So instead, we're going to do a writing prompt.
The holiday season is almost here, so everyone is gearing up for travel. And that's our prompt this time. With a twist. If you normally write Male POV, switch it to Female. If you normally write Female POV, switch it to Male!You have up to 250 words to get your character traveling - develop a flashback, write a poem, try something new, whatever you want. Post those words below and then comment on at least one other person's writing. (You don't need to necessarily critique it, this isn't polished writing people!)
Ready. Set. Go!
(And here's mine ...)
Trent stared out the window, the expanse of blue outside the window making him cringe. Growing up in the middle of Tennessee, he hadn't spent much time near an ocean.
Shit, he hadn't spent any time near an ocean.
And yet, here he was. Eyes narrowed, trying to find an end to the damn thing. Because he needed a goal, something to focus on. Even an island would suffice. Maybe Cuba? The Caribbean? But who was he joking.
He couldn't even swim.
His mother slowed the rental car to a halt outside of some military issue gates. A guard stepped over, glared at their IDs and then at the two passengers. With a grunt, he motioned them forward.
Dick.
“It’s not too late, honey,” his mom said, her accent warm and heavy. “If you’re nervous, you don’t need to go.”
Trent shook his head. It had been too late for far too long. This was his escape. His way out of rural life, away from an asshole coach of a father, and away from his obsessive ex-girlfriend.
Nothing like traveling thousands of miles just to escape.
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Oh, Nikki! I like this already! You should totally expand this into a novel ^_^
ReplyDeletegreat snippet, Nikki! Man, I'll have to think of something now just to challenge myself... you've got a great male voice here though.
ReplyDeleteOoh! Nikki! This is great! :)
ReplyDeleteHere's a paragraph (it's all I have the energy for, but it was still fun!). What would life be like for a kid who travels with their big-rig-driving dad?
ReplyDeleteI can't remember a time we ever stopped moving. Sunrise to sunset, week after week. The wheels of the 18 wheeler hummed against the pavement. Trees blurred past my window. Every skyline held the promise of being new. But they all looked the same. Like a spilled cup of a coffee across the dash - who could tell one stain from the next?