Q: What is a writing prompt, and why would a writer use one? Is it like a shoe horn, only different?
A: Sometimes our minds go blank, or sometimes we become so focused on a project that we need a break. Sometimes it's just fun to flex your creative muscles. Try it for yourself: Pick a prompt, write without editing yourself for ten minutes, and see what happens!
· Describe the worst hair cut/hair style of which you were a victim.
· What’s the coldest weather you ever experienced? The hottest?
· Betty heard the floodwaters before she saw them. Instinctively, she picked up her tiny Pomeranians and began to run. She never expected….
· Take a piece of your work and change the genre or point of view – how does it change your piece?
· Harry hated New Year’s Day because he felt he should make a resolution, but he had stopped making resolutions the year that….
· Smoking, drinking, eating too much – everyone has a bad habit. What’s yours and why haven’t you given it up?
· “I ought to shoot you now,” Tammy said. Her Glock was pointed right at me. I thought quickly. One false move and I was toast.
“You don’t want to shoot me,” I said, “because….”
4 comments:
*writrinsight* I was not the victim- I was the brutal shear holder :) Enjoy
Hair Cut - unedited edition-(horror)
(screeching scary movies/jaws music)
For the record I will never- ever- ever ever ever- cut hair again. Ever. Trims- I can do that- give me a line and Ill cut your dead ends off and it'll match your same haircut - which, due to last nights traumatic experience- I wont have sharp objects of any kind - close to anyone's hair. Can you guess who I did it to ? Well, she's got red hair- that has been super long for....well I think FOREVER.......
Yup my little sister. Poor Poor Molly. Oh , I feel terrible- Im so glad that my mother is a beautician- she's gonna fix it- but I had to call and confess first. She knew we were cutting something- Molly called her earlier and asked for the nearest beauty supply place was. Well- she told us. Then asked what the hell we needed scissors for- we said I needed them for misc purposes. She didn't believe us- but nevertheless, she hung up and we went on our way. So- me and Molly (the brilliant pair we are together..scoff scoff) decided- Smiths will have Cheaper scissors- and as long as they are brand new- it'll be just like the $30 ones @ Sally's. Well- we were right- they were sharp....
So we get home. Okay- were ready for this. So I begin doing the back first. Molly looks back at the hair on the ground and says she needs it much farther up than that- she hasn't had a hair cut in a while- the ends are fried up about 3-4 inches. so I continue. Things are going okay. Keep in mind this is in my kitchen so she doesn't have any mirrors to be staring at watching me. Well- I need better light- so we go to the bathroom. It all goes down hill from here. To spare the bloody gory details (okay- it wasn't THAT bad) about 3-4 inches later- molly is holding her head in her hands- not sure whether to laugh or cry. Now its beginning to sink in. Moms gonna kill me. My mom has owned beauty salons since before I was even born- My mom is going to kill me. Okay okay, getting off track here. So we look- and I had been following the line that was already cut in the hair- up to where the dead ends were. The cut I was following had - short cuts, jagged edges- straight across bangs one side- and a downward angle on the other. So- now I had cut it- pretty much the same way- only shorter- and choppy. (by now- IM getting ready to cry) Molly is freaking out (granted- I would be too) We even it out a little more and decide to put the scissors down and walk away. Molly has now cried hysterically- all the while laughing through her tears-. Really weird moment. So now- back to what's running through my head-- oh my god. Oh my god. What have I done. what have I done. I should have said no- I shouldn't do this in the first place- I know I cant cut hair- what the hell am I doing- oh my god- we are retarded and my mom is going to kill me.
*special side note *In my family- there's some things you don't mess with when it comes to us Walsh chicks. #1-don't mess with our family- #2 don't pick at the food while were cooking it. Unless you want to get smacked and go hungry. #3- don't mess with our hair. -that's right- anything but the hair.
So. Long Long story finally coming to an end- I had to call my mom and confess. I felt like I was 7 all over again. Me and Molly did something wrong and there's no way to bail ourselves out of it. Better to just tell before she finds out. I got yelled at- Molly stopped crying. We figured one good thing came out of this- molly has always wanted shorter - layered hair- but my mom loves her long hair so she would never cut it the way Molly wanted. Now - she wont have much of a choice. So.
The Lessons :
Unless you go to and or have gone to school for- being a beautician- and know what your doing- Don't cut your sisters/friends hair. It could turn out much like our night did.
No matter how much someone begs you too- if you know you cant do it- save yourself (and them) the trouble- and just say no.
Don't buy scissors to cut hair at Smiths.
and the last- if you've ever done this to your friend or family- don't ask them for favors. Payback is a bitch. She said she wont retaliate- I didn't do it on purpose- but I know shell never forget this- and neither will I.
Have a great non-hair cutting day.
I was both the shear holder and the victim.
My bangs were too long. Although my next-door neighbor was my hair dresser, did I walk over to her house and (sensibly) say, "Hey, Val, can you trim these up?" No, sensible was not for me. Impatient, non-fussy hair person that I was at the time of the Bang Incident, I grabbed the first pair of scissors I could find (later described by Val as being appropriate scissors for hair in more southerly regions, but not for bangs) and began chopping away. Naturally, I got them crooked. So I tried evening them out. In short order a whole lotta hair was whacked from my bangs. I resembled an older, fatter version of Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. And I had to go to work.
When people saw me that day, they stepped back in shock. My female friends, naturally, gasped and shrieked, "WHAT did you do to your hair?" Before the end of the day, we had reduced the dastardly act into one word: I had "Uma-ed" my bangs. As in, "T, go to the hair dresser and don't Uma your bangs again."
You can see more about Hair Horror at my new blog, Shear Victim:
http://shearvictim.blogspot.com/
T.
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