Write down the inner monologue you have when you sit down to write.

Alright. Here's my topic. "first sentence that comes to mind relating to anything close to the topic". Yeah. I like that. Let's reword it this way. Let everything flow out. Any sentences that come to mind no matter how good or bad they are. 5 sentences down? Nice job Jenn. I like them too. On a roll. I don't like how this one flows. It messes with the rhythm of the paragraph. How about this?...No. This? Little better. Let's swap these words. Almost perfect. Maybe a little more sophisticated language...Yeah. That one. Perfect. Ok.
What comes next? Put yourself in their shoes...Open your eyes. List everything you see straight ahead. Colors... Are there people? What do they look like? Human or otherwise? Are they clothed? Modern, futuristic or ancient? What's behind them? Where are you? What time of day is it? Are there windows? Describe them. Furniture? Describe it. Plants, animals. Now look to your left. What's over there? Anything different from what's straight ahead? Describe it in as much detail as you can. Remember, only you can actually see this. Show the readers exactly what you see even if it sounds redundant. Time for the right. Everything that is in that direction. Write out any thoughts running through your characters head. Do they make sense? Are they appropriate?
Is there anyone with you? What do they look like? Great detail. I want a sketch artist to be able to draw them. Do you know them? How? Why or why not? Do you want to know them? Do you have any feelings towards them? Why or why not? Write out any thoughts running through your characters head. Do they make sense? Are they appropriate?
Smells and sounds. Do you smell anything? Does it bring forth any memories? Mention it but do not go into detail about it. Is there anything else you smell? Great details. What do you hear? Does it remind you of anything. As many adjectives describing the sounds as possible. Metaphors. Is there anything in the background of that first sound? Is there no sound at all? What does this mean? Why those sounds or why no sounds? What does it mean to the character? Where are you? Write out any thoughts running through your characters head. Do they make sense? Are they appropriate?
How do you feel? Physically and emotionally. Have you been hurt? Where? Have you recovered from any injuries recently? How is that recovery going? Are you tired? Energetic? Why? Are you happy or sad or angry or scared? How do you feel? Why? Do you know what's going on? Why? Write out any thoughts running through your characters head. Do they make sense? Are they appropriate?
What happened just before you got here? Were you brought here or did you come here? Why? Where did you come from? Short reason why you were there. What made you leave? Write out any thoughts running through your characters head. Do they make sense? Are they appropriate?
Snack time. Put the laptop down and walk away. Get a drink or snack. See what ideas and sentences flow into your head. Clear out the nonsense. Go back.
Reread.
Edit. Make it flow to your liking. Is it spaced nicely? Does it look appealing? Does it sound right? Does every word work well with the next? Do the sentences all flow into one another? Does it repeat itself at all or sound long winded? Fix all the grammar mistakes. Punctuation. Is there variety in your sentences? Not choppy but not run-ons either.
Advance one moment in time. What happens next? Repeat questions from above. Write out any thoughts running through your characters head. Do they make sense? Are they appropriate?
Repeat until you run out of things to say.

Write a Recipe for Disaster

Disaster Cake

2 sticks Hate

2 cups Anger

3/4 cup Frustration

2/3 tbsp Tears

Salt

2 tsp Sin o’ Men

1.       Preheat emotions to PMS mode high.

2.       In a large bowl mix the 2 sticks hate 30 seconds, until airy. Slowly add 1 ½ cups anger, scraping the sides of the bowl until thoroughly mixed. Add tears and let stir on medium-high for 30 seconds, scraping sides of bowl.

3.       In separate bowl mix salt, frustration, and Sin o’ Men. Slowly add this to mixture from step 2 on slow speed until thoroughly combined.

4.       Place in 8x11.5 pan and put inside body for 30-45 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.

The weekend in St. Tropez

St. Tropez, France. A place of wonder. A place of movies, music videos, joy, sadness, love. A place of the imagination. A place of dreams. This is my weekend in St. Tropez.

Before even opening my eyes, my first morning in St. Tropez, France, I hear waves crashing in the distance. I can smell the salty ocean breeze blowing through my balcony doors, tempting me to never move again. Just stay here, with the gulls crying and the waves crashing. The breeze gently blowing my hair across my face. It tickles my nose.

There’s a gentle snoring behind me. A warm arm under my neck. A warm man behind my back. Another arm draped across my side. So warm. So comfortable. So happy.

The light streaming the doors makes the room bright. I see my bag sitting on the chair in the corner. Little green suitcase with my smiling monkey duct tape on the top handle. I see Brad’s black backpack on the dresser across the room from mine. His bag is empty. He’s put his clothes in the dresser drawers. Something I never do. Don’t see the point I guess.

I feel my stomach feel growl before I hear it. I think some food is in order. Carefully and quietly as I can so as not to awake my sleeping giant I crawl out of bed, slipping on my slippers and robe, and make my way downstairs for some warm breakfast.

The array this hotel has is amazing. Bright pink watermelon next to beautiful pale orange cantaloupe. Strawberries, cherries, blueberries, apples, oranges, star fruit, mangoes, grapes. Everything, all laid out in a beautiful arrangement, like a rainbow of deliciousness. They have a chef to the left hand side of room making omelets as requested. They smell delectable.

My creative speaking has left me for now. I'll finish this one later.

I didn’t know what was happening at the time.

               There were all these people looking at me and touching me. There were guards by all the doors and windows with guns, big guns, a kind that I’d never seen before. Everything had a bleached smell to it, with a hint of something else. Almost like the bleach was trying to cover something up, something… metallic, something I was very familiar with. Blood. 

               That means I'm not the first one here. I'm not the only one they've had here. Christian... Please, dear God, tell me they haven't put my little brother in here. Please, let him be safe and unharmed. He is all I have. All that is left of the life I used to have. 

Sorry this one is short. Couldn't think of what to write next...

Tell a story that begins with a ransom note

     “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:30 pm. That’s what the note said, scrawled on yellow lined paper, in handwriting resembling that of a young child’s, blue ink. 8 words. 1 sentence. Amazing the impact that can have on you.

                My daughter has been taken. My baby girl. Maybe not my flesh and blood, but still my child, my angel. 15. She’s only 15. Is she ok? Is she hurt? Is she calling out for me right now? What is she thinking? I wonder if she had a lunch. Silly thought at a time like this. I haven’t even opened my door yet.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:31 pm. I can’t stop seeing the words written there in front of me. Blue ink. Blue like my eyes. Blue like my heart. This must be a nightmare, a trick. My blue ink eyes must be playing a trick on me. It’s not. I know it’s not, but still I hope.

                I hear screaming somewhere. It’s loud and annoying. I wish it would stop. Whoever is screaming needs to stop. It’s me. I’m screaming. I’m screaming and I’m crying and I can’t stop. My throat and lungs burn with the effort but I can’t stop. Maybe she hears me and knows that I will never stop looking for her. I will get her back. My baby. My angel.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:32 pm. My daughter. My baby girl. She’s been taken, stolen. By who? To where? For what purpose? $1 million. She’s worth so much more than that. More than those 8 words. Than that blue ink. Than that yellow lined paper. I waited so long, tried so hard to get her, and now she’s been taken. Just like that.

                Things are growing. Maybe I’m shrinking. I want to shrink. To curl up and when I open my eyes, everything will be better. Perhaps I’m being swallowed. By time, by God. Is there a god? Surely not. He’d never let something like this happen. What did I do wrong? It’s hard to breathe. Hard to think. I don’t know what’s happening. The screaming has stopped. People are shouting at me now, crowding in close. I wish they’d leave. Everything is black. Silent. Gone.

                “$1 million to ever see your daughter again”. It’s 3:33 pm. I’ll find you.