Writing Exercise: "What Time is It?"

Right now, look at the clock. The current time will determine what kind of story you are going to write.

The current HOUR will determine the MAIN CHARACTER of your story.

If the HOUR is 1 - a robot.
If the HOUR is 2 - a hopeless romantic.
If the HOUR is 3 - a masked vigilante.
If the HOUR is 4 - an elected official.
If the HOUR is 5 - a dinosaur.
If the HOUR is 6 - an imaginary friend.
If the HOUR is 7 - a widow.
If the HOUR is 8 - a tiger cub.
If the HOUR is 9 - the Troll King.
If the HOUR is 10 - a police officer.
If the HOUR is 11 - a college freshman.
If the HOUR is 12 - a god.

The MINUTE (in the tens place) will determine the GENRE of your story.

If the MINUTE is 0X - war.
If the MINUTE is 1X - science-fiction.
If the MINUTE is 2X - horror.
If the MINUTE is 3X - romance.
If the MINUTE is 4X - fantasy.
If the MINUTE is 5X - psychological thriller.

Finally, the TIME OF DAY will determine the TONE of your story.

If it is A.M. - comedic.
If it is P.M. - dramatic.

For example, if it is 2:18 p.m., I would write a DRAMATIC SCIENCE-FICTION story with my main character being A HOPELESS ROMANTIC.


Benjamin strolled the streets the night before it happened. He knew he wasn't supposed to. In fact, he could have been arrested simply for setting foot outside of his apartment stoop, but he was tired of being forced into his little cell every night after 19:00. He was tired of looking out his apartment window, watching the MPs force everyone inside while the curfew bell tolled.

Benjamin had heard earlier that day, just like everyone else, about the news on the radio. It was coming, and not even the Supreme President and his Royal Army could stop something like this. Benjamin felt infuriated at the hours upon hours he had spent, sitting in front of his radio at night after curfew, listening to the Supreme President's address, full of boasts and promises of an invincible army of gears and levers and processors. It was all lies, Benjamin now knew. His world was nothing but lies.

And so it was that thought that forced Benjamin out of his apartment fifteen minutes after curfew. He couldn't even see the moon that night. It was undoubtedly gone, nothing but a specks of dust being sucked into the heat of a star or some such. The sky glowed red, like the lipstick of Benjamin's mother. Or so he thought.

He wasn't supposed to visit the Low District, but laws, like lies, didn't matter anymore. What would they do, throw him in a cell? The MPs must be with their families by now, Benjamin thought. The idea of these men, the only men still in the service of the Supreme President, without their armor or whips, but instead holding tightly their little ones - it warmed Benjamin's heart.

But the thoughts of holding someone, an act he had never been allowed to do because the Council for Procreation still had sixteen months before getting to Benjamin, infuriated him. The only family photo Benjamin had left was a snapshot of his parents, sitting pristine and still in front of a white curtain. His father is holding his mother around the stomach. Benjamin liked to think he was in her stomach at that moment; he liked to think that, at some point in his life, he had been present for a moment of warmth.

Benjamin left the paved street and began marching down the dirt path into the Low District. He had heard rumors of men from the High District venturing down into the Low for black market activities. He had always considered himself above such things, but what difference did morality make anymore? A code of ethics surely wouldn't stop what was coming for them.

Benjamin was surprised to hear the laughing and whooping of merrymaking, and soon he found himself just outside a dancing circle, arms interlocked and feet kicking for the sky. Small fires lit the way deeper into the District, and Benjamin descended into the belly of the lowly village.

How much longer did he have, Benjamin wondered. Long enough for a night together? Long enough to learn the intimate curves of another's body? He could only hope so.

On the front porch of a shanty house, Benjamin found three young women, perhaps only a year or two younger than himself. He caught the eye of a lady and smiled at her. She smiled back, but raised her eyes to the dancing circle now some distance away.

"Ahem, excuse me, miss?"

"Yes?" answered the lady.

"Might I -- I mean, I was wondering if you were one of the ladies I have heard about."

"And what kind of lady might that be?"

"Perhaps, a lady of intimate relations?"

The lady laughed. She sounded so innocent to Benjamin's ears, he found it hard to believe she was anything but a newlwed housewife.

"Tonight, sir, we are all the same. There is no business tonight, only goodbyes."

"Oh," Benjamin said. He had not thought of that. He had not thought that, of all the things to no longer be of importance, that money might be one of them.

"What is your name?" the lady asked.

