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Writing scary poetry Have you ever written a scary poem? |
| no. horror is one of those territories I'd rather not be involved with for so many reasons. most simple one being that writing is sort of a relief activity for me and brining a sensation of horror to it just does not help. tried it once to let off steam but once I saw how "ugly" what I wrote was I decided to make it my last. |
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| Believe so. Even had 2 published in anthologies... |
Reply| Recently actually. It was for the sight sound and smell poem on here. |
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 The following winners for the February 2025 running of "Quotation Inspiration: Official Contest"  were chosen from the 10 entries submitted. Each entry was judged based on the criteria provided below. Congratulations to the following three winners:  First Place - "The Accountant From Hell" by Jeremy   Second Place - "Demons of Science" by Damon Nomad   Third Place - "Details" by D. Reed Whittaker Thank you to our pool of official contest judges, and to Jeff  for continuing to keep Writing.Com's official site contests running smoothly!  |
Our online world brings with it many opportunities for people of faith, but it can be tricky to navigate. How has the Internet helped or hindered you in your faith? |
| I get a lot of Christian stuff on my Facebook feed. It helps me keep my mind on God. |
| To quote TheBusmanPoet , "Hasn't done either. My spirituality does not come from online venues." This is where we agree with regard to process, though we are worlds apart in content. I was born into a much more Christian nation than it is today. Today, the religion is universalism, which makes me countercultural. Yet, I can't walk away from Jesus' declaration of Who He is. "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the Father, except by me." (John 14:6) I do get shamed for being countercultural to the universal religion of universalism, but I wouldn't be a very good Christian if I disagreed with Jesus' Own Words. This would be like the president of Coca Cola drinking a Pepsi. There's not a whole lot of loyalty in that image. I'm not sure if TheBusmanPoet and I will ever agree, regarding spiritual topics and religion, but he does have my respect for telling the world what he believes, while sticking to it. |
 Congratulations to the following three winners of "Good Deeds Get CASH!" in February 2025!  First ($50): Review of "Glitter, Glam, and Gutter Games"  by Lady H  Second ($25): Review of "Arrowing is Harrowing" by Choconut  Third ($10): Review of "Lilly's Christmas" by Robrayl Thanks to all of our February reviewers... We appreciate your feedback! ~~SM |
 Suspenseful Sunday This Week's Prompt: A subtle anomaly in a familiar setting teases a secret waiting to be unveiled... Use the prompt to come up with a great hook...  and then leave us hanging. We'll want to know more... but you're not giving it! |
| The sound that woke me up came from the kitchen. Going to the kitchen, I find a bowl of cereal and the milk sitting out. The cereal is still crunchy. Somebody is still here. |
| The kids were all lined up for an egg hunt. But there were no eggs to hunt. Assorted jelly beans and peeps was all they could find. |
 Hey Writing.Com, we'd like to know!  Tell us: What are you writing this weekend?  |
| H. C. Blakemore - I have, but it was painful. And I completely agree. At 2000 words I'm normally just getting warmed up. Most of what is written here and presented as short stories are really flash fiction, and most of what is presented as flash fiction are really anecdotes. Give me some beef in the story! I LOVE reading authors from the 70s and older that weren't constrained by word count. Give me Leon Uris, James Michener, James Clavell, etc. Tom Clancy comes later but is no less enjoyable for it. Go down EVERY rabbit hole! But this is the 21st century and this is an online forum so good luck getting someone to read anything longer than a junior high English paper. I should probably include a Get Off My Goddam Lawn at this point, too. Alas, history moves forward, not backwards. Insert comparison to Knut commanding the tide to not rise. |
Rick Dean - You forgot to yell at the clouds too!  In '22, I had one of those "eye-opening" moments that sort of relates. You see, for years the only things I wrote—that would be read by someone else—were IMs, status updates, and comments. Hoping to advance myself and my own opportunities, I took a couple classes at a local university. Because I'm neurologically disabled—and struggle with reading comprehension—I wrote an email to one of my professors when I was having trouble. I remember apologizing for how long my message was; despite it being less then 1k words. Not only did she help me understand, but she seemed genuinely shocked that I'd consider what I wrote to be "lengthy." Since then, I've stopped caring about how long my messages are. If someone doesn't want to read it, that's ok. I write and communicate to the best of my ability. If the way I do it doesn't work for someone else, that's perfectly alright. I can't change others, but I can remain true to myself and do my best. Sorry for the rant, but I guess I'm trying to say: "You're not alone, and it really doesn't matter that much." |
| H. C. Blakemore - Well said, sir. Ultimately I'm not trying to monetize this. I shoot pool with my friends a lot and while some of us are pretty good, the theme is "there's no scouts here." The point is to have fun. I write because I enjoy telling stories, and I enjoy refining my craft and getting better at it. It's natural to want a larger audience, but I'm not interested in changing who I am or how I write to do it. The converse is also true - it'd be incredibly presumptuous of me to tell someone else what to write, or worse, what NOT to write. Too many people actively in this world are already actively looking to be offended without me joining them. |
Two Word Tuesday Give us two words that best describe open windows... See a great response? Send them a Two Word Tuesday badge! from the left menu, "Points" --> "Merit Badges: Shop"  |
 and falling down them! Ever sat down to write one thing and ended up writing something else entirely? |
