I'll post my prompts here instead. Whether you hate my stories, love them, blah them, or have genuine criticism, you can share. Rejection and criticism are part of a writer's life. The key is to accept the criticism that makes sense, and reject what does not.
My goal is to be the best writer I can be. And I've been sitting on my second novel for over a decade. It's time to polish my skills and get back into fiction.
I am also looking for an agent for Mocha Angels: 365 Days of Angelic Wisdom and Affirmations. It's been finished. If anyone knows of an agent looking to represent spiritual works, please email me.
Here is the December 10 prompt.
An anonymous friend has been leaving you gifts at work to celebrate each of the 12 days of Christmas. All was fine and good for the first 11 gifts, which were thoughtful. But the 12th gift isn’t actually a gift at all—it’s a photograph of someone you love doing something they shouldn’t be doing and an extortion note demanding $10,000 in cash or that photo goes live on the Internet. What do you do? Write this scene. (Must be 500 words or less.)
“Am I being Punk’d?” Michelle thought to herself. Sitting at her desk, she looked at the photo again. Her 17-year-old daughter, Kamani, naked as the day she was born, was smiling, clearly happy to be showing off her beautiful body to whomever took the picture. The photo had been wrapped in plain red paper with a gold bow. Michelle had thought it was an envelope, as the past eleven gifts had been. All of them had contained gift certificates to her favorite stores. Someone knew her tastes in food, music, and clothes well.
The typed note had fallen out first. Ten thousand dollars or else the world will know your daughter is a whore.
Michelle got up to close the door to her office. Her twentysomething employees were feeling the Christmas spirit. Santa hats, ugly sweaters, mistletoe, and cookie exchanges had been going on since the first of December. Computer programmers and engineers really did know how to party. They also specialized in logic. Michelle had been a computer geek since the Apple I went on sale in 1976. Fast-forward thirty-seven years later she was co-founder of Hass Computing, a company dedicated to cloud computing. She had not clawed her way through a male-dominated, rapidly evolving landscape to now be a victim of extortion.
Kamani had to be posing for Steven, her most recent ex-boyfriend. Michelle had warned all her daughters about ‘sexting.’ She loved technology. But she acknowledged the dark side of it as well. Obviously her middle child had not listened to her. Revenge porn was not a pretty sight. Neither were the withering African Violets directly behind Kamani in the photo. Michelle recognized those damned spotted purple leaves left constantly in too much sunlight in Steven’s parents’ living room.
Nothing ever dies on the Internet. This photo would live in perpetuity following Kamani everywhere. Later Michelle would curse, cry, scream, and lie. Today, she called Steven’s mother.
“Happy Holidays, Barbara! This is Michelle, Kamani’s mom…Are you free for lunch today?”
(end. 333 words.)