Sidenote: I love to write but sometimes get completely stuck on what to write. Prompts are a really cool way to kick through a writing block and keep me warmed up and in the practice of writing regularly. Sometimes the stuff that comes out is complete garbage. Sometimes there are some diamonds in the rough.
The fine folks at Death to the Stock Photo have partnered with creatives (like Paul Jarvis) on occasion in the past to issue writing prompts and whatnot. Recently, they created their own series. If you’d like to participate, they post the prompts on their page at Medium.
Care to read more of my responses?
Turn your biggest weakness into an imaginary monster. Now create a spell/antidote/weapon to destroy it.
Procrastination is an insidious devil. He lurks just around the corner, wearing a snide, handsome grin and a slim-fit, bespoke suit.
Here he comes,with his charming comments. Good looking. Athletic and attractive. He shamelessly flirts, a twinkle in his lovely, dark eyes. He knows just what I need.
“Hello, love.” Of course he has a refined British accent. “Aren’t you sleepy? You haven’t been taking good care of yourself, have you?” I suddenly forget I have just had 10 hours of sleep, following a weekend of motionless Netflix binging.
“My darling, you know what they say. You can’t be any good to others if YOU aren’t in tip top shape. Isn’t that right?” His hand is warm and gentle on my shoulder. He has a fluffy blanket in the other. It’s fresh out of the dryer, isn’t it?
He is guiding me toward the couch. “A little siesta is all you need, my love. Just a little cat nap.” That warm, gentle hand brushes a strand of hair from my cheek as his hips press me backward. Intoxicating. He is skillfully pivoting me onto the cushions. Should I be surprised that I’m suddenly horizontal?
Settling the blanket over me, he leans forward, his soft lips brushing mine. I feel my eyelids flutter. The blanket is snug beneath my chin. I am sinking comfortably deep in the magnificent plushness. I sigh deeply, and…
My drowsy gaze falls upon the Amulet d’Motivation. And not a moment too soon! Procrastination will not take me this time! He is a devil. A succubus. A demon. Hell-bent on stealing my productivity. I must vanquish this foe!
Struggling to a sitting position, I slyly snag the pearly charm. The Amulet is cool and heavy in my palm. I am certain it will hasten my redemption.
Procrastination senses my movement from the corner of his eye. “What is it, love? Lie back. Your nap is a necessity. It’s a reward you deserve. Truly, you cannot go on without it.”
He is grasping now, beginning to sound desperate. The charming lilt begins to slip on his silver tongue. He reaches for my wrists, his grip vise-like, intent on pinning me down. But I persist, pressing the Amulet against his chest…. oh that lovely chest with its rock-hard pecs, perched above a six-pack chiseled from the very substance of heaven….
MUST. RESIST. MUST… NOT… LET… HIM… WIN… THIS… TIME…
My resolve begins to coalesce. The Amulet pulses. My To-Do List joins the fight. Procrastination lets out a yelp.
The blinding sparkle of the Amulet throws off sensory enticements. The luster of my bank account balance. The luxurious, silky feeling of satisfaction. The auditory delight of a job well-done. The cinnamony smell of success.
His grip loosens.The abs are becoming flabby. A shirt button pops as his frame seems to double on itself. Procrastination is melting. Becoming amorphous. Wider than he is tall. The Amulet shines brighter and I press harder and deeper into his increasingly squishy form.
“Curses!” He shrieks. The panty-dropping accent becomes shrill. No longer intoxicating, it is more like the sound of a garbage disposal gnawing a greasy chicken bone. “You have defeated me this time! But, mark my words, weakling! I will be back! I know… you cannot…. resist… INSTAGRAaaaammmmm….!!!!!!!!” He is gone with a poof.
I shudder with relief. Clutching the Amulet in my trembling fist, I turn off my phone, power up my laptop and get back to work.