Writing Challenge Day 2 - Untitled Prompt

I've been toying around with the idea of a prompt about a girl, probably my age, who's in this totally unfulfilling relationship with a guy. He's a little older than she (I'm 17 and the guy I'm basing this off off is 20) and it's mostly a physical relationship. She has few feelings for this guy. He's the only one who pays her any attention, and she was flirting with him because she likes being paid attention to, and likes the feeling of victory she gets whenever flirting progresses into something more, but there was nothing more than that, and she has no idea how to extricate herself from the relationship without there being some seriously weird consequences afterwards (they work together, so it would be very strange if they saw each other later. And all the magazines warned against workplace romances).

"Hey, you wanna come over this weekend?" he asked, looking at her hopefully. Her eyes glazed a little, and she processed the pros and cons of another weekend together. She wasn't sure how she had let the relationship go this far. She was just not interested in him, but she couldn't start refusing him without it being suspicious. Another dull Saturday would end up with him playing video games while she sat next to him, trying not to fall asleep. He'd want to sleep together and she'd comply because she was bored and wow, what a shitty forecast for the weekend.

She smiled, "yeah, sure, I'd love to come over," she said, the words slipping easily out of her mouth. He smiled back at her, then she grabbed his belt loop and pulled him in for a kiss. She claimed his mouth; he was very passive when it came to physical interaction and allowed her to take charge. He said she was passionate. She was just pissed.

The guy who I'm basing my male character off of smokes, and I wanted that to effect her too. I think she'll pick up the habit without even thinking about it. A very obvious symbol of how the relationship is impacting her.

"But that's not even funny," he said, after a pause.
She took a drag off her cigarette. Her eyes were dead as she said, "it's funny because I hate everyone."
He smiled and nodded like he understood. She knew he didn't, and his feigned interest made her more upset. If he really didn't want to listen to her, he could just tell her to be quiet. Or change the subject. Or bring something to the table himself, just once. But she knew he wouldn't. Because he was the most spineless individual she'd ever met, and being around him made her physically ill, but she still couldn't bring herself to leave him. She could find a way to look him in the eyes and say that she was through with him and all of his emotional bullshit, just like she'd done many times in the mirror.
 

She'd rehearsed and rewritten her breakup speech many times. Sometimes she'd said it quietly, whispering as though he might start to cry, reassuring him it wasn't his fault. Sometimes she'd screamed it, loud enough to make her own ears ring, pouring forth her irritation and disappointment in herself and him, making sure he knew just how much she loathed him. One draft contained many curse words, another none. Occasionally she cried, most times she hoped he did. One draft was very gentle, another was venomous. She spent more time thinking about how to break up with him than anything else, and it was making her irritable. She snapped at people at work, hung up on people when she didn't feel like talking. The relationships she felt she could control were taking a beating because she was coddling the one she hated the most. People began to pull away from her, and this made her even more angry and depressed. Her terrible boyfriend indirectly cost her a best friend and the peace with her parents.

Writing Challenge Day 1 - Prompt

Working on Stephen King's quote about the muse, I'm going to have write everyday either during 1st period, like now, or as soon as I get home. I can't have any excuses. But what I do need is prompts.

My mother recently gave me one: it's a take on Wuthering Heights, since we were joking that the golf course next to our house is like the moorland or the heath (which it really isn't. If you've ever been to either you know that the heath is a flat area of land with grass and scrubby shrubs, but few trees, and the moorland is essentially an elevated version of the heath, and they are seasonally waterlogged). So it's about a boy and a girl and they're separated by the golf course. Ah, young love and the troubles of distance and parents. Oh wait, was that Romeo and Juliet I heard? Maybe, but what can I say... "good artists borrow, great artists steal."

I'm also concurrently working on a 4,000+ word story about a futuristic soldier who is accidentally sent to the middle ages. Being a super-soldier is tough in 1042 C.E.

More soon, class is ending.

My Personal Writing Challenge

It's been a long time since I've posted anything, and that's really my fault. Well, obviously it's my fault, no one else runs this blog. But, I haven't been discplining myself the way I should be. Writing isn't something I should be doing as a past-time, or when I feel like I can be bothered. Like Stephen King said:

"There is a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative-fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer station. He lives in the ground. He’s a basement guy. You have to descend to his level, and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you. Do you think this is far? I think it’s fair. He may not be much to look at, that muse-guy, and he may not be much of a conversationalist (what I get out of mine is mostly surly grunts, unless he is on duty), but he’s got the inspiration. It’s right that you should do all the work and burn all the midnight oil, because the guy with the cigar and the little wings has got a bag of magic. There’s stuff in there that can change your life."
 

He goes on to say that the muse doesn't just come at your beck and call. You have to write everyday, at the same time everyday, and then when the muse knows that you'll be there, he'll show up to use some of that magic dust on you, and you'll write well.

 My creative writing teacher also told the class about a girl who challenged herself to post on her blog once a day for a hundred days. Well, I don't know about a hundred days, I don't even know if I want a time limit/expectation, but I do know that I really need to start writing again. I can't, for the life of me, get anything together. My notebook is filled with stories that I wasnt to finish, but I can't (I am already 11 pages into a long Sterek AU, but I can't finish it. I just got so overwhelmed by its scope, that I sort of shut down). Stories that are two paragraphs from being done, but I haven't published (I'm looking at you, Phlochte fic). And I have so many story ideas bouncing around my head that I can't even keep track of them (I'll write them down here and begin working on them, one at a time).

So if you, my followers, will bear with me here, I would like to write to you, about anything, once a day at least. It could be my life (school is winding down, but still as ludicrous as ever. Also, graduation is coming up and senior year is extra stupid) or some fiction writing (I just need to write stuff down). I'm not sure.

So this is going to be a pot-luck writing challenge. And if you have anything you want me to write about, always feel free to leave a comment and I can probably do something with it.