The pirates still in the street—excluding the man who’d taken the swords, with the blacksmith and the Rune-reader dead at his feet—bristled towards the newcomers. One of them seized Lonan by the upper arms and hauled him against the wall with everyone else.
Huh. I realized I usually declare my Nanowrimo project before November as a formality, so here it is for anyone who hasn't heard.
I understand I ought to be outcast from the blogging community for neglecting Phantasmagorium, but I was on the road. So I'll just have you write about outcasts instead!
Since my body has decided to betray me with a hideous sinus infection, I decided this week's microprompts ought to reflect it. Shame on you, immune system. Get your act together.
In the spirit of change, minor or major (and shoving yourself over the precipice from "should write" to "am writing"), give these microprompts your boldest shot. Happy writing, everyone!
Most people have a few (too many) drinks and rag about sportsball to relax. But the cool kids write poetry. With friends.
Yesterday was International Senior Citizens' Day, folks. Wisdom may be variable, but you've still got to give props to the people who've made more trips around the sun then you. Give Mom and Dad a call--or Grandmom and Granddad, if you don't want to offend Mom and Dad--and take the time to ponder wisdom with this set of microprompts.
Phantasmagorium may have a Prompt Cellar, but the there are plenty of good writing holes around the Internet. So here's a cellar of other peoples' prompt cellars.
I've been away from any from any extended work on "The Stars Went Out" for a bit, and I already miss the magic. Speaking of magic, Mozart's "Eine Kleine Nacthmusik" was finished on this day about 200 years ago.
Camp is now over, Wrimos. It's time to say goodbye to your campgrounds, your cabins, and the safety of a wordtracker. Now you're in the wilderness.