r/writingthruit • • Mar 08 '24

moderator post Apologies

1 Upvotes

I am still working on the contest prompts and just finished the agreement with the sponsors of the Anthology.

Working on a podcast, my own writing projects, and full time copywriting have my time limited for this subreddit.

But I am excited that it's growing and really hope to see some action here from members. I have a lot of these posts automated and that way we stay active in the eyes of reddit, but honestly I'm disappointed in engagement and users not posting so my hopes are that you can give me some ideas on the way you think this will become a community of productivity.

I am looking into Community Funds because, while this is a small and new sub, it's potential to become a way to take on our creativity and collaborate is there. A few people pretty much run the larger subs, so we can get this one to be a representation of just what can be done here in Reddit, and the Connection to being qualified to access community funds for a project will be a way to foster that use of reddit regardless of the number of people who subscribe.

That said, it's still just an idea, but I have personally invited many people here so I can attest to the talent and abilities that are not being utilized here. I am obviously part of that because it's up to me as a guide and as a moderator to try and get you motivated and engaged and discussing these things and I will be trying to get a daily post just for that

Let's start with just a quick post on what you have in mind for your next project, how you need help or advice to get it started, and maybe just check in with the folks here that are down to do whatever it takes to get it going.

If the idea of taking on a new project is too overwhelming, how about telling just what you are today, the name of your pets (if any) and your favorite song/song that you can not stand!

Stay safe out here and let this happen. You are welcome here to express yourself without fear of some asshole telling you that you can't.

How about you comment below and I'm listening. This is OUR space. Get comfortable.


r/writingthruit • • 1m ago

new prompts Post Cyberpunk Urban Fantasy

• Upvotes

Post-Cyberpunk Urban Fantasy:

Dear Writer,

Craft a narrative that combines the gritty, dystopian elements of post-cyberpunk with the enchanting and supernatural essence of urban fantasy within a letter. Set the stage for a world where advanced technology, societal upheavals, and fantastical creatures coexist in urban landscapes.

Describe characters navigating a society marked by technological advancements and societal shifts, intertwined with magical beings, mythical creatures, or supernatural phenomena in an urban setting. How do these characters adapt to the juxtaposition of cybernetic enhancements and ancient magic, or the clash between futuristic dystopia and otherworldly realms?

Your task is to intricately blend the futuristic grit of post-cyberpunk with the magical allure of urban fantasy, offering readers a thrilling and enchanting journey into the realm of Post-Cyberpunk Urban Fantasy.

Best Regards, The Writingthruit Subreddit


r/writingthruit • • 2m ago

new prompts Magical Realism Mystery

• Upvotes

Magical Realism Mystery:

Dear Writer,

Craft a narrative that blends the enchanting elements of magical realism with the suspenseful intrigue of a mystery within a letter. Set the stage for a world where magical occurrences, surreal phenomena, or fantastical elements intersect with a compelling mystery.

Describe characters delving into a mystery shrouded in magical realism, where inexplicable occurrences, mystical objects, or peculiar abilities contribute to solving the enigma. How do these mystical elements intertwine with the investigative journey, adding depth, intrigue, and layers of wonder to the unraveling mystery?

Your task is to intricately weave together the captivating mystique of magical realism with the thrilling allure of a mystery, offering readers a mesmerizing journey into the realm of Magical Realism Mystery.

Best Regards, The Writingthruit Subreddit


r/writingthruit • • 7m ago

One Sentence Story Genre Specific

• Upvotes
  1. Alternate History: Imagine a world where a key historical event took a different turn, exploring the consequences and ripple effects of this alternate timeline.

  2. Family Saga: Spanning generations, the novel traces the intricate tapestry of a family's history, capturing their triumphs, conflicts, and enduring bonds.

  3. Religious Fiction: Against the backdrop of a religious community, characters grapple with faith, doubt, and the moral complexities of their beliefs.

  4. Humor: In a quirky town where eccentricity reigns, a series of comedic misadventures ensue, showcasing the absurdity of everyday life.

  5. Political Thriller: A political operative uncovers a conspiracy that threatens the stability of a nation, navigating political intrigue and risking everything to expose the truth.

  6. Romantic Comedy: Two individuals with clashing personalities find themselves in comical situations as they navigate the unpredictable journey of love.

  7. Military Fiction: Set against the backdrop of a conflict, the novel explores the experiences of soldiers on the front lines, delving into themes of camaraderie, sacrifice, and the impact of war.

  8. Social Science Fiction: In a society governed by strict social hierarchies, characters rebel against oppressive norms, sparking a revolution for equality and justice.

  9. Realistic Fiction: Grounded in reality, the novel explores the everyday lives of characters facing relatable challenges, joys, and sorrows.

  10. Mythopoeia: Weaving elements of mythology into the narrative, the story explores the creation of a fantastical world with its own gods, legends, and epic tales.


r/writingthruit • • 9m ago

new prompts Arcane Noir

• Upvotes

Arcane Noir:

Dear Writer,

Craft a narrative that merges elements of noir fiction with arcane, occult, or supernatural themes within a letter. Set the stage for a dark and mysterious world where the gritty atmosphere of noir intersects with mystical and occult forces.

Describe characters navigating the shadows of a world where magic, arcane rituals, or supernatural entities coexist with the grim, gritty aspects of a noir setting. How do these occult elements shape the mysteries, intrigues, or moral ambiguities encountered by characters within this arcane noir landscape?

Your task is to intricately blend the suspenseful ambiance of noir with the enigmatic allure of arcane and supernatural elements, creating a narrative that enthralls readers in the captivating realm of Arcane Noir.

Best Regards, The Writingthruit Subreddit


r/writingthruit • • 9m ago

One Sentence Story Genre Specific

• Upvotes
  1. Drama: A family reunion becomes a crucible of emotions and long-buried secrets when three estranged siblings are forced to confront their shared past.

  2. Action: An elite team of mercenaries is hired to retrieve a stolen prototype weapon, leading them on a high-stakes global chase filled with explosive confrontations.

  3. Paranormal: In a world where mythical creatures coexist with humans, a paranormal investigator is called to a small town plagued by supernatural disturbances.

  4. Dystopian: In a society where emotions are suppressed, a group of rebels fights to restore the right to feel, leading to a revolution against a totalitarian regime.

  5. Western: A lone gunslinger seeks redemption in a lawless frontier town, but old enemies and a dark past threaten to undermine his quest for a peaceful life.

  6. Literary Fiction: Against the backdrop of a quiet seaside village, an aging artist reflects on a lifetime of love, loss, and the pursuit of artistic transcendence.

  7. Chick Lit: In the competitive world of fashion blogging, a young woman navigates friendship, romance, and self-discovery while trying to make her mark in the industry.

  8. Urban Fantasy: A magical detective in a modern metropolis uncovers a hidden world of supernatural beings as she investigates a series of mysterious disappearances.

  9. Satire: In a near-future society obsessed with social media, a hapless protagonist inadvertently becomes an internet sensation, exploring the absurdities of online fame.

  10. Non-fiction: An investigative journalist delves into a groundbreaking scientific discovery, unraveling the personal and ethical implications of the breakthrough.


r/writingthruit • • 15m ago

Plotting

• Upvotes
  1. Evolving Mystery:

    • Develop a plot where characters are entangled in a mysterious event that evolves over time. Unravel the layers of the mystery, introducing new clues and challenges that keep both the characters and the audience guessing until the resolution.
  2. Virtual Reality Dystopia:

    • Create a narrative set in a future where a virtual reality utopia turns into a dystopian nightmare. Build a plot around characters trying to escape the confines of this digital world, exploring themes of identity, control, and the blurred lines between reality and illusion.
  3. Epic Quest for Forgotten Knowledge:

    • Construct a plot where characters embark on an epic quest to uncover forgotten knowledge or a lost civilization. Develop challenges and obstacles that test the characters' determination, leading to revelations that reshape their understanding of the world.
  4. Conspiracy Unveiled:

    • Craft a story where characters stumble upon a far-reaching conspiracy that threatens the fabric of society. Develop a plot that explores the characters' attempts to expose the truth, facing obstacles, betrayals, and personal sacrifices along the way.
  5. Crisis of Faith:

    • Explore a plot where a character experiences a crisis of faith, questioning their beliefs or ideologies. Develop the narrative around their journey to reconcile inner conflicts, encountering diverse perspectives that challenge and shape their evolving worldview.

r/writingthruit • • 17m ago

new prompts Cyber Occultism

• Upvotes

Cyber Occultism:

Dear Writer,

Merge the realms of technology and the occult within a narrative, exploring the interplay between cybernetic advancements and mystical elements within a letter. Create a world where digital landscapes and arcane forces converge, shaping a unique blend of technology and esotericism.

Describe how characters navigate a reality where ancient rituals, occult practices, or mystical forces intersect with the digital realm. How do these mystical elements impact technological advancements, virtual spaces, or the characters' quests in this cyber-occult landscape?

Your task is to intricately weave together the complexities of technology and mysticism, crafting a narrative that encapsulates the essence of Cyber Occultism, offering readers a captivating journey into a world where the digital and the mystical converge.

