Red Lettering

Stories will not be written easily. A story without a heart is dead, and the only place it will get a heart is from the author.

Writing Prompt – 03-06-2014



I have seen many writing prompts, but my favorite kind of writing prompts are not the kind that say, “Your character is…”, but instead, the kind that are inspiring. The ones that a story could spring out of with minimal help from a writer.

There are many of these floating about, so I’ll be posting one every Friday (barring an explosion of the world or other such catastrophes). If you’d like, write a few paragraphs and post it in the comments. If you wouldn’t, I’m trying to avoid exploding the world for at least three more weeks, so I’m fresh out of threats. If it inspires something you like, but would rather not broadcast to the public, I’d like to know if you used it, even if I don’t read it. And if it inspires a whole new subplot in your novel, or a new novel… I definitely want to hear about that. Some of them will belong to me, but others won’t, but I’ll try and credit the artist.
New Name


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3 thoughts on “Writing Prompt – 03-06-2014

  1. Um. Well. It’s kind of longer than a few paragraphs. Anyhow. Here ’tis.

    The slip of paper trembled in the young woman’s hands, the words wavering in the dim light from the entrance to the cave. One word in particular wavered in her mind as tears filled her eyes for the hundredth time that day— tears of joy and blessed release rather than pain. It had been so long since she cried.

    “Why this?” She asked, lifting her gaze to the indistinct shape of a woman-messenger standing further back in the cave. “Why this name?”

    “It’s your name.”

    “I know.” The thought made her throat constrict. A new name. A name not weighted with the mistakes of her past, and the heavy darkness of her younger years. A new chance. And it was hers.

    The messenger’s voice softened, as if she could see the young woman’s tears even in the darkness, and see beyond them to the thoughts in the new believer’s head. “Hear me, One-Who-Is-No-Longer-Hishaa. By the blood of a King, you have been redeemed; by grace, you have been reborn. The blood on your hands is gone. The stain on your soul is cleansed. The debt you owed is paid, and you are free. Let no one make you a slave again. You are given a new name, that you may never forget: Though you walk in darkness, you have the light. Though you battle dragons of many kinds, you are promised a happy ending. Your Lord is writing your story. Leave it in His hands, and be a Story for Him.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “Your name means life, because stories are life. Let no one call you death.”

    Tears flowing down her cheeks, the One-Who-Was-No-Longer-Hishaa nodded.

    “You wanted to know,” said the messenger, “why you were called to this, of all places. A place of death to you, and deep regrets.”

    The young woman nodded again.

    “It is so you may know that the One who has given you a new name has given this place a new name. Though it is a place of Death, He will make it a place of Life. Though it is a place of Regret, He will make it a place of new Hope. Someday you will see Him remake it all.”


    The messenger stepped forward, and touched the young woman’s hand. “When it is time.”

    Then the messenger was gone, and the young woman with a new name stood alone in the darkness of the cave.

    Taking in a breath of stale air, she turned toward the opening, her name curled in her fist and written on her heart.

    And as the sun peeked momentarily between the clouds, the girl named Stori stepped into the world to began a new story.


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