Gabriel García Márquez once said “All human beings have three lives: public, private, secret.” Does that ring true for you? How acquainted are you with each of these personas?

Prompt: What do you do that helps you overcome procrastination/perfectionism/self-doubt/etc. as a writer?

Editor’s note: I loved everyone’s advice so much, I’m making it visible to everyone. Enjoy!

Prompt: Take the title of your top song of 2023 and now write the piece that accompanies or takes inspiration from it.

Tongue out of my mouth
Tongue out

Sugar in the air
Debilitatingly sweet

Candy red
My cheeks

Deep breath
Hot heat

(Inspo: Feeling Myself by Nick Hakim)

Prompt: Write a piece where “identity theft” (however you interpret it) is a motif. Be sure to incorporate your favorite plant.

Sweetie, I wish I were making this up. The weekend after I showed up to our coffee date in my new purple Crocs, Bridgette showed up to brunch at my place wearing a new pair of white ones. And you know how I had that game night a few days ago? Well, guess who was there. Bridgette. There she was sitting and trailing her fingers over the tops of my furniture, fondling the leaves of my snake plant, and ogling my kitchen appliances. And guess what. When I went over to her’s—because she sometimes gets my mail. Apparently, even the postman thinks we’re the same person—she had a new snake plant in her hallway! I cannot believe this woman. It’s like she doesn’t have any preferences of her own, it drives me insane. What? No, sweetie my name is not Bridgette. Don’t you know your own mother’s name? No, no she’s my obnoxious neighbor who copies everything I do. She is clearly trying to be me. Excuse me? Yes, I am fine! I do not need you to come over and “keep an eye on me.” You’re probably up to the same thing as Bridgette and you’ll just come over here and snoop. I’ve always thought you were just like her. Don’t fuss over me, honey.

Prompt: Write a piece where “identity theft” (however you interpret it) is a motif. Be sure to incorporate your favorite plant.

that time 2020
stole my identity

a single pothos 
thrived through

benign neglect
until the pandemic

encouraged hobbies
i didn't know of three

types of spider
plants until i started 

nursing their baby 
making proclivity

cuttings of pothos
multiplied exponentially

i don't know who i am
with 40 potted plants

and a window sill of 
fresh growth rooting in 

my mother's antique 
pitcher collection

what if my new pastime
had been cats?

Prompt: Pick a physical feature of yours and use it as part of a description of someone who’s not like you at all.

A man with a small frame, Dane was as gregarious as he was tall, which is to say, not at all. Despite existing during a time in society where one can largely captain his own fate, he held steadfast to the belief that the world doesn’t look kindly upon short men. This belief became so etched into his being that he looked back at the world with his own unkind expression. 

If another driver cut him off, a wash of insecurity would seize him. Surely it was because they’d noticed him struggling to peek over the steering wheel and decided he couldn’t see that far ahead. To Dane, it seemed like bartenders took longer to take down his order, women smiled less around him, and large dogs galloped over to mount him on sight. Each slight was another tally against him on the great cosmic scoreboard of life. He saw himself as a victim of the world and so a victim he became.

Good writing is about telling the truth. We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are.