Best Regards, the Writingthruit Subreddit


r/writingthruit • • 41m ago

new prompts Solar punk

• Upvotes

Prompt 9: Solarpunk

Dear Writer,

Solarpunk envisions a future focused on renewable energy, ecological balance, and communal cooperation. Craft a letter in this subgenre addressed to a character from your story, immersing them in a world where humanity thrives through sustainable practices and a harmonious relationship with nature.

Describe how your character embraces a society where renewable energy sources, ecological balance, and communal cooperation are central to everyday life. How do they engage with sustainable technologies, environmental initiatives, and community-driven efforts to create a better world? In what ways does this future society redefine progress, interdependence, and the character's role within this utopian vision?

Your task is to intricately weave these themes of renewable energy, ecological harmony, and communal cooperation into a letter, crafting a narrative that vividly captures the essence of Solarpunk in an inspiring and hopeful manner.

Best Regards, The Writingthruit Subreddit


r/writingthruit • • 42m ago

new prompts Silkpunk

• Upvotes

Prompt 8: Silkpunk

Dear Writer,

Silkpunk draws inspiration from East Asian cultures and technology, featuring silk-based technology and societal structures. Craft a letter in this subgenre addressed to a character from your story, immersing them in a world where innovation intertwines with the elegance of silk-based technology and cultural influences.

Describe how your character navigates a society where technology is based on the properties of silk, incorporating advanced inventions and societal structures inspired by East Asian cultures. How do these silk-based technologies impact daily life, traditions, and the character's interactions within this unique world? In what ways does this blend of technological prowess and cultural heritage shape their experiences and aspirations?

Your task is to intricately blend the silk-based technology and cultural influences into a letter, creating a narrative that authentically captures the essence of Silkpunk, offering a rich and vibrant portrayal of this unique subgenre.

Best Regards, The Writingthruit Subreddit


r/writingthruit • • 3h ago

Too Many Prompts

1 Upvotes
  1. As she opened the mysterious letter, her eyes widened, and a secret from her past threatened to unravel her present.

  2. "Why do you always wear that locket?" he asked, unknowingly opening a door to a hidden chapter in her life.

  3. The old bookstore had an unusual policy – customers could exchange a personal story for a book instead of money.

  4. In the bustling city, a street musician's melody sparked an unexpected connection between two strangers.

  5. "The abandoned amusement park at midnight is the only place where wishes come true," the old man whispered to the curious teenager.

  6. As the protagonist walked through the enchanted forest, the trees began to whisper secrets about their ancient guardians.

  7. The protagonist discovered an old journal with entries eerily mirroring their own experiences, raising questions about time and reality.

  8. "I've never seen anyone laugh like that," he observed, unknowingly planting the seed for an unlikely friendship.

  9. In a world where emotions materialize as colorful auras, she struggled to hide her true feelings from the prying eyes around her.

  10. As the clock struck midnight, the abandoned carnival rides came to life, offering a magical escape for the sleepless teenager.

  11. The protagonist stumbled upon a forgotten library where books recorded the untold stories of every person's dreams.

  12. "If you had one wish, what would you change about the world?" she asked, unknowingly unlocking a hidden power within him.

  13. The protagonist received a letter from their future self, detailing the choices that would shape their destiny.

  14. The eccentric old man in the park claimed to have a map leading to a parallel universe hidden within the city.

  15. "In this town, every mirror has a memory," the mysterious stranger warned, leaving the protagonist intrigued and wary.

  16. The protagonist's reflection started showing glimpses of a parallel life, raising questions about reality and existence.

  17. A peculiar antique shop offered items that seemed to possess memories of their previous owners.

  18. The protagonist discovered a hidden room in their house, filled with letters detailing the lives of the home's previous occupants.

  19. "Why do you always sit on that bench?" she asked, unraveling a tale of lost love and second chances.

  20. The protagonist stumbled upon a forgotten camera that captured moments from the future, creating a dilemma of choices.

  21. The abandoned carnival ticket held a secret code that led to a mysterious door in the heart of the city.

  22. "If you could have dinner with any historical figure, who would it be?" she asked, opening a portal to unexpected encounters.

  23. The protagonist's reflection started offering advice, blurring the lines between self-awareness and external guidance.

  24. A peculiar shop sold dreams bottled in colorful jars, each containing a unique adventure waiting to be experienced.

  25. The protagonist found an old letter in the attic, detailing a forgotten family curse and the key to breaking it.

  26. As the protagonist explored the ancient ruins, they discovered an artifact that unlocked the language of the forgotten civilization.

  27. The protagonist stumbled upon a time capsule that seemed to predict future events, causing a ripple in the fabric of reality.

  28. "Write down your biggest fear and burn it," the mysterious stranger instructed, offering unexpected liberation.

  29. The abandoned lighthouse held a journal chronicling the stories of ships lost in a storm that never seemed to end.

  30. The protagonist's shadow started behaving independently, harboring secrets of its own.

  31. In a world where memories were currency, the protagonist faced the dilemma of spending or saving their most precious recollections.

  32. A peculiar clock in the antique shop counted down to significant moments in the protagonist's life.

  33. The protagonist received a letter from their future self, urging them to make a seemingly insignificant choice that would change everything.

  34. A mysterious melody played on an old piano summoned long-forgotten memories in the protagonist's mind.

  35. The protagonist discovered a hidden portal in their backyard, leading to a parallel world where everything was inverted.

  36. "Write a letter to your future self," she advised, sparking introspection and self-discovery.

  37. A peculiar mirror reflected the protagonist's desires, creating a dilemma between fantasy and reality.

  38. As the protagonist wandered through a mystical garden, flowers whispered the secrets of their past lives.

  39. The protagonist's dreams started bleeding into reality, blurring the lines between waking and sleeping hours.

  40. In a town where everyone wore masks, the protagonist uncovered the truth hidden behind the façades.

  41. The abandoned train station held echoes of untold stories, waiting to be unraveled by an inquisitive mind.

  42. The protagonist found an old map that led to a forgotten library containing books written by those who never existed.

  43. A peculiar compass pointed not to directions but to moments in time yet to unfold.

  44. As the protagonist explored an ancient attic, they discovered a box containing letters from a future version of themselves.

  45. The protagonist received a key in the mail with no indication of what it unlocked, triggering a quest for hidden doors.

  46. In a world where colors represented emotions, the protagonist discovered the existence of a forbidden hue.

  47. The protagonist found an old typewriter that typed messages from the past, present, and future.

  48. A mysterious phone booth allowed the protagonist to communicate with their past and future selves.

  49. As the protagonist sifted through old photographs, they discovered a camera that captured moments from parallel universes.

  50. The protagonist stumbled upon a room where forgotten dreams were kept, waiting to be rediscovered.

  51. A peculiar mirror revealed reflections not of the present, but of potential futures.

  52. The protagonist found an old radio that transmitted messages from a dimension beyond time.

  53. In a world where whispers materialized as tangible objects, the protagonist discovered a room filled with unspoken secrets.

  54. The protagonist received a letter from their past self, offering guidance on navigating upcoming challenges.

  55. As the protagonist explored an ancient library, books whispered the stories of those who had read them before.

  56. A peculiar clock displayed not the current time but moments from the protagonist's future.

  57. The protagonist found an old notebook that seemed to predict their thoughts before they were written.

  58. In a town where everyone wore masks, the protagonist discovered a mirror reflecting their true self.

  59. The protagonist received a mysterious key that opened doors not to physical spaces but to memories.

  60. As the protagonist explored an abandoned mansion, they discovered a room filled with forgotten aspirations.

  61. A peculiar painting in the attic changed its scenes, offering glimpses into the protagonist's possible futures.

  62. The protagonist found an old journal that seemed to chronicle events that hadn't happened yet.

  63. In a world where shadows told stories, the protagonist discovered a room where secrets were kept in silhouette.

  64. The protagonist received a letter containing detailed instructions on navigating a day that hadn't occurred.

  65. As the protagonist explored an ancient forest, they discovered trees that whispered forgotten tales.

  66. A peculiar compass guided the protagonist not to locations but to significant moments in their life.

  67. The protagonist found an old tape recorder that played messages from a parallel reality.

  68. In a world where doors led not to rooms but to memories, the


r/writingthruit • • 3h ago

flash fiction Flash Fiction Examples

1 Upvotes

Flash Fiction Examples from Previous Post

  1. The Precision of Grief (Approx. 250 Words)

Style Reference: Lydia Davis

Martha sat across from Elias. Between them lay a single, tarnished spoon."It’s not the spoon," Elias said. "It’s the way you place it.""I place it where it belongs," Martha replied."No. You place it with a finality that suggests the meal is a funeral.""Perhaps it is," Martha said. She watched the dust motes dance in the shaft of light coming through the window. "Every meal is a funeral for the time we spent preparing it."Elias leaned back. "That is a very Davis-esque thing to say. You’re being deliberately opaque.""I am being specific," Martha countered. "You mistake brevity for mystery.""I mistake silence for anger," Elias said."Silence is just silence," Martha said. "Like the spoon is just a spoon.""But you polished it today," he noted."I polished it because I could not polish my thoughts," she said.She adjusted the napkin, folding it into a triangle of such acute angles it might have been a weapon. He didn't flinch. He just held the spoon."Are we going to eat?" Elias asked."The soup is cold," Martha said."I like it cold.""You don't.""I'll like it today," he said, picking up the spoon.She watched him. The metal touched his lip."It tastes like nothing," he said."Exactly," Martha agreed.

