Monthly Archives: November 2012

Fifteen Minute Word War

Prompt from:


Your character has returned from a journey only to receive news of the death of a relative or close friend at the hands of an enemy.

The woman’s hair fell in her face as she looked away.  The matron never called anyone into her office unless something horrible was about to happen, or already had.  She didn’t need this– she just returned from the front lines of battle.  Vivid scenes of trying in vain to save the lives of so many soldiers flashed through her mind.  Not one of those men had a face in her mind, but the wounds were all too real.  The stories they told of their lives were too real.  She saw them each time she closed her eyes.  Eyes filled with fear, sorrow, and hurt looked up to the ancient, but strong matron.  The woman before her was like those old trees from stories of elves and fantasy.  The matron’s eyes were gentle as she caught them, filled with regret.

“Anastosha, I hate to tell you this so soon after your return to us.” the old woman began.  She slid something across her desk. “There has been a death of one dear to you.  Your Mama Elita was captured in combat, and her head adorns a pike now, for she was decreed traitor by her former countrymen.”

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Posted by on November 30, 2012 in Semihistorical Fiction


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Fifteen Minute Word War II (Face’s Childhood)

Consider the following quotes.

“Evil is always unspectacular and always human, and shares our bed, and eats at our own table.”
— Wystan Hugh Auden
“In every barbaric act there is a human element. That is what makes the barbaric act so inhuman.”
— Henning Mankell
“Aye, but the hand that had murdered had once pressed the mother’s breast into the thirsting mouth, had stolen into the father’s hand when they went out into the dark. Aye, but the murderer afraid of death had once been a child afraid of the night.”
— Alan Paton
Imagine the villain, antagonist, or bad guy. Describe an everyday moment in his or her childhood, or, alternately, his or her usual morning routine.

Junior laughed as he dove head-first into the cold, soggy grass.  His clothing was filthy, and his mother would surely scold him once he returned home, but for now– he was a young boy, playing with a pig-bladder ball, after the harvest festival.  His fingers were numb and clumsy, and his toes hurt.  His cheeks stung and his nose was bright red; it leaked snot down his lips.  He licked his lips.  The salty taste reminded him of a pretzel that he was given during the festival.  He picked the ball up from its muddy resting spot, then tossed it into the air.

There were no other children playing with him– after all, he was the bastard.  He was the child of the duke.  Who could play with someone of such high birth?  He didn’t notice though.  He was still too young, and even on his visits to his mother’s family, he paid no mind to the stares of the common folk that were his mother’s people.  He paused as he heard something. “What was that?” he asked aloud as he looked around.  his eyes, slanted upward, looked around.  The green was brighter than what little plants still survived in the icy approach of winter.

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The Plagued Lands of Icesog

The stripe of tree-covered foothills below looked haunted in the clear, autumn air. The grey branches of the local deciduous trees created a dense fog. Only the tall, dark evergreens peeked up from the haze of grey limbs, as though struggling to escape their choking hold.

Beyond the trees, the ugly grey and dark-green fens sullenly remained as they always had– constantly shifting, and constantly ugly. A distant tree was a good mile from where it had been when he went to sleep the night before, and the idea of the moving plant life sicked the young baron, as always.

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Hello world!

Well.  First post.  My objective?  Write as many things as I can during my friend’s One Last Push party for NaNoWriMo.  I chose to do this, and I will, so that I can participate.  If you have any writing prompts, shoot me a comment!

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Posted by on November 30, 2012 in Announcements