Write about what it would be like conducting interviews for a new villain in your story if your previous one quit out of no where.
Writing a novel isn’t easy in the first place and it really ruined my Monday when my villain quit out of nowhere. “These conditions are unbearable! I asked for red carpets, red candies, cranberry juice and imps to be with me every step that I take. I don’t see any imps. Do you see imps anywhere?” She screamed at her assistant with a fist full of her shirt. Nicole, who had only been Malicious Intent’s assistant for no longer than a month, looked as though she could cry. “I despise this place and everyone who works here. You’ll never write another book in this town so long as I live.” The woman dripping venom, dressed in an all black latex suit seethed every word out like it could kill in the right context and stormed away. “But your fictional!” I called behind her before sighing as I watched her back leave. Dammit, I’d have to find a new villain for my novel and worse kill of Malicious Intent in a way that won’t get me murdered. I decided to post an ad on indeed.com, “Villain wanted for first novel. Evil but understanding. Male or female. Come alone to the Starbucks on 6th ave.” Would I regret this? Doesn’t matter. I have to get someone in here as quick as possible no matter what. The following day, I had about twenty interviews. Let me just say that one through nineteen were horrible! I mean horrendous. I’m talking vicious bunny rabbits, evil toddlers and even chocolate loving vampires. Honestly, the day had been so depressing that this novelist was ready to call it a day. That however, was until number twenty strolled in long legs and heels visible a mile away. She commands the room like any bombshell would. She wore a skin tight red dress and black red bottomed shoes that clicked when she approached. “Do you still need a villain?” The question rang through the room with a sultry smooth voice that slides to my ear drum like water raging down a river in the amazon. “Sit.” My voice so weak compared to this queen. “Here’s the short. La Reina, age twenty seven, small army of about three hundred servants, weapons expert also temptress.” Literally a queen sits before me and I am in awe. Her blonde hair swings below her breast when her head moves. Her perfect plump burgundy lips touching and pulling apart again and again. She made me feel things no man had before. La Reina was out right sexy. “You start tomorrow.” The only three words I could muster up while keeping my dignity intact.
C/R Anon-Chan 2017
Update: I meant to credit Brian A. Kelms @ writersdigest.com
He has great prompts. Anyone interested in creative writing should check him out.
So I’m doing a writing prompt series. I hope you guys enjoy. This is the first post in the series. They are so random so don’t take them too seriously.
Prompt Uno: Imagine the life of a stray dog or cat and write about it.
Side mission. A black cat under the yellow street light late at night in an alley. Side mission. I’m already so busy with my main story and I’m on a deadline but again… side mission. There is a light snow falling and I’m heading home but the sight calls out to me. Freaking side mission. This cat wants something from me. This cat needs something from me, obviously. Or it wouldn’t be beneath this light so late at night, right? I have no choice but to ask it this question. ‘What? What do you want from me?’ Which of course he will reply to with something like, ‘Well there’s a guy and I need you to investigate him. He lives on North hill.’ Okay, that’s great cat but I live here, on south hill. So that’s kind of a mission. A side mission to be exact. ‘Well I’ll pay you 5000¥.’ Oh yeah, I would love to do it for $5 dollars USD. No choice but to so I’ll traverse on to take care of the guy. This stray cat living under a light in an alley on a cold night like this. The snow blowing. He must be freezing. I think I’ll take his mission and bring him with me. When is the last time he’s eaten or been bathed? Does he belong to someone? More importantly, why does he talk?
So I want to do some reviews…
My plan is to do some product reviews and also some television reviews. So if I do a series review on lets’s say Jane The Virgin, I’ll talk about the show as a whole. If I’m doing The Voice then I will do an episode or maybe two in one post. Product reviews will feature product photos, before an after photos on a model if applicable or available. Please look forward to that content. Fighting.
Update: Also would love to do Dear Anon-Chan letters… you write to me about a topic and I try to answer you the best I can.
A few decades ago, I was born to drug addict parents. They had been addicts long before I was born and they would be long after. The first time I realized this was around eight years old. My third grade best friend invited me to a New Years Eve sleepover. It was the first time I had gotten an invitation to something and wanted to go. It was at nine pm on December 31st. I was so excited when my mom said I could go and that she would take me and I wouldn’t have to bring my sister (younger by four years). I can’t really remember what happened in between the excitement and the next event where we are going to my aunts house that afternoon. She lived on the other side of town, I’d say 20 minutes away from our home in Kentwood. I hated going there because my cousin braided our hair when we were there and it hurt at the time. Laughing but serious. And secondly, my sister would be all over me while my parents were locked in a room with my aunt for about 45 minutes or so. The first thing I noticed is that my dad always made this weird noise when we were there. It was like he couldn’t breath and kept sucking in for air but only could do it through a straw. This is called hyperventilating. I didn’t know this at the time but learned this as an adult. There also was a smell that I can’t describe but I would know it from anywhere. It was the smell of burning cocaine mixed with baking powder. Crack Cocaine. My mom would just seem out this world like she didn’t understand and wouldn’t remember things. Her eyes dilated and her ears non functional. I didn’t know what was wrong with them but I called them out on it constantly. It grew dark outside and I grew anxious. I questioned why we didn’t leave and why my dad kept drinking. He threatened my mom when she wanted to leave and when she tried to or succeeded at leaving. He always caught up to her. She cried a lot and so did I. We did eventually leave but the sun was rising, Happy New Years. The party was over. It was three am and I was beyond devastated. I missed my chance to get away. I ended up spending the night the next day I think but I cried all night the night prior. I would never forget this. It would not be the first event or moment in life I would miss or would not have because my parents, both drug addicts and one an alcoholic, choose their vices over my sister and I.
CR Anon-Chan 2017
Sometimes we can’t vocalize the things we have been through because we are afraid of what others will say or we don’t want to hear what they will say. Or in my case because the people who have caused me issues or are involved in my life story can’t admit to their wrongs. So I don’t intend to reveal who I am but I will tell you who I am if you know what I mean.
“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” – Oscar Wilde