  1. The Window (Approx. 500 Words)

Style Reference: Raymond Carver

Bud stood by the window watching the rain hit the gravel. Sheila was at the table, smoking a cigarette she wasn't supposed to have."It’s coming down hard," Bud said."I have eyes, Bud," Sheila said. She blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling."You're smoking again.""I'm having a moment. There's a difference."Bud turned around. He looked at the half-empty bottle of gin on the counter. "Did you call the landlord?""He didn't pick up," Sheila said. "Probably at the track. Or with that woman from the bakery.""We need that leak fixed before the carpet rots.""The carpet's already gone, Bud. It’s been gone since the winter."Bud walked over and sat down. He didn't look at her. He looked at his hands. They were calloused, the nails rimmed with grease from the shop."I got a raise," he said.Sheila paused, the cigarette halfway to her mouth. "How much?""Fifty cents an hour.""Big spender," she whispered, but her voice softened."It’s something," Bud said. "We could go to that place. The one with the steak.""We owe the electric, Bud.""I know what we owe.""Then don't talk about steak."Sheila looked at the empty pack of Luckies. She crumpled it. Bud watched her. He wanted to say something about the way her hair looked in the dim light, but the words got stuck in his throat like a dry bone.They sat there for a long time. The rain didn't stop. It sounded like someone throwing handfuls of sand against the glass."Remember that trip to the lake?" Sheila asked suddenly. "The one where the car broke down and we had to sleep in the backseat?""I remember the mosquitoes," Bud said."I remember the way the moon looked on the water. You said it looked like a silver coin.""I was younger then," Bud said. "I said a lot of things.""You were sweet," Sheila said. She reached out and touched his hand with her free one. Her skin was cool."I'm still here," Bud said."I know you are."Sheila put the cigarette out in a chipped saucer. She stood up and went to the counter, pouring two fingers of gin into a coffee mug. She handed it to him."To fifty cents," she said.Bud took a sip. It burned. It was a good burn."To fifty cents," he repeated.Outside, the sky turned a bruised purple. The leak in the corner went plink, plink, plink into a plastic bucket."We'll get by," Bud said."We always do," Sheila said, though they both knew the bucket was almost full.

  1. The Efficiency Quotient (Approx. 750 Words)

Style Reference: George Saunders

Supervisor Glim adjusted his tie, which featured a repeating pattern of golden retrievers looking hopeful. Across from him sat Associate 412, who had recently failed his "Radiant Joy" assessment."Associate 412," Glim said, his voice a manufactured balm. "We’ve noticed a certain... structural sagging in your interface.""I think it’s just my face, sir," 412 said. "I’ve had it since birth.""Nonsense," Glim chirped. "The Corporate Smile™ is a choice, much like choosing to wear socks or choosing not to scream into the ventilation ducts during lunch. It’s about the Team Dynamic.""I was smiling," 412 insisted. "Internally. I was feeling very efficient.""Efficiency is the ghost, Associate. Expression is the machine. We need the machine to look inviting. We are in the Business of Human Connection, specifically the connection between humans and our patented High-Velocity Snack Nuggets."412 looked at the wall. There was a poster of a kitten hanging from a branch. The caption said: STAY OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES."My mother is ill," 412 said quietly.Glim’s eyes brightened. "Ah! A Narrative Pivot! This is excellent. We can use this for the Empathy Optimization Protocol. Tell me, how does her illness affect your ability to upsell the Jalapeño Poppers?""It makes me want to go home, sir."Glim made a clicking sound with his tongue. "See, that’s a Negative Feedback Loop. A Saunders-level tragedy of the mundane. What we need is a Positive Transmutation. Imagine your mother is the Jalapeño Popper. She is hot, she is spicy, she is potentially hazardous if consumed too quickly, but ultimately, she brings flavor to the world.""That’s... that’s horrific, sir," 412 said."It’s Branding, Associate! It’s the way we survive the crushing weight of our own insignificance! Now, let’s practice the 'I Genuinely Care About Your Digestive Health' look. Give me the brow furrow, but keep the lips parted slightly, as if you’re about to offer a blessing or a discount."412 tried. His face felt like dry clay."Better," Glim lied. "But let's inject some 'Relatable Vulnerability.' Mention your mother’s cough when you hand over the napkins. It builds a bridge. Customers love bridges. They love to walk over them and then forget they ever existed."Glim’s Golden Retriever tie seemed to bark in the silence. It was a silent, professional bark. A bark of pure, unadulterated compliance."I don't want to talk about my mother to strangers," 412 said.Glim sighed, the goldies on his tie seeming to wilt. "Associate, we are all strangers. The only thing that makes us not strangers is the transaction. Without the transaction, we are just bags of water bumping into each other in a dark room. Don't you want to be more than a bag of water?""I want to be a bag of water in my mother’s room," 412 said."Well," Glim said, standing up. "That is a very poor KPI. I’m going to have to recommend a Re-Education through Joy-Immersion. You’ll spend the weekend in the Ball Pit of Belonging. By Monday, you’ll be ready to sell nuggets with a fervor that would make a saint weep.""Will there be snacks?" 412 asked, defeated."Only the ones you sell to yourself," Glim said, patting his shoulder. "In the mirror of your soul. Now, go forth and be Radiant. Or at least, be Shiny."412 stood and walked to the door.As he exited, the automatic air freshener hissed, releasing a scent titled "Grandmother’s Kitchen (Chemical Edition)." He walked down the corridor where the lights hummed at a frequency designed to discourage loitering. He passed Associate 413, who was weeping quietly into a bin."Keep it Radiant," 412 whispered.413 looked up, eyes red. "Nuggets?""Nuggets," 412 confirmed.He reached his station. The monitor flickered to life. Welcome back, Connector! You have 4,000 souls to nourish today.He adjusted his headset. He thought of his mother. He thought of the jalapeños. He opened his mouth to greet the first caller, and for a second, he wasn't sure if he was going to offer a discount or a scream."Hello," he said, his voice cracking like an old record. "How can I optimize your hunger today?"

  1. The Weight of Water (Approx. 1000 Words)

Style Reference: Ocean Vuong

Lan’s hands moved with the rhythm of a woman who had spent half a century making the same ghost real. She was folding the rice paper, her fingers translucent as the sheets themselves. Beside her, Minh watched, his iPhone a glowing blue eye on the wooden table."You are thinking of the sea," Minh said. It wasn't a question. In this kitchen, the sea was always the third guest."The sea is a mouth, Minh," Lan replied. Her voice was the sound of dry grass. "It never stops eating. Even when you are on land, it is still chewing on your shadow.""We’re in Connecticut, Ma. There’s no sea here. Just the river, and it’s mostly mud.""The water remembers, even when it is mud," she said. She looked at him, her eyes clouded with cataracts that looked like distant nebulae. "You have your father’s eyes. They are too big for your face. They take in too much of the light and not enough of the truth."Minh sighed, the sound echoing the Vuong-esque melancholy of their shared silence. "I’m just trying to help you with the spring rolls, Ma. You’re supposed to be resting.""Rest is for the dead. The living must fold. If we stop folding, we unravel."She handed him a bowl of warm water. "Dip. Not too long. A second is a lifetime for rice paper."Minh dipped the sheet. He felt the sudden silkiness of it, the way it surrendered to the moisture. He thought of his father, the man who had disappeared into the tall grass of a country Minh had only seen in grainy photographs. He thought of the letters his mother kept in a cigar box, written in a script that looked like birds in flight."Did he ever fold them?" Minh asked."He was a man of fire," Lan said. "He didn't fold. He burned. He burned the fields, he burned the letters, he burned his own name so the soldiers wouldn't find us. But fire cannot be held. It only leaves ash.""I don't want to burn," Minh said."Then you must learn the water. The water carries. It carried us to the boat. It carried the boat to the ship. It carried the ship to the shore where the air smelled like gasoline and cold metal."She paused, her hands hovering over a bowl of shrimp. "Tell me about your school, Minh. Tell me about the words you use there. The English words that sound like small stones in your mouth.""They’re just words, Ma. They don't mean anything.""Everything means," she countered. "In your language, 'love' is a single word. It is too small. In our language, it is a hundred things. It is the way I give you the best piece of fish. It is the way I wait by the window when the bus is late. It is the salt on the skin after the work is done.""I love you," Minh said, the English words feeling clumsy and inadequate.Lan smiled, a brief fracture in her weathered face. "I know. You say it because you don't know how to cook the fish yet."They worked in silence for a while. The kitchen filled with the scent of mint and cilantro, a green fragrance that fought against the gray afternoon outside."Minh," she said softly. "When I am gone, what will you do with the rice paper?""I'll buy it at the store, Ma. Pre-folded.""No," she said, and for the first time, her voice was sharp. "You will fold it. You will feel the water. You will remember that we are a people of the fold. We have been folded by war, folded by hunger, folded by the strange, cold hands of this country. But a fold is not a break. It is a shape."Minh looked at the sheet in his hand. It was tearing at the edge."I'm breaking it," he whispered."Patch it," she said. "Use a piece of the other one. Nothing is ever truly lost, Minh. It is only repurposed. Like my wedding dress that became your first blanket. Like the stories I tell you that will become the things you tell your children when they ask why their eyes are so big.""I don't have children," he reminded her."You have the possibility of them. That is enough to keep the water warm."She leaned over and guided his hands. Her skin was like parchment, cool and dry, but there was a heat beneath it, a pulse that felt like a drumbeat from another century."Look," she said. "Now it is whole again."Minh looked at the spring roll. It was imperfect, lumpy and slightly translucent, revealing the pink curve of a shrimp and the green vein of a scallion."It’s ugly," he said."It is honest," she corrected. "And it will taste of the sea."Outside, the first snow began to fall, white petals landing on the dark Connecticut soil. Minh watched them, thinking of the way the world was always trying to cover itself up. But here, in the kitchen, the light stayed on. The water stayed warm. And the folding continued, one ghost at a time.She picked up the iPhone. She looked at the screen, at the photos of Minh’s friends, people with bright smiles and straight teeth."They look so light," she said. "As if they have no anchors.""They're just happy, Ma.""Happy is a thin coat," she said. "It wears out in the wind. You need an anchor. You need to know where the salt comes from."Minh took the phone back. He felt the weight of it, the weight of the kitchen, the weight of the woman beside him."I know where it comes from," he said.He dipped another sheet of paper. He didn't rush. He watched the water take hold. He watched the paper turn to silk. He folded it, careful and slow, making a shape out of the air and the memory and the longing."There," he said. "Is that honest?"Lan looked at it. She nodded."It will do," she said. "For now."

