I am taking an introductory creative writing class at university this semester. The other day, we did an in-class writing assignment and I liked my result, so I wanted to share.
This was the prompt:
Write for twelve minutes continuously about everything you can think of in the universe.
Red shoes. Cats. Hats. Mice and men. Boots. Alarm clocks. Purple bracelets and pink berets. Short skirts and up-dos, curls and flat irons, hair. Harry Potter. Stars, moons, constellations, the sky, class. Astronomy, art, literature, work, and life. Music and the whole wide world. Braces and toothpicks and bicycles galore. Purple binders and blue pens with black ink and confusion. Sore arms and race cars and railroad tracks and running tracks and asphalt and the sweet pain of running mile after mile alone in the woods and racing. Trying and trying and failing and winning and cheers and support and the purpose of life—42! Questions and answers and what is the question? Douglas Adams might know. Trails and wood chips and rivers and running shoes and the desire to achieve and to grow and to distance oneself. Writing and reading and dreaming—competition is coming and am I ready? Medals and trophies and I want to run! Exclamation marks, whoa. What stories to tell. All the stories. Everyone’s story. Mine and yours and his and hers and somehow this comes back to my father. Two minutes on the clock. A quarter mile. Better be faster than that. Second hand ticking by and the glide of the pen on the page and an alarm and a stop sign and it’s red and so are apples, but not my everyday bracelet, which is purple.