Prompt: Do we have free will or are things predestined? Write a flash story, freewrite, poem or corporate memo inspired by the topic.

Prompt: Fill in the blank and run with it. Or just submit it as a single sentence. Writer’s choice. “The chatter in my head is like a ______…”

The chatter in my head is like a stubborn old man. Stiff, sleepy, and full of stories. I think he needs to drink more water and move his body. Grumpy bastard.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The chatter in my head is like an ethereal symphony from the heavens ✨

Prompt: How do you commune with the Earth? What rituals do you (want to) have that connect you with nature, large or small?

If the sky is beautiful, I stop and take a picture. Even if it means I’m late - p.s. I am often late.

[Jamie note: below are a few photos sent by the submitter, what a treat 😍 we love a multimedia moment]

Prompt: Write about a regret you have that comes to mind and what (if anything) you would have done differently.

It wasn't until this past year that I felt like my time was up. Around May, it first began. Each day would begin normally, and then somewhere in between my morning pour-over and a Zoom meeting, my gut would drop, and this rush of emptiness would encourage in me every question I've ever had, to be asked. After this feeling washed over me enough times during a 6 month period, I had finally pinned down its origins. I regret not having lived more. 

I never got the nose piercing I wanted or dressed really slutty in my 20s. I never moved to a random city and tried starting a life from scratch. There were no sudden career moves or impulsive, risky decisions. I never traveled or studied abroad, had no student loans, and definitely no home that ever really felt like it was all mine. Safe plays across the board. And I knew why she, the younger me, had made these choices. She didn't have an option, with her back often against the wall. Late-stage capitalism has fucked us '90s babies something fierce. 

Once I realized it, the sinking emptiness in my gut stopped visiting me randomly. But I think it's because I've moved on to a different stage of grief. So many people have it worse.

Prompt: Mad Libs!

“OMG!” you groan. It’s been 817 seconds and you STILL haven’t played the Kirby! When will you get your act together and finally ear? Pikachu seems to do it just fine. Heck, the whole world seems to at this point. If you look quickly into the brown depths of your elbow, maybe you’ll see what’s bouncing you. If all else fails, you can always call your cousin. But they’ll probably just tell you “everything happens for a reason.”

Stories can conquer fear, you know. They can make the heart bigger.