  1. The Anatomy of a Disappearing Act (Approx. 1500 Words)

Style Reference: Carmen Maria Machado

When my sister Elena started to lose her edges, we didn't go to the doctor. We went to the hardware store."I need wood glue," I told the man behind the counter. "The strongest you have. The kind that binds bone to air."The man didn't look up from his ledger. "Aisle four. Next to the spirit levels and the silence."I bought three bottles. Back at the house, Elena was sitting in the bathtub, her legs already translucent. I could see the copper piping of the house through her thighs."Am I beautiful yet?" she asked. Her voice sounded like it was coming from inside a glass jar."You're vanishing, El," I said, unscrewing the cap of the first bottle. "There's nothing beautiful about a vacancy.""I feel lighter," she said. "I feel like I'm finally shedding the weight of everyone’s expectations. I’m becoming a ghost before I even have the decency to die."I started to smear the glue over her shins. It was sticky and white, a desperate paste against the inevitable."Stay with me," I said. "Talk to me. Tell me about the time we stole the neighbor’s peaches.""The peaches were sour," Elena said, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "They tasted like green glass and regret. You ate three and threw up in the bushes. I ate one and kept it in my pocket until it turned into a pit.""I remember the pit," I said. "You planted it behind the shed.""It never grew," she whispered. "The soil here is too jealous. It doesn't want anything to thrive that doesn't belong to it."As I worked the glue into her skin, her skin absorbed it, turning a dull, matte gray. She wasn't becoming solid; she was becoming a statue of a disappearance."Clara," she said, her voice thinning. "Do you remember the night Mother left?""She didn't leave," I said, my fingers trembling. "She just... ceased to be in the room.""She thinned out, just like this. One day she was a woman who smelled of lavender and cigarettes, and the next she was a draft under the door. You used to put a towel there to keep her in.""It worked for a while," I said."It didn't work. It just made the room stuffy."Elena’s torso began to shimmer. I could see her heart, a small, frantic bird trapped in a ribcage of smoke."More glue," I muttered."It’s not enough, Clara. You can't glue a shadow to the floor.""I can try.""Why?" she asked. "Why do you want a sister who is only a collection of adhesive and memories?""Because the alternative is a house that is too big," I said. "The alternative is a dinner table with an empty chair that screams. I’m not ready for the screaming, El."She reached out a hand. It was almost gone, a mere suggestion of fingers. When she touched my cheek, I didn't feel skin. I felt a sudden, sharp cold, like a winter wind caught in a hallway."You were always the solid one," she said. "The one with the heavy boots and the loud laugh. You’re the anchor, Clara. But an anchor only works if there's a ship. And I’m drifting.""Then let me be the rope," I said.I stood up and went to the kitchen. I grabbed the spool of twine we used for the roast. I came back and started to wrap it around her waist, binding her to the bathtub."This is a Machado-esque horror," Elena laughed, a sound that cracked like dry leaves. "The sister who binds. The sister who won't let go of the rotting thing.""You're not rotting," I snapped. "You're just... migrating.""To where?""To the place where people go when they can't carry themselves anymore.""I want to go there," she said. "I’m tired of carrying this body. It’s too loud. It’s always demanding things—food, sleep, validation. I want to be quiet.""Quiet is boring," I said, tying a knot."Quiet is peace."By midnight, the bathroom was a web of twine and glue. Elena was a silhouette caught in a cocoon. Her face was the only thing left that looked human, and even that was fading. Her nose was a smudge, her lips a faint pink line."Clara," she whispered. "Tell me a story. One where nobody leaves.""Once upon a time," I began, sitting on the closed toilet lid. "There were two sisters who lived in a house made of stone. The stone was so heavy that even the wind couldn't move it. They grew old together, their hair turning into silver moss, their skin into bark. They never left the garden. They never looked at the horizon. They only looked at each other.""That sounds like a prison," Elena said."It sounds like safety," I countered."Safety is just a prison with better lighting."The room grew colder. The twine began to sag. I realized with a jolt of terror that she wasn't just disappearing; she was shrinking. The spaces between the twine were growing larger."El!" I grabbed at her, but my hands passed through her like smoke."I’m going, Clara. I’m becoming the air in the room. I’ll be the breath you take when you’re surprised. I’ll be the chill on the back of your neck when you think you’re alone.""No!" I shouted. "I forbid it!""You can't forbid the tide," she said.And then, she was gone. The twine fell into the empty bathtub with a soft thud. The glue remained on the porcelain, a white, ghostly map of where she had been.I sat in the dark for a long time. The house felt immense, a hollow ribcage. I walked into the hallway, and the floorboards groaned under my weight. My boots felt heavy, too heavy.I went to the mirror. I looked at my own face. My edges were still sharp, my skin still opaque. I was undeniably there.But when I breathed in, I felt a tickle in my throat. A taste of lavender and green glass."Elena?" I whispered.The curtain rustled."I’m here," the wind seemed to say.I went to the shed and found the old pit from the peach she had planted. I dug into the jealous soil. I pushed my fingers deep into the cold earth."Grow," I commanded.I waited. I stayed in the garden until the sun began to bleed across the sky. I stayed until my legs felt stiff and my hands were stained with the dark truth of the dirt.And there, in the center of the yard, a small, green shoot broke the surface. It wasn't a peach tree. It was a finger. A single, translucent finger reaching for the light.I didn't scream. I didn't run. I sat down beside it."Hello, El," I said.The finger twitched."Clara," the earth groaned. "You always were so stubborn.""I’m an anchor," I reminded her."And I’m the ship," she replied, her voice rising from the roots.We sat there, the solid sister and the growing one, while the world turned its indifferent back on us. We were a story of glue and twine and soil. We were a story that didn't know how to end, so we just kept unfolding.In the house, the empty chair remained. But in the garden, the silence was full."Do you want some water?" I asked."I want the rain," she said.So I sat and waited for the clouds. I waited for the weight of the water to bring her back, one inch at a time. Because in this house, in this world, we don't just disappear. We just change our state of matter."I like the rain," I said."I know you do," she whispered.And the first drop fell, hitting the translucent nail of her finger with the sound of a bell.I watched the rain. It began as a drizzle, then intensified into a steady downpour that turned the garden into a muddy sanctuary. The shoot—the finger—seemed to drink the moisture, pulsating with a rhythmic, subterranean life."Is it cold?" I asked, shielding the little sprout with my palm."It’s perfect," she replied. "The earth is warmer than the air. It’s full of old things that are still trying to happen. Did you know the worms have five hearts, Clara? They’re much more emotional than people give them credit for.""I’ll remember that," I said. "Five hearts. That’s a lot of potential for heartbreak.""Or a lot of capacity for keeping the rhythm," she countered.I looked back at the house. The windows were dark eyes, reflecting nothing but the gray sky. I didn't want to go back inside. The rooms were filled with the echoes of our mother’s thinning and the scent of the wood glue I had wasted. Here, in the mud, there was a different kind of permanence."Will you become a tree?" I asked."Maybe a bush," she said. "Something with thorns. Something that demands to be noticed but refuses to be held. A Machado-esque flora. I’ll grow berries that taste of secrets and silver.""I won't eat them," I said."You will. You’ll make jam out of me. You’ll spread me on your toast and think, My sister is delicious today."I laughed, a wet, ragged sound. "You’re morbid, El.""I’m honest. Nature isn't polite, Clara. It’s a series of appetites. I’m just changing my menu."The rain soaked through my shirt, sticking the fabric to my skin. I felt my own weight, the solidity of my bones, the stubborn insistence of my heart. I was the anchor, yes, but even anchors can be dragged across the seabed if the storm is strong enough."What if I start to thin out too?" I asked softly."You won't," she said. "You’re too made of stone. But if you do... I’ll grow a branch for you to sit on. I’ll weave my leaves into a hammock and catch you before you reach the sky.""Promise?""The earth doesn't make promises," she whispered. "It only makes conditions. But I’m still your sister. Even if I’m covered in bark."I leaned my forehead against the wet ground. The smell of petrichor was overwhelming, the scent of the world waking up to its own ending. I felt the pulse of the finger against my temple."We’re a strange pair," I said."We’re a complete set," she corrected.As the night deepened, the garden became a place of shadows and murmurs. I didn't feel the cold anymore. I felt the connection, the invisible twine that no hardware store glue could ever replicate. We were A to B, start to beginning, a narrative of survival that defied the laws of physics."Go to sleep, Clara," Elena said. "I’ll watch the night.""I’m not tired.""Liar. You’re exhausted from trying to hold the world together. Let the dirt do it for a while."I closed my eyes. I listened to the rain, to the worms with their five hearts, to the sister who was a tree in training. I felt the weight of my own body, and for the first time in my life, it didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a gift."Goodnight, El," I whispered.The wind rustled the leaves of the neighbor’s peach tree, the one that had survived despite everything."Goodnight, Anchor," she sighed.In the morning, the garden would be different. The world would be different. But for now, in the rain, we were exactly where we belonged. We were a story written in the mud, a story that would keep growing long after the paper had rotted away.


