NON FICTION: This Is Your Life As A Struggling Writer

Bunch of people taking notes

Photo: The Climate Reality Project

You wake up, you check your phone. You want to know the latest stats for the article you’d posted yesterday. Two views. No likes on Facebook. One spam comment.

An e-mail comes in. It’s from that fiction competition you joined five months ago. “Thank you for your participation,” it reads. That’s always a bad sign, and a quick scroll through the rest of the message proves it.

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NON FICTION: Write A Shitty First Draft. I Dare You.

Brown typewriter on tabletop

Photo: Pereanu Sebastian

Ah, the infamous shitty first draft. The place where hopes are simultaneously born and slaughtered. The one thing that writers fear the most.

The first draft can be anything. I can write poop all over again if I want. Poop poop poop. I can, like, use punctuation however I like—I can even make sentences no meaning at all fire escape what yes.

Perhaps I’ll rewrite that later. Perhaps not.

But that’s the point. That’s what the first draft is. The canvas where you start creating your art. You probably thought that the blank page was the canvas. Well you thought wrong.

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WRITING PROMPT: Murphy’s Law

Man In Car On Phone

Photo: Alexandre Boucher

The writing prompt for this story is ‘What’s the worst that could happen? Well, you’re about to find out.’

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What’s the worst that could happen? Especially seeing how the question’s about driving out to buy a six-pack. Granted, your girlfriend told you to stay home, because she’s on her way, doesn’t have the keys, and her phone’s dying.

But it’s just a two-minute drive, and the shakes are coming on, which also means you’re within the legal limit to drive. Get in, get out, enjoy a few cans of beer. Really, what’s the worst that could happen?

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WRITING PROMPT: God Of Gamers

clouds

Photo credit: Kevin Dooley

Writing prompt: One morning humanity wakes up to a message in the sky. “Sorry was AFK for a bit there” -God

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“How do you think it got there?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Probably some skywriters with a good idea of a prank.”

“Skywriting? But it’s been there since this morning!”

I leave the stranger behind, because I don’t need more questions that I can understand myself. Why don’t you come up with your own explanations then? If I’d stayed there for another minute, I might’ve snapped at him. Thank God, heh, I had the presence of mind to leave. Who knows what else I’d have done. I’m just on edge, is all. But deep down, I know I’m fuckin’ terrified.

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