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Long gone are the days when I had three or four posts written up in advance of uploading them. So, in a last ditch attempt to keep the three of you entertained of an otherwise dull Sunday evening, I found myself Googling the words ‘inspiration for writing’. Sad, innit? Yep, nothing short of a Shakespearean tragedy.
Anyhoo, a quick tap-tap on the fingerpad and I found myself at Creativity Portal’s Imagination Prompt Generator.
THINGS STARTED OUT WELL ENOUGH:
What was my favourite grade at school?
Ummmm, ‘A’.
What foods do you keep out of sight?
Stuff that requires a stay in the deep freeze, e.g. Mackie’s (super creamy) honeycomb ice cream.
In the next year I’m going to…
be older. Again. *sighs*
On a typical day I…
cannot for the life of me think what to blog about so I just search Google images and post a random picture instead.
WHEN SUDDENLY:
Imagination Prompt Generator needs a nap.
WHAT ARE YOU? A TEN DAY OLD BABY?
[HOWEVER, THE SHAMELESS AND DESPERATE MUG THAT I AM, I CONTINUE TO CLICK ANYWAY.]
What are your limitations and are they self-imposed?
Hmmmm, tricky. My Ego says ‘you are not allowed to eat the Mackie’s bring-on-that-myocardial-infarction-twenty-years-prematurely honeycomb ice cream we bought for the chicklets’ and my Id says ‘you do what you damn well like – have an extra scoop for me!’.
Brainstorm 10 reasons why you feel the need to write now.
Now, see. This is why I called upon your services.
What did you do before we had the Internet?
Goodness. I have absolutely no idea. (Of course, you mean ‘the interweb’, right? Because that’s what we coolsters call it in a bid to confuse the uncoolsters. Heh.)
What are you welcoming into your life?
Mackie’s honeycomb ice cream. With open arms.
AND THEN:
Prompt Generator is getting tired.
OHFORGODSSAKE. THIS IS PATHETIC.
When was the first time you got hurt?
Snagging my left elbow in the birth canal.
How old would you be if you didn’t know your real age?
Very old and possibly suffering from Alzheimers and hopefully adequately medicated and able to enjoy daytime television without the guilt.
Describe one of your spouses (significant other, best friend, etc.).
I have reproduced the sentence as it appeared, lacking, as it was, in helpful apostrophes. I conclude that I have unwittingly stumbled upon the Salt Lake City Polygamists’ Portal Imagination Prompt Generator.
If your tears could speak to you, what would they say?
Hello! We’re hot, wet and liable to run down your cheek.
BUT THEN THE SARCASM AND BITCHINESS SET IN:
Why do you think nobody understands you?
Whadya mean? Mr Chick understands me. Well, I think he does anyway…
Name three reasons why you should get out of bed tomorrow…
‘Cause I’m a nice person. ‘Cause there’ll always be Mackie’s honeycomb ice cream. ‘Cause I’m a nice person…??
Do you hear yourself when you are speaking and really listen to what you are saying?
Um, yes. Or, maybe, no? Which is the right answer? Help!
Why do you write?
I dunno. Not sure why I exist now.
What would have happened if you didn’t leave the house this morning?
Ha! Caught you out. I didn’t leave the house this morning. Ha!
How do you feel when you are by yourself?
Scared of the human-like qualities of modern computer programmes.
What if you were never born?
Mackie’s would have trouble shifting 5% of the stock levels of their honeycomb ice cream which would in turn lead to a national decline in traditional ice cream making techniques which would be a SCANDAL necessitating a brief but high profile awareness-raising campaign involving a ten-person-strong march down Whitehall dressed as ice cream tubs and a photocall with a grinning Minister for the Promotion of Dairy Products.
So you’re angry. What now?
Enough of your sarcasm, my lady. Now go and say sorry to your sister.*
AND JUST BEFORE I HIT THE ‘MINIMISE’ BUTTON:
Write about a question that looms large in your mind right now.
Why didn’t I just copy Great She Elephant and ask my remaining three readers if they had any questions they’d like me to answer?
Like these prompts? Tell your friends about it!
No, and no.
The next prompt is yours!
Well, whoop-dee-doo.
[AS THEY EVERSOAMUSINGLY LIKE TO WRITE IN THE GUARDIAN DIARY: ‘CLICK CLICK BURRRRRRRRRR’]
* no idea where that came from
My salad dressing days 