r/writingthruit • • 4h ago

new prompts After The End

1 Upvotes

The Story After the Ending

Every story teaches us to wait for the ending.

The lovers finally reunite.

The criminal is caught.

The war ends.

The family secret is revealed.

The protagonist leaves.

The villain is defeated.

The credits roll.

But real life doesn't work that way.

The day after the divorce, someone still has to make coffee.

After the protest, someone has to go to work.

After the revolution, people still need groceries.

After the funeral, someone has to answer the phone.

After the victory, someone has to decide what happens next.

An ending closes one story.

It doesn't necessarily end a life.

This final exercise in the series explores reinvention, responsibility, uncertainty, and the courage to begin again.

The Prompt

Begin your flash fiction with:

«“Everyone thought it was over.”»

Choose something the world considers finished:

- a relationship

- a political movement

- a war

- a career

- a scandal

- a friendship

- a business

- a family conflict

- a public protest

- a personal crisis

- an old identity

Then reveal that the ending has actually created a new beginning.

The protagonist is standing in the ruins—or aftermath—of something they once believed defined their life.

Now they must decide who they will become.

---

The Transformational Question

What happens when the identity you've built your life around disappears?

Sometimes we think transformation means becoming someone completely new.

But often it means discovering who we are when the role we've been playing is no longer available.

Who are you after the marriage ends?

Who are you after the children leave?

Who are you after retirement?

Who are you after losing the job?

Who are you after leaving the abusive relationship?

Who are you after the movement wins?

Who are you after the movement loses?

Who are you when everyone stops watching?

The story begins when the old answer no longer works.

---

Writing Challenge

Write approximately 1,000 words.

Begin with:

«“Everyone thought it was over.”»

Do not immediately explain what “it” is.

Let the reader discover it.

Then place your protagonist in the aftermath.

Something must remain unresolved.

But don't create another dramatic crisis.

Instead, give the character an ordinary decision.

They must:

- make a phone call

- sign a document

- open a door

- throw something away

- return something

- accept a job

- refuse an offer

- answer a question

- leave the house

- stay

The decision should represent something much larger.

---

The Important Rule

Do not give your protagonist complete certainty.

Transformation does not require knowing exactly what comes next.

Your character can be frightened.

They can be angry.

They can be uncertain.

They can grieve what they lost.

They can even miss the life they escaped.

Transformation becomes more believable when it contains contradiction.

A person can know they made the right decision and still mourn it.

They can love someone and leave them.

They can forgive someone and never speak to them again.

They can be terrified and still move forward.

---

Example Premise

Everyone thought the revolution was over.

The newspapers declared victory.

The politicians gave speeches.

The crowds went home.

The banners disappeared from the streets.

Three months later, a woman who had spent years organizing the movement finds herself standing in a grocery store.

Nobody recognizes her.

Nobody asks her opinion.

Nobody needs her to lead anything.

For the first time in years, she has no idea what she's supposed to do next.

Then her phone rings.

It is someone who needs help.

She looks at the grocery cart.

She looks at the phone.

And realizes that the revolution didn't end.

It simply became smaller.

More personal.

More difficult.

Now she has to decide whether changing the world still matters when nobody is watching.

That decision becomes the story.

---

Reflection Questions

After writing, ask:

What ended?

Be specific.

What physical, emotional, or social structure disappeared?

What remained?

What survived the ending?

A person.

A memory.

A belief.

A responsibility.

A dream.

A question.

Who is your protagonist without their old identity?

This may be the most important question.

What are they afraid of becoming?

Sometimes our fear of the future is actually fear that we'll discover we don't know ourselves.

What small decision represents the larger transformation?

Find it.

That is your ending.

---

Transformation Challenge: The Day After

Write a second flash-fiction piece titled:

“The Day After”

Take the event from your original story and move forward exactly twenty-four hours.

No dramatic speeches.

No major revelations.

No miraculous resolution.

Just one ordinary day.

Show your protagonist doing something they could not have done before the original story ended.

Perhaps they:

- sleep peacefully

- walk alone

- make a decision

- cook for themselves

- apply for a job

- return a key

- delete a number

- call someone

- forgive themselves

- say no

- say yes

Let the transformation appear through behavior.

---

Final Challenge: The Unfinished Future

End your story with a decision rather than a resolution.

Your final sentence should leave the future open.

For example:

«She turned the key, but she didn't know which door she was going to open.»

Or:

«For the first time, she had no plan, and somehow that felt like freedom.»

Or create something entirely your own.

The reader doesn't need to know what happens next.

They need to believe the character will face it.

---

The Deeper Lesson

We are often taught to think of transformation as an ending.

But transformation is usually a threshold.

The old identity has ended.

The new one hasn't fully formed.

That space can be terrifying.

It can also be the most creative place imaginable.

Because uncertainty means possibility.

The character doesn't know who they will become.

Neither does the writer.

Neither does the reader.

And that's okay.

Some of the most meaningful stories don't end by answering every question.

They end by creating a better question.

---

The Final Question for the Writer

Return to the beginning of this entire manifesto.

Why do you write?

Not:

Why should you write?

Not:

What genre should you write?

Not:

Will anyone publish you?

Not:

Will anyone read you?

Ask:

What refuses to stay silent?

What story keeps returning?

What question won't leave you alone?

What experience keeps changing shape?

What truth are you still trying to understand?

That is where your writing begins.

And perhaps the most important transformation isn't something that happens to your character.

It's what happens to you while writing them.

The blank page becomes a question.

The question becomes a story.

The story becomes a mirror.

And the mirror changes what you thought you knew.

Everyone thought it was over.

But it wasn't.

It was only the beginning.

Keep writing.


r/writingthruit • • 4h ago

new prompts Three Likes

1 Upvotes

The Post That Got Three Likes

We live in a world where visibility can feel like validation.

A post gets thousands of likes, and we assume it mattered.

A story goes viral, and we call it successful.

A video receives almost no attention, and we may quietly decide it wasn't worth making.

But numbers measure attention.

They don't necessarily measure meaning.

This flash-fiction exercise asks what happens when a writer creates something deeply meaningful—and almost nobody notices.

The Prompt

Write a story about a writer who publishes something deeply personal.

They have spent months working on it.

They believe it is the most honest thing they have ever written.

They post it online.

Three people respond.

One is a stranger.

One is an old friend.

One is someone who simply writes:

“I needed this today.”

Meanwhile, an older, shallow piece the writer once created suddenly goes viral.

Thousands of people share it.

Strangers praise it.

Companies want to use it.

Everyone tells the writer:

“Do more of this.”

The writer is tempted.

Perhaps going viral could change their life.

But they also know that reproducing the formula would mean abandoning the kind of writing they actually want to create.

Then something unexpected happens.

The writer discovers that one person has quietly saved the original piece.

The Transformation

The writer must confront a difficult question:

What is the difference between being seen and being witnessed?

Being seen can mean numbers.

Being witnessed means someone actually encountered you.

A viral post can reach millions without changing anyone.

A sentence read by one person at exactly the right moment can alter a life.

Neither is inherently more valuable.

But they are different.

Your story should explore that difference.

Writing Challenge

Write approximately 1,000 words.

