Writing from the Prompt

     In college, one of the most important things when it comes to writing is being able to follow directions correctly by understanding what's asked. If a professor states they want a four page minimum and several sources prevalent throughout the piece, then it's best to give them what they ask for; however, essays and summaries are not the only forms of writing that can be prompted.
     I visited the classroom of John Brantingham after work to visit the Creative-Writing Club, a group of writers I haven't worked with before. He wasn't there, taking some time off to recover, but the club was hosted by the president and other coordinators. Walking in late, I slipped into the back, but I found myself added to the activities of introducing ones self and, of course, writing under a timed, prompt restrained setting. We were asked to write creatively, though: fiction and poetry was up for grabs, and I decided on doing the fiction. For the short-story, we had a few restraints written on the board:

•      The Protagonist's name was Amy.
•      Amy worked in a clown store.
•      She was deeply in love with a giraffe handler.
•      Amy had an evil clown stalker.
•      We must use the word "Buck-fumbling" within the literature.

     Once noted, we were asked to write what we could, where we would finish and present our works to the class if we chose to. Pasted below is what I came up with. Buck-fumbling, in the tense I used, is underlined within.

     "Can you tell me why he's following you?" David wiped the sweat off his brow, staring out the bungalow's front window.
     Amy held herself from an unseen breeze. "I'm not sure, but he's everywhere."
     "He can't be everywhere."
     "Yes, he can," she said.
     David turned. The golden giraffe pin, something only given to experienced handlers throughout the year--from what he said--glinted in the young woman's eyes, burning her. It illuminated her split ends into hanging embers of ash.
     "Listen, Amy, you're just tired. You've been working too much."
     She sighed. "And what are you saying?"
     "No one's chasing you out there, is what I mean; no one's hunting you."
     "You don't know. You don't know what I've been through," she said. "The freak watches me sleep. And that makeup."
     David turned to the window once more, palm on the glass with the other hand up.
     "His makeup looks like he buck-fumbled through it."
     "Does it frighten you?" he asked.
     Amy opened her lips, glancing at the handler. She wanted to tell him yes. She wanted to say how she wished David would hold her, letting her cry in his arms, taking away the weeks of hiding in the restroom and tidying a knife beneath her pillow. But, when he turned, her eyes clenched at the reflection of his dulled, misshapen clown nose.

     It isn't much, but it gave me a chance to just let a story come out, and allow the characters to breathe and become their own entities. Working with this novel, The Neptune, has pulled me from that very idea; I feel as though I need to plot so heavily, when I should let the work write itself instead.
     For Mt. Sac students, the club is on Thursdays, 2:30 to 4:00 P.M. and is hosted in 3411 of 26A. I'm personally looking forward to returning. Stop by if you want to give writing a chance!