| I wrote a puppet scene that was inspired by an Aesop's fable but it turned into its own story. |
| Yes! Sort of... like same subject and all, but the words in my head when I first thought it and wasnt near pen or paper or my phone, did not turn out to be fully what I remembered thinking when I wrote it down... and then I am all like 😲! As in "That is not quite what I thought I was thinking." |
 Saturday Night Horror Prompt Using a sound, a sight, and a smell, describe a scene that would belong in a scary story. Leave a comment with your scene! |
| The dogs are barking, it's a fierce primal unrelenting din. I grab my mag light from the nightstand and throw on my bath robe. The only thing that got them this riled up was the coyotes that used to come and steal the calves. Hopping in my truck, I drive down to the pasture. As I get closer I can smell a really strong odor of fresh urine and feces. Something wasn't right. I stared in horror at the carnage my headlights revealed. Something or someone had killed every last cow and left them lying in their own gore. In the tree-line towards the back of the pasture I see a quick moving shadow on two legs. The only thing I can tell is that it doesn't look human. |
| I awake to the smell of rust. I'm bound in chains, suffocating on the constant dripping of blood off the long echoey walls. The silence and calm is almost a relief. Living, eating, sleeping, working, bathing, and sobbing over dead patients in my beeping hell of a job as a surgeon. I never thought I would enjoy being kidnapped. Tortured. Lying in blood and guts left from people they scrap for parts to sell. I lay there in the crimson blood bound in chains, content for the first time. After all, these criminals do the same thing I do for a living, but they at least, don't leave their victims families in crippling debt. I'm no better than a filthy, murderous, gladiator, stabbing people for a living. I am a servant of Hades, forcing operations people don't need on them. Operations that may very well kill them. This pit of blood, and ground flesh. This hole of death, is much smaller than the concrete prison of death i used to live in. I know I shouldn't be. But I am happy. For the first time in my life... I AM FREE! |
| From my YA novel "The Pit." Every rustle, every little crack, and swish made us take quick glances in the direction of the sound. Noises seemed louder because of our silence. The fir needles decomposing on the forest floor gave off a sharp, pungent odor. But we saw nothing out of the ordinary. We flinched as a dark shadow swooped low over our heads, making a beating sound in the air. My heart pounded as Jason and I ducked. We turned to find Brian flat on his stomach behind a huckleberry bush. I could only see his Converse high tops sticking out. |
Two Word Tuesday Give us your best two word caption for this photo...  See a great response? Send them a Two Word Tuesday badge! from the left menu, "Points" --> "Merit Badges: Shop" |
Looking at the pairing of a professional with someone who probably shouldn't be trying to solve a murder. What does your non-professional do for a living and how does that help them solve the mystery? |
Amethyst Angel 💐  - Hart to Hart, they were head over heels in love, and money was not an object as they were rich. |
| The "non-expert/outsider" character is a GREAT plot device. He can ask all sorts of questions that allows your expert character to provide all sorts of details. Otherwise, how do you justify the expert rattling off all this detail that wouldn't be noteworthy to him if he were on his own? |
It's that time of year when visions of spring and the Easter Bunny dances in many people's heads. Does the Easter Bunny really lay colored eggs? |
| Unlike Santa, Easter bunnies do not go on forever. Back in the late 60's, I believe it was the 60's or 70's, the Easter Bunny was named Ralph. He had an assistant, Gertrude the Easter Chicken. She was in chare of egg production. I never learned how she colored them, but she got them to Ralph for delivery. |
Three Word Thursday What three words best describe closed windows? See a great response? Send them a Three Word Thursday badge! from the left menu, "Points" --> "Merit Badges: Shop"  |
| Dear enough time. I first met Frank when we were both visiting the sea. He was carrying a large satchel that appeared empty, so big and dark that it must be hot. If it had been me, that smooth flat fabric would have clung to my bare skin and become a black sky over my river of sweat. It's never hot at the coast and there's always wind, but if you're lucky, the sun's out, and we were all very lucky. He was squinting in the bright light and moving between the shops as if he was after something in particular; that he needed it desperately and was at this point feeling out of luck, rather hopeless. I attempted to capture the attention of his narrowed vision and make an utterance, something like "Have you tried looking in your bag?", with a giggle. He would be impressed by how cool and funny I was, and I would convince him that he'd rather be frolicking on the beach with me, cooled off by the wind and delighting at the variety of crunches that could be found by toes in sand, rather than encumbered by a large and useless pit of unfriendly sunshine heat. Prompted by my witty remark, he might reveal to me that he had forgotten that his pouch contained exactly such provisions, such a dear I was, and how nice it was to make my acquaintance. Obviously, I am a dreamer. Attempting to catch his eye and actually wanting to catch his eye with any real intent to say something are two entirely different things. I suppose I looked helpful, and he told me later that I looked sweet, familiar, and welcoming, because the moment he saw me, he turned course and made his way to me, slowing down and lifting up. The bag became a burden but the sun ceased to be, his shoulders rolling forward and his eyebrows rising up. Just to neutral, mind you, and just enough bad posture to indicate fatigue, not unhealth, and I of course froze in place with no chance of words being formed. He indicated at the closed window beside my ear and said in a surprisingly clear voice for someone so journey-worn, "Dear, enough time?" I unlocked my face and tilted my head with a smile. "Have you tried looking in your satchel?  " |
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