Prompt: When you were young, what did you think your life would be like by now and how does it compare?

Prompt: Where is your (character’s) escape?

The lights come down low low low and I am about to go onstage. There’s nothing like that sizzle of that pre-performance silence—empty and full at the same time. With the band backing me, I step up and become someone else. I can’t see out but I love knowing that I am commanding everyone’s attention.

When I’m up there I can leave it all behind. No crying child at home. No notifications blowing up my phone. No nothing. My mind empties as my body takes over. My makeup, jewelry, the wigs are all a sort of armor. Because once I’m up there, there’s little else. To most, this would be a scene to escape from. But to me, it’s my escape.

Prompt: Free write for ten minutes without stopping. No backspace, let it alllll out.

I just finished the Britney Spears memoir and no person should have ever gone through what she went through. She’s strong, so strong. I wish for an alternate timeline in which she didn’t need to be so strong. When she could have continued being the sweet southern girl she always was. I want softness and ease for her. I want it for all those who have faced, are facing so much pain and hurt. Damn. The memoir really got me emotional.

Prompt: Using “Things I haven’t opened” as the title, write the piece to go along with it.

One corner of the garage
Lives one month’s supply
Toothpaste, toilet paper, razors
Always sparking water

That corner of my mind
No one is quite sure
Courage, mischief, harmony
Always mystery

So many rarely tend to their corners
So cozy and comfortable skirting the edges
Dancing with the in between(s)
Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine

Prompt: Describe the room you’re currently in from the perspective of one of your characters or try from the POV of someone with someone to hide.

I’ve sealed up all the blinds. All three sets that surround me. On this desk, I’ve gotta clear away the clutter lest someone finds something they don’t like about me and get on my case about it. I’d better throw out my old water bottle too. Don’t want anyone taking samples of my saliva. Hell, they’d probably snoop around the floor for my stray hairs as well. The floor could use a sweep anyway. At least the plants surrounding my desk are doin’ double duty: they’re making it look nice in here and providing cover in case anyone’s peeking through the windows at me. The fiddle leaf fig’s a good one to hide behind ginormous leaves and all. The plants are the only ones I can trust around here.

A professional writer is an amateur who didn't quit.