"Benjamin 54 Charles Place."

"Well, Benjamin 54 Charles Place, my name is Velvet. I am sorry, but your money will be of no good here tonight."

He paused for a moment, trying desperately to remember her face before he went. His eyes fell to his feet, and growing under the shanty porch he found a single rose. He plucked it, minding the thorns, and handed it to Velvet.

"I apologize, miss. Enjoy your night."

"Perhaps, we might enjoy it together?"

He looked up at her and saw her smile of pearls. "But, you said --"

"Money, tonight, is of little value. But there are other things to be gained before the end of the world." Velvet took his hand and led him into the shanty.

Writing Exercise: Road Trip

Two characters are in a car together, making a road trip from one side of the country to the other. One character knows a secret about the car that the other does not. Write a scene between these two characters in the car.



INT. CAR - DAY

NOAH enters the car, having just filled the car's gas tank. He looks haggard, tired, defeated by...something.

In the passenger seat is KATIE, asleep and with her forehead against the window.

Noah starts the car and begins driving on a highway in the desert.

NOAH

Hey, Katie, you awake? Katie?

No response.

NOAH

Look, I know you're not sleeping. You can't sleep in cars. Even with some Dramamine, you suck at it. So don't try to fool me, right? Katie?

No response.

NOAH

Honey, I know these moves haven't been easy, but this will be the last one, I promise. You hear me? Last. One. I promise.

On the road, a car cuts in from of Noah and starts honking incessantly. Noah slams his fist against the steering wheel in anger.

NOAH

I'm going the speed limit, asshole! God dammit!

Katie still doesn't stir.

NOAH

Kate, what the hell was I supposed to do, huh? I'm not my father. I can't just run out and be the hero. That's not who I am.

Noah tries to collect himself. He runs a hand through his hair, jostled by his angry outburst.

NOAH

This guy - I just don't...I mean, I aced high school. College was a breeze. I even got you, eventually. But this guy - he's a problem I don't know how to solve. My dad always told me, if you study them long enough, you'll always see where they falter. Normally, Dad just picked up one of the thugs and got them to talk. 'Thugs are just bread crumbs to the witch,' he always said. But this guy, there's no bread crumbs. I can't find him when I try, and then he pops out of the blue and, well, you know. And it's not like we can go to the cops.

Noah looks over at Katie, longingly, tears almost in his eyes.

NOAH

I'm tired of moving. I am. I want that house we always imagined. White picket fences are cliche, but, dammit, let's be cliche. I can't even get that collie I always wanted, cause I'm afraid this guy will snap its neck.

Noah reaches a hand over to Katie. She startles, but doesn't look at him.

NOAH

Katie, I can't do this without you. If I lost you, or if I've already lost you, I won't keep running. I'll just give up. I love you, Katie.

Finally, Katie turns to look at him. She moves her lips to talk, but only muffled sounds come out. From between her lips, Noah can see a gag in her mouth. Katie emits a muffled scream.

A black gloved hand reaches up from the back seat and grabs Katie by the neck. In the rearview mirror, Noah can see the gnarled, old face of THE PHANTOM.

THE PHANTOM

Just keep driving, little Skipper. We're almost there.

The car drives deeper into the desert, where there are no other cars around.

Writing Exercise: Odaiba Park Gundam

As a creative writer myself, I have come to learn, love, and understand the fun and importance of writing exercises. They're like games for your pencil...or word processor. I hope to make it a routine of mine to post either exercises I have come up with myself or ones I have found useful, as well as post my own writing that resulted from the prompt.

So, without further ado, here is one of my own:


Writing Exercise: A character arrives in Odaiba Park in Tokyo and sees, for the first time ever, the 60-foot tall Gundam statue. Write for 10 minutes a stream-of-consciousness piece about what your character experiences, from a first-person point of view.

My Result:
I knew I was to come to Tokyo. I could feel it in the wind that fateful day three weeks ago. I woke up, and suddenly the world was different. It was more than simply the darkness that appeared in everyone's eyes. It was more than the dark shadows that clung about the everyday people like capes. It was in the wind, calling to me. Telling me to start my journey. To head west, to where I would find my destiny.

The boat rides were long. I watched women and children nearly starve, because they did not prepare like I had. My prepared daily rations of Mountain Dew and beef jerky lasted me nearly to the end of my trip, but in the last week I discovered the success of victory. I caught my first ship rat; it was fat and pampered by the ship's cook. His large body was easy to see hiