Playingjane - Playing Jane

Nihi’s Weekly Writing Challenge 2015: The masterpost

Here is the list of the 52 prompts throughout the year - feel free to bookmark it or save it somewhere for reference. I will however also post weekly reminders of the prompts every sunday night for the following week.

Should there be anything you can’t read, feel free to view it on my blog in a higher resolution.

For anyone confused, I have put a more detailed explanation of the prompts under the cut.

Don’t forget to tag your posts with “Nihis Weekly Writing Challenge”! :)

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Tristram and Iseult by Henry Ospovat

Humans are so silly with their soft-boiling of eggs and such.

when you see an interesting book in the store

shut up and take my money

I love this woman.

Powell’s Favorites

At Last by Edward St. Aubyn

Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut

Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer

Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins

Flight by Sherman Alexie

The Residue Years by Mitchell S. Jackson

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert

Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

In the Heart of the Heart of the Country by William H. Gass

Cities of the Plain by Cormac McCarthy

The Serpent of Venice by Christopher Moore

Lucky Us by Amy Bloom

Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh

Snow day

Sitting in the cafe where I spent my young adult life. Over there is the spot where I would sit for hours. The leather-padded, wooden chairs, always. The least wobbly ones. That's the couch where I sat with friends - so close that I thought I'd have them forever - that I haven't seen in years. That's the spot on the couch where I last saw one of my closest friends that died that night in a car accident. I don't know the people that work behind the counter anymore - but they recognize me as an older regular and acknowledge my  presence accordingly. The music is  foreign to me - unless they are playing the punk and new wave “oldies.” The new, young regulars laugh in spots that I once laughed in. I wore-in that chair long before they enjoyed its ragged comfort. I sit here now alone. Reading a book. Drinking the same coffee drink I always have. Typing into an electronic log. Hoping my ex never walks in the door. Hiding in the corner so my "friends'' have a hard time spotting me as they pass through to grab their coffees.