Writing Prompt

Eliza sank into the embrace of her cosy desk chair, fingertips hovering above the blank page, her cat, Matilda, draped across the keyboard with regal indifference.

Outside, autumn leaves pirouetted in the lamplight, but inside, only the soft glow of her desk lamp and the gentle purring at her wrist stirred her from writer’s block.

She glanced down and whispered, “Matilda, you’re not helping.” T...

I sit and stare at an empty page,

Feels like forever in an intangible phase,

Words get lost in my head for days,

Blank spaces before me look like an impossible maze,

Full of twists and turns that lead to mirrors that betray,

I can’t find a way to get through this block that’s replaced.

This space of creative thought that’s now a black hole,

Takes my ideas chew them up and swallows them whole,

Wh...

Old man Jay is having a relaxing calm day. He’s not the cat he used to be. He prefers to bask in the sun or sit with the girl cats Daisy and Chewie for fun. So demure and mature that he doesn’t engage in the tomfoolery Caphias plays. Often times keeping to the land of Steven’s room. Only venturing out to visit his favorite restaurant “The Kitchen” for a meal; avoiding Caphias because the girls ar...

Daisy Buchanan in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby (2012 [1925]) exerts power through her voice and deliberate association with the colour white to construct an image of herself as an object of desire. Her voice is a significant aspect of her character, mentioned multiple times throughout the novel. It is described as ‘full of money’ (p. 92) ‘metaphorizing the seeming innateness of her class...

_“…. and even after all that had transpired, after each revelation had smothered more of his hope, he still _

_still_

_still …”_ Excuse me, good sir, it is quite difficult to fill this page with your paw in the way! Oh, don’t look at me like that- I’m writing on a deadline! No, we cannot go to bed yet, well, you can, I should say, you do all day, anyway.

Unfortunately, as I am not a cat, I must ...

“You know, Fluffy? You’re the only one who really gets me.”

“Yes, Benjamin. But talking to me is not going to get that novel written.”

The writer looked around. But he knew it was the cat who talked. And he knew that there was nobody around to hear either of them speaking. Hazel had been asleep for hours.

“Silly man. Hazel cannot hear me. Or you for that matter. She tolerates you going ...

Looking at a cat

some

Cats

stay in clutters

Allowing each cat to learn From one another

Some

cats

learn things from beings unlike there own

A Cat

that

learned cat things with no cats around

SMART

Allowing themselves to learn

Hygeine

Routines

That fit there internal needs

sometimes

No

Mom

No

Dad

Of there own kind

In sight

Cats

Brave

With eyes that try to understand

Suddenl...

The squirrel is much easier to deal with. He takes me off in all sorts of directions, but at least I have some sense of accomplishment. I can label his interference as "research" and pretend that I have made forward progress. I haven't, but self-delusion is comfortable for any writer.

But not the cat.

The cat just stares. You can ascribe many inferences to her interference. That stare says it al...

They say nothing is like being curled up with a good book

But what curls up in such a distinct manner?

A fluffy, furry friend that judges your grammar

Can cats read?

No, of course not! That’s absurd!

Perhaps it’s just a coincidence that a book lies curled in a calico’s fur

Her eyes scan the pages

But just out of flickering interest

It’s nothing unbelievable no one else has witnessed

Oh, but her...

I’m sitting here and all of a sudden have writer's block. It seems that writing is not my strongest skill, but one I am interested in continuing and my biggest critic is sitting at my desk staring at me with what looks like an expression that could have so many meanings. His name is Mitttens. It's all I could think of, because when my hands were cold in the winter, all I had was a pair of mittens,...