on a prompt, you should then find it easier to return to the piece you intended to write. You may also find that if you stop trying to think so hard about what you wanted to write and switch you attention to the prompt instead, the words and ideas for your original piece start to come to you after all.
- The things you write in response to a prompt may also end up as worthwhile material in their own right. The prompt may give you ideas from which a complete story grows or you may get fresh ideas for another piece you are already working on. It’s often surprising how much material you come up with once you start.
- Writing to a prompt regularly helps to get you into the habit of writing. This can act as a sort of exercise regime, helping to build up your “muscles” so that you start to find it easier and easier to write for longer and longer.
- Prompts can be a great way to get involved in a writing community. Sometimes writing groups offer a prompt for everyone to write about, with the intention being for everyone to come up with something they can then share. This can be a source of great encouragement, although knowing that others will read what you have written can also inhibit your creativity.
Today’s Writing Prompt: When the cows come home.
Further Inspiration? Andy Weir. Now 43, the author originally published ‘The Martian’ as a free serial on his website. Upon readers’ request, Mr. Weir self-published his material on Amazon, where it became a best-seller and was purchased by a publishing company. Matt Damon is rumored to be an Oscar contender in the movie, in theaters now.
southcountywriters 
Best of the Week Prompt Submission:
You ask, “If you died and could come back as something else, what would you be?”
It’s late, and bitterly cold, the roads black with darkness and ice. We’re out driving so you can get stoned-it’s hard to smoke in the dorms without inviting trouble. It makes me nervous, that you drive and smoke, but I never tell you and I never smoke. It’s a compromise of sorts, a bargain, but it might only be with myself.
I say, “A cow.”
“A cow? That’s terrible. They pump them full of chemicals so that they think they’re pregnant and produce milk all the time. They have those fragile matchstick legs and huge bodies. They startle easily. They’re prey. And people think it’s fun to tip them over. A cow? Why?”
I’m already sorry that I told you, and you’ve made it harder to explain. I was thinking about the barn that we pass on this drive, the one that’s all alone, on miles of undeveloped land, the one that’s always lit up, even in the middle of the night. I was thinking of the pool of light in the darkness, and the warmth and company of the other cows. I was thinking of the blankets that the farmer tucks them under in winter, the choking sweetness of hay, and the earthy, cloying scent of manure. I was thinking about how nice life would be, to eat and sleep and lo, to have a family, and always be with them, to be free from thought. Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe cows have lots of thoughts. Maybe they dream or philosophize.
I hadn’t thought of cow tipping. I hadn’t thought of steak. I’d thought of my dad, and the day he brought me to a farm, three towns over, just to learn to milk a cow. I’d though of the soft, fleshy udder, the splash of milk pinging in a tin pan. The surprising warmth and sweetness of the milk on my tongue, the thickness of the foam.
I don’t answer you. Instead, I ask, “What would you be?”
“A wolf,” you say, exhaling in that stiff, slow way that smokers do, filling the car with a different sweetness and warmth, the smoke curling blue in the darkness. I love your face in this light, lit by the dull glow of the dashboard and the half light of the cold moon, the changing planes of your jaw in the shadows. Your answer doesn’t surprise me. Why should it? You’re a predator, or you want to be. You’ve already torn me apart.
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