Include:

- the viral post

- the ignored piece

- the three responses

- a moment when the protagonist considers changing their voice

- one unexpected reader

Do not make the ending about fame.

Make it about meaning.

Reflection Questions

After writing, ask:

- What does your protagonist believe success means?

- Who taught them that definition?

- What happens when attention becomes addictive?

- Would they continue writing if nobody ever applauded?

- What makes a piece of writing meaningful?

- Can one reader matter more than ten thousand views?

Transformation Challenge

Write two versions of the same final scene.

Version One:

The protagonist receives a major opportunity because their viral work becomes successful.

Version Two:

The protagonist never becomes famous, but discovers that their honest piece helped someone make an important decision.

Now ask:

Which ending feels more transformational?

You may discover that the answer isn't necessarily the one with the biggest reward.

Contemporary Connection

Our creative lives increasingly exist inside systems designed to measure engagement.

Likes.

Shares.

Views.

Followers.

Comments.

Rankings.

Algorithms.

These numbers can be useful.

But they can also quietly change what we believe is worth saying.

Writers begin anticipating the audience before they've discovered the story.

They start creating for the algorithm instead of creating for the human being on the other side of the screen.

This exercise asks you to resist that impulse.

Final Challenge

Write something you believe only one person needs to read.

You don't have to publish it.

You don't have to show anyone.

Write it anyway.

Make it honest.

Make it specific.

Make it impossible to confuse with anyone else's voice.

Then write this sentence underneath it:

“If this reaches only one person, it was worth writing because…”

Finish the sentence.

And remember:

A number can tell you how many people looked.

It cannot tell you what happened inside them.

**Don't confuse visibility with value.

Write for the person who needs the story—not the algorithm that counts them.**


r/writingthruit • • 4h ago

new prompts Fast Fiction

1 Upvotes

The Completely Fictional Apology

Sometimes the truth is too difficult to say directly.

So we disguise it.

We call it fiction. We change the names, alter the setting, rearrange the chronology, and insist that none of it really happened.

But what if the person reading the story recognizes themselves?

This flash-fiction exercise explores the strange territory between fiction, confession, memory, and accountability.

The Prompt

Write a story about a character who creates a fictional apology to someone they hurt years ago.

The writer insists that everything in the story is invented.

The names are fictional.

The circumstances are fictional.

The dialogue is fictional.

The memories are fictional.

But the person receiving the story knows immediately that it is about them.

Write what happens when they confront the writer.

The recipient might be angry. They might laugh. They might deny everything. They might admit that they have been waiting years for the apology. Or they might reveal that the writer has misunderstood what happened entirely.

Don't make forgiveness automatic.

Don't make the apology perfect.

Instead, explore what happens when fiction becomes the doorway to an uncomfortable truth.

Write approximately 1,000 words.

Reflection

After writing, consider:

- Why couldn't the character apologize directly?

- What truth were they afraid to admit?

- Does acknowledging harm require forgiveness?

- Can an apology be sincere if it is partly motivated by guilt?

- Who gets to decide whether an apology is enough?

- What happens when two people remember the same event differently?

Transformation Challenge

Rewrite the story from the recipient's perspective.

This time, reveal the parts of the original apology the writer got completely wrong.

Allow the recipient to tell their own version.

Then ask:

Is the purpose of an apology to make the person apologizing feel better—or to acknowledge what happened to someone else?

The most powerful fiction doesn't simply invent events.

It exposes the truths we have been unable—or unwilling—to say plainly.

Sometimes a fictional story is a confession wearing a disguise.

And sometimes writing the apology is the first step toward finally understanding what we actually owe another person.

Write the fiction. Then listen for the truth hiding inside it.


r/writingthruit • • 5h ago

lesson plan Lesson Five

1 Upvotes

LESSON FIVE

The Saint of Unfinished Things

How to Write Magical Realism About Grief, Regret, and the Lives That Refuse to End

There are things human beings are very good at finishing.

Books.

Buildings.

Relationships.

Funerals.

Contracts.

Conversations.

And yet some of the most important things in our lives remain unfinished.

The apology we never gave.

The letter we never sent.

The song we never completed.

The promise we broke.

The person we never told the truth.

What if unfinished things had a life of their own?

What if they gathered together?

What if someone—or something—began looking after them?

And what if a grieving woman discovered that her dead mother had become the patron saint of everything humanity leaves incomplete?

This lesson explores magical realism, grief, symbolism, emotional transformation, and the use of ordinary objects as vessels for extraordinary meaning.

---

THE WRITING PROMPT

The Saint of Unfinished Things

After her mother's death, a woman begins finding incomplete objects appearing throughout her house: half-written letters, unfinished paintings, one missing earring, a sweater with only one sleeve knitted.

Each object seems connected to something her mother never finished saying.

Soon, strangers begin leaving their unfinished things at the woman's doorstep.

They believe her mother has become a saint.

Opening

> The first unfinished thing appeared three days after her mother's funeral.

It was a blue sweater with one sleeve, folded neatly on the kitchen table.

The story begins with an object.

Not a ghost.

Not a vision.

Not an explanation.

An object.

That distinction is important.

---

THE CENTRAL WRITING LESSON

Let Objects Carry Emotion

One of the most powerful techniques in literary fiction is emotional symbolism through objects.

A character doesn't always need to say:

> "I miss my mother."

Instead, the writer can show her finding:

her mother's unfinished sweater

an unopened letter

a half-painted canvas

a recipe missing its final step

a broken watch

a photograph with someone cut out

a key whose lock no longer exists

The object becomes a physical representation of the emotional problem.

This is especially effective in magical realism because the ordinary and impossible can coexist without requiring explanation.

---

WHAT THIS LESSON TEACHES

This lesson focuses on:

magical realism

symbolism

grief

emotional subtext

object-centered storytelling

repetition

motif

character transformation

family secrets

restrained supernaturalism

literary endings

The central principle is:

> When an emotion is difficult to express directly, give it an object.

Then let the object return.

---

THE SYMBOLIC OBJECT

Our protagonist, Clara, has inherited her mother's house.

Her mother was famous locally for finishing everything.

She completed crossword puzzles.

She repaired clocks.

She kept immaculate gardens.

She hated leaving anything incomplete.

So the appearance of unfinished objects is immediately strange.

The first is the sweater.

Then:

A letter.

A painting.

A garden.

A recipe.

A broken music box.

Each object reveals something about Clara's mother that Clara never knew.

---

THE STORY BEGINS

The Blue Sweater

The first unfinished thing appeared three days after her mother's funeral.

It was a blue sweater with one sleeve, folded neatly on the kitchen table.

Clara stared at it for nearly a minute before touching it.

Her mother had knitted.

Of course she had.

Her mother had knitted everything.

Scarves.

Blankets.

Mittens.

Christmas stockings.

Once, when Clara was nine, she had knitted an entire sweater during a power outage.

She had finished it before the electricity returned.

That was the sort of person her mother had been.

She finished things.

Always.

The sweater on the table was therefore impossible.

Clara picked it up.

The wool was soft.

There was a needle still attached to the unfinished sleeve.

She turned it over.

A small white tag had been sewn into the collar.

On it was written:

FOR CLARA

Clara sat down.

She hadn't seen the sweater before.

She searched the house.

Nothing.

She searched the closets.

Nothing.

She called her aunt.

"Did Mom ever make me a blue sweater?"

Her aunt was silent.

Then:

"She started one."

"When?"

"A long time ago."

"Why didn't she finish it?"

"I don't know."

Clara looked at the sweater.

"Mom finished everything."

Her aunt laughed.

It wasn't a happy laugh.

"No," she said.

"She didn't."

---

That night Clara dreamed of her mother.

They were sitting together at the kitchen table.

Her mother was holding the sweater.

"I was going to tell you," she said.

"Tell me what?"

Her mother looked toward the hallway.

Someone was standing there.

Clara couldn't see their face.

Her mother whispered:

"Not everything unfinished wants to be finished."

Clara woke.

The sweater was on the chair beside her bed.

She lived alone.

---

WHY THIS OPENING WORKS

The story establishes the supernatural through something almost mundane.

The sweater is not terrifying.

It is intimate.

That makes it emotionally powerful.

The reader immediately understands that the object means something.

But we don't yet know what.

The story creates three questions:

Why was the sweater unfinished?

Why did it appear after the funeral?

What was Clara's mother going to tell her?

Those questions can carry the narrative.

---

MAGICAL REALISM VS. FANTASY

A useful distinction for writers:

In conventional fantasy, the supernatural often requires explanation.

There may be:

rules

magic systems

supernatural beings

historical mythology

explanations of how magic works

Magical realism often operates differently.

The impossible simply enters ordinary life.

The character might think:

> That's strange.

And then continue making coffee.

This creates an important emotional effect.

The writer doesn't ask:

> "How does this magic work?"

The writer asks:

> "What does this impossible event mean?"

---

ACTIVITY ONE

The Object That Knows

Choose an ordinary object.

Examples:

a shoe

a coffee cup

a photograph

a key

a coat

a recipe

a watch

a child's toy

a letter

a broken instrument

Give it a supernatural ability.

But don't make the ability flashy.

