Youth Programs

Writing Prompt Monday: Open a Book

And we are back again for our weekly writing prompt. This being our second. Before we get started some guidelines should be established.

Guideline #1: I reserve the right to fix obvious spelling errors. For example, Thier = their. I’ll do my best to contact you should I need to make any changes along those lines.
Guideline #2: No profanity. Please. I don’t want you to feel as if I am limiting your creative expression, but I don’t want anybody to be offended by what they read here.

Ok, sorry to bore you with the fine print. Let’s get on to writing. Remember how this works? Each Monday we will post a simple writing prompt to help writers jump start the writing process. Write until you feel you have nothing else to write about. When you are done, send it to us via e-mail (witspdx@gmail.com) or simply reply in the comments section. While it is not necessary to send us what you write, we will feature a selection of the results we receive on Friday. Be sure to include your name so we can credit you properly.

Writing Prompt: Open a book that is in your house or backpack. Any subject will do. Copy the first sentence, shut the book and write a piece of prose or poetry using their first sentence as your own.

Send what you write to witspdx@gmail.com

2 thoughts on “Writing Prompt Monday: Open a Book

  1. The grandmother didn't want to go to Florida. She didn't want to go to New Jersey, either. Nothing but California would do. She sang about oranges. She watched the Oscars. She read Lawrence Ferlinghetti in the bathtub, bellowing when the book hit the bubbles. When she slept she dreamed she was flying a small plane along Highway One, looking first at the Pacific, next at brown hills. She didn't know where to look. The plane crashed into a billboard and burst into flames. Instead of the HOLLYWOOD sign there was HEAVEN.

  2. The grandmother didn't want to go to Florida. She didn't want to go to New Jersey, either. Nothing but California would do. She sang about oranges. She watched the Oscars. She read Lawrence Ferlinghetti in the bathtub, bellowing when the book hit the bubbles. When she slept she dreamed she was flying a small plane along Highway One, looking first at the Pacific, next at brown hills. She didn't know where to look. The plane crashed into a billboard and burst into flames. Instead of the HOLLYWOOD sign there was HEAVEN.

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