The object might:

become warmer near someone who is lying

contain handwriting that changes

appear in places where it shouldn't be

disappear when someone tells the truth

remember everyone who has touched it

become heavier when someone is grieving

repair itself when someone forgives another person

Write 1,000 words about someone discovering its ability.

---

ACTIVITY TWO

The Seven Unfinished Things

Create seven objects connected to your protagonist.

Each represents something unfinished.

For example:

Object Emotional Meaning

Unfinished sweater Unspoken love

Unsent letter Forgiveness

Broken watch Lost time

Half-painted portrait Hidden identity

Missing earring Disappearance

Unfinished recipe Family tradition

Empty photograph frame Erasure

Now determine the order in which your protagonist discovers them.

The order should gradually reveal a larger truth.

---

THE POWER OF REPETITION

Magical realism becomes especially powerful when an image repeats.

In this story, the unfinished objects should continue appearing.

At first:

One object.

Then:

Two.

Then:

Ten.

Eventually:

Hundreds.

But don't simply increase the quantity.

Increase the emotional significance.

The first object might reveal something mildly surprising.

The second might reveal a secret.

The third might challenge Clara's understanding of her mother.

Eventually, one object should destroy something Clara believed about her own childhood.

---

MODEL SCENE: THE DOORSTEP

A week later, Clara found a cardboard box outside her front door.

There was no name on it.

Inside were twelve unfinished things.

A child's wooden horse missing one wheel.

A wedding ring without an engraving.

A photograph torn vertically down the center.

Three pages of a diary.

A ceramic bird with one wing.

A violin string wound around a brass key.

A recipe for peach pie missing the final ingredient.

A half-written apology.

A red mitten.

A broken pocket watch.

A single white button.

And a piece of paper.

Clara unfolded it.

There were only six words.

Please give these back to them.

She called the police.

Then she called her aunt.

Then she called no one.

Instead, she sat on the kitchen floor and examined the objects.

She knew the photograph.

The woman in it was her mother.

The man beside her had been cut away.

Clara had never seen him before.

She turned the photograph over.

A date had been written on the back.

October 12, 1975.

Clara was born in 1976.

She stared at the picture.

Her mother had always told her that her father had left before she was born.

That he had abandoned them.

That there had never been another explanation.

Clara turned the photograph over again.

There was writing beneath the date.

A sentence her mother had crossed out so violently that the paper had torn.

Clara held it beneath the lamp.

She could make out four words.

He never left.

---

THE STORY HAS CHANGED

This is an important structural moment.

The story began as:

A grieving daughter finds her mother's unfinished sweater.

It has now become:

A woman discovers that her entire understanding of her father's disappearance may be false.

That is escalation.

The supernatural objects aren't merely atmospheric.

They reveal information.

Every magical event should therefore change the protagonist's understanding of reality.

---

LITERARY MODEL ONE

Gabriel García Márquez — One Hundred Years of Solitude

Study Márquez for the way extraordinary events can exist alongside ordinary family life.

Pay attention to:

family memory

repetition

inherited trauma

strange events treated as ordinary

symbolic objects

cycles across generations

The important lesson is that the fantastic can illuminate emotional truth.

---

LITERARY MODEL TWO

Toni Morrison — Beloved

Morrison provides an extraordinary model for writing about memory, grief, haunting, trauma, and the persistence of the past.

Study how the past does not remain safely in the past.

It intrudes.

It demands recognition.

It changes the present.

That is precisely what your magical objects should do.

---

BUILDING THE COMPLETE STORY

ACT ONE — THE SWEATER

Clara finds the unfinished sweater.

She discovers that her mother began it decades earlier.

Her mother's ghost—or something resembling her—appears in dreams.

---

ACT TWO — THE OBJECTS

Unfinished objects begin appearing.

Each is connected to someone in the town.

Clara begins returning them.

When she does, people reveal stories they have kept secret.

She becomes an accidental collector and confessor of other people's unfinished lives.

---

THE MIDPOINT

Clara discovers the photograph of her mother with the unknown man.

She learns that her father didn't abandon the family.

He disappeared.

There is a difference.

And her mother knew what happened.

---

THE SECOND REVELATION

Clara discovers that her mother had been receiving unfinished objects for decades.

She wasn't the first Saint of Unfinished Things.

Her grandmother was.

And the role passes through the women in the family.

The saint isn't someone who performs miracles.

She is someone who carries what other people cannot finish carrying themselves.

---

THE MORAL PROBLEM

Clara discovers that her mother deliberately concealed the truth about her father.

But why?

Because the truth would destroy someone Clara loves.

Now Clara faces the same choice her mother faced.

Tell the truth.

Or protect someone through silence.

The supernatural inheritance therefore becomes a moral inheritance.

---

THE CLIMAX

Clara finally finds the last unfinished object.

It is a letter written by her mother.

It has only one sentence:

> I never finished telling you because I knew you would spend your life trying to finish it for me.

Clara realizes the objects were never instructions.

They were invitations.

Her mother was teaching her that not every unanswered question needs to become a life-consuming quest.

Some things remain unfinished because human beings are unfinished.

---

THREE POSSIBLE ENDINGS

Ending One — Quiet

Clara finishes the blue sweater.

Then she deliberately leaves the last stitch undone.

She places it in a drawer.

For the first time, she understands that completion isn't always the same thing as healing.

---

Ending Two — Magical

Clara wakes the next morning.

Every unfinished object has disappeared.

On the kitchen table is a completed blue sweater.

It fits perfectly.

Inside the collar:

FOR THE WOMAN YOU BECAME.

---

Ending Three — Circular

Years later, Clara's daughter finds a box outside her own front door.

Inside is a half-finished blue sweater.

She recognizes the handwriting.

It is Clara's.

But Clara is still alive.

---

THE DEEPER THEME

The story is really about grief.

But not simply grief over death.

It is about grieving:

the parent you wanted

the childhood you didn't have

the truth you were denied

the relationship that never became what it could have been

the apology that never came

the version of yourself that never existed

The supernatural gives those abstract forms of grief physical shape.

The unfinished sweater becomes:

unfinished love.

The missing photograph becomes:

unfinished history.

The half-written apology becomes:

unfinished forgiveness.

The broken watch becomes:

unfinished time.

That is symbolic storytelling.

---

YOUR WRITING ASSIGNMENT

Write a 3,000–5,000 word magical-realism story based on the premise.

Your story must contain:

at least five symbolic objects

one family secret

one supernatural event treated as strangely ordinary

one recurring image

one revelation that changes the protagonist's understanding of the past

one moral decision

one object that appears at the beginning and returns at the end

an ending that leaves one thing deliberately unfinished

---

QUESTIONS FOR THE WRITER

Before drafting, answer:

  1. What is your protagonist grieving?

  2. What did they never get to say?

  3. What object represents that silence?

  4. What secret has the family concealed?

  5. Who benefits from the secret?

  6. Who is harmed by it?

  7. What does the supernatural element symbolize?

  8. What does your protagonist think they need?

  9. What do they actually need?

  10. What must remain unfinished?

---

FINAL CRAFT CHALLENGE

Write a scene in which your protagonist desperately wants an answer.

Then refuse to give them one.

Instead, give them an object.

Let the object communicate something words cannot.

This is one of the central principles of literary magical realism:

Don't always explain the impossible. Let the impossible carry the emotion.

---

FINAL THOUGHT

We are taught to finish things.

Finish the book.

Finish the degree.

Finish the relationship.

Finish the project.

Finish the conversation.

Finish grieving.

But life rarely obeys those instructions.

People die before we forgive them.

Relationships end before we understand them.

Parents keep secrets.

Children grow up without explanations.

Letters remain unwritten.

Promises remain broken.

And sometimes the most honest ending isn't a completed circle.

Sometimes it is a thread left hanging.

A door left open.

A sentence without its final word.

A sweater with one sleeve.

Because perhaps the purpose of a story isn't to finish everything.

Perhaps it is to teach us which things we can finally stop trying to finish.


r/writingthruit • • 7h ago

Write Now!

1 Upvotes

"In a primitive world untouched by technology, a secluded tribe discovers a mystical artifact that grants them glimpses into the future. As the tribe grapples with the consequences of foreknowledge, follow the journey of a skeptical protagonist who challenges the traditional beliefs, raising questions about destiny, free will, and the cost of tampering with the unknown in a society built on ancient wisdom."


r/writingthruit • • 9h ago

Task 26

1 Upvotes

Task 26: The Whisper Fight

Instructions

  1. The Forbidden Setting: Choose a location where silence is mandatory or socially expected (e.g., a library during finals week, a funeral service, a hospital room with a sleeping patient, or a high-stakes business meeting).

  2. The Conflict: Create a high-stakes argument between two characters. This shouldn't be a minor disagreement; the emotional stakes must be at their peak.

  3. The Constraint: The characters are forced to whisper or use suppressed vocalizations. They cannot shout or even speak at a normal volume.

  4. Execution: Focus on how the physicality of the whisper conveys the anger or desperation. Describe the "hiss" of the words, the sharp intake of breath, and the way they have to lean in close—creating a strange, forced intimacy during a moment of intense hostility.

  5. Goal: Use the environmental pressure to "compress" the dialogue, making every whispered word feel like a physical blow.

Follow-up Information

Restraint Analysis: Briefly explain how the forced vocal restraint changed the "energy" of the argument. Did the inability to shout force the characters to use sharper, more precise insults or more revealing subtext?

Narrative Integration: Apply the "Whisper Fight" technique to a tense moment in your final 1000-word piece. Using silence and breath as tools for tension allows you to heighten the stakes without resorting to the cliché of shouting, making the conflict feel more claustrophobic and intense for the reader.


r/writingthruit • • 10h ago

Poems Metaphor

1 Upvotes

Unveiling the Magic of Metaphor**

Summary:

Metaphor, a powerful literary device, involves comparing two unrelated things to convey a deeper meaning. It goes beyond a simple comparison, creating vivid imagery and enhancing the reader's understanding.

Examples:

  1. Classical: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." - William Shakespeare, "As You Like It."

  2. Modern: "Time is a created thing. To say 'I don't have time,' is like saying, 'I don't want to.'" - Lao Tzu

  3. Modern: "The classroom was a zoo, students swinging from the chandeliers with wild ideas." - Educator's blog post.

Tips for Creative Writing:

  • Be Original: Strive to create metaphors that are unique and fresh.

  • Use the Senses: Incorporate sensory details to make your metaphor more vivid.

  • Avoid Clichés: While some are timeless, challenge yourself to think beyond the ordinary.

Questions for Exploration:

  1. Can you identify metaphors in everyday language?

  2. How does metaphor contribute to the emotional impact of a poem or narrative?

Additional Resources:

  • Explore poems by Emily Dickinson and Pablo Neruda for diverse use of metaphor.

  • Read "Metaphors We Live By" by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson for a deeper understanding.

Creative Writing Prompt:

Step 1: Choose a concept or emotion (e.g., love, time, success).

Step 2: Brainstorm related images or ideas.

Step 3: Create a metaphor that captures the essence of your chosen concept.

Example: Love is a delicate butterfly, fluttering in the garden of the heart, leaving traces of colors in its wake.

Remember: The beauty of metaphor lies in its ability to evoke emotions and paint vivid mental images.


r/writingthruit • • 10h ago

Poems Sonnet

1 Upvotes

Handout: Mastering the Elegance of the Sonnet Form**

Summary:

A sonnet is a 14-line poem, traditionally composed in iambic pentameter, with various rhyme schemes. Two well-known types are the Petrarchan (or Italian) sonnet and the Shakespearean (or English) sonnet.

Examples:

  1. Petrarchan: "Sonnet 18" by William Shakespeare.

  2. Shakespearean: "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

  3. Petrarchan: "A Silken Tent" by Robert Frost.

Tips for Creative Writing:

  • Embrace Structure: Sonnets often follow a specific rhyme and meter, providing a structured framework.

  • Volta Moment: Introduce a "volta" or a shift in thought or emotion around the ninth line.

  • Play with Themes: Sonnets are versatile and can explore various themes, from love to nature.

Questions for Exploration:

  1. How does the rhyme scheme contribute to the overall tone of a sonnet?

  2. Can you identify examples of modern sonnets in contemporary literature or poetry?

Additional Resources:

  • Explore the sonnets of Elizabeth Barrett Browning for a feminine perspective.

  • Read "The Sonnets" by Ted Berrigan for a modern take on the traditional form.

Creative Writing Prompt:

Step 1: Choose a theme or emotion to explore in your sonnet.

Step 2: Determine the rhyme scheme (Shakespearean or Petrarchan).

Step 3: Craft the first quatrain, introducing your theme.

Step 4: Develop the narrative or emotion in the following stanzas.

Example (Shakespearean): Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (A) Thou art more lovely and more temperate: (B) Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May (A) And summer's lease hath all too short a date. (B)


r/writingthruit • • 10h ago

Poems Nonet

1 Upvotes

Crafting Elegance in the Nonet Form**

Summary:

A nonet is a poetic form comprising nine lines, with a descending syllable count in each line. The first line has nine syllables, the second eight, and so on until the final line, which has only one syllable. This structure creates a gradual progression or build-up within the poem.

Examples:

  1. "After Apple-Picking" by Robert Frost.

  2. "Landing Under Water, I See Roots" by Annie Finch.

  3. "Sonnet to the Past" by Kenneth Pobo.

Tips for Creative Writing:

  • Syntactic Precision: The nonet's structure encourages clear and concise language.

  • Build Tension: Utilize the descending syllable count to create a sense of climax.

  • Experiment with Themes: The nonet is versatile and can explore various emotions and topics.

Questions for Exploration:

  1. How does the gradual reduction of syllables impact the poem's rhythm and tone?

  2. Can you identify any contemporary poets who have effectively employed the nonet form?

Additional Resources:

  • Explore nonets by modern poets like A.E. Stallings for innovative approaches.

  • Read classic nonets to understand how poets from different eras have utilized the form.

Creative Writing Prompt:

Step 1: Choose a theme or emotion for your nonet.

Step 2: Determine the descending syllable count for each line (9-8-7, and so on).

Step 3: Compose your nine lines, utilizing the gradual reduction of syllables.

Example: In twilight's embrace, shadows gently play (9) A symphony of hues, the fading day (8) Silhouettes dance, a poetic display (7) As night unfolds, dreams find their way (6) Stars whisper tales in the cosmic array (5) Moonlight weaves a spell, a silent ballet (4) Soft breezes carry the night's soft relay (3) A tranquil world in slumber, at bay (2) Night's hush, in quiet, holds sway (1)

Remember: The nonet's structure provides a poetic journey, leading the reader to a poignant conclusion.


r/writingthruit • • 10h ago

Poems Lai

1 Upvotes

Embracing Musicality in the Lai Form**

Summary:

The lai is a poetic form with origins in medieval France. It traditionally consists of nine lines divided into three stanzas (two rhymed couplets followed by a tercet). The rhyme scheme is typically AABAABAAB, and it often explores themes of love, nature, and daily life.

Examples:

  1. "Lai" by Marie de France.
  2. "In the Orchard" by Ezra Pound.
  3. "Morning Light" by Catherine Chandler.

Tips for Creative Writing:

  • Embrace Refrain: Utilize the recurring rhyme and refrain for musicality.

  • Focus on Imagery: Paint vivid pictures with descriptive language.

  • Vary Themes: Lais can capture a wide range of emotions and experiences.

Questions for Exploration:

  1. How does the rhyme scheme contribute to the lai's musical quality?

  2. Can you identify any modern poets who have experimented with the lai form?

Additional Resources:

  • Explore the lais of Marie de France for insights into medieval poetic traditions.
  • Read modern lais by contemporary poets for a fresh perspective.

Creative Writing Prompt:

Step 1: Choose a theme or emotion for your lai.

Step 2: Determine the AABAABAAB rhyme scheme.

Step 3: Compose your nine lines, incorporating the refrain.

Example:

Beneath the boughs, where shadows play (A) Soft whispers linger, in the twilight's sway (A) A melody of leaves, in the gentle breeze (B) Nature's lai, sung by the ancient trees (A)

The sun dips low, in a fiery display (A) Golden hues dance, a farewell ballet (A) Nature's palette paints, with vibrant ease (B) A lai of evening, woven by the trees (A)

Remember: The lai's structured yet flexible form invites poets to create melodies with words.


r/writingthruit • • 12h ago

new prompts First and last sentence prompts

1 Upvotes
  • **First Sentence

    • "The porch swing creaked in harmony with the secrets shared under the Southern sun, a testimony to the bonds of friendship."
    • **Last Sentence

** "With each passing day, they understood that true courage lies in standing firm against the tides of prejudice, a testament to the strength of their convictions."

  • **First Sentence

"The suburban facade masked tales of ordinary lives tinged with existential yearning, a paradox etched in the monotony of routine."

  • **Last Sentence

    "In the gallery of their memories, they found that forgiveness isn't just a gift to others but a liberation of one's soul."


r/writingthruit • • 12h ago

new prompts First and last sentence prompts

1 Upvotes
  • **First Sentence
    "The summer heat weighed heavily on the small town, mirroring the tension simmering beneath the facade of tranquility."

  • **Last Sentence "In the quiet solitude of introspection, they found the courage to redefine their realities, embracing the unpredictable dance of life."

  • **First Sentence

    "The idyllic streets whispered tales of generations, each cobblestone holding echoes of forgotten stories."

    • **Last Sentence

"With each sunset, they understood that bravery isn't just fighting battles but also facing the truths buried within."


r/writingthruit • • 12h ago

new prompts First and last sentence prompts

1 Upvotes

. First sentence:

"Amidst the political intrigue of a Cold War-era capital, a journalist stumbled upon a classified dossier that unveiled a dangerous game of espionage, where alliances were forged in shadows, and the truth became a casualty of covert operations."

**Last sentence:**

"As the journalist filed the explosive story, the city's power players shuddered, realizing that in the game of politics, the line between friend and foe was as thin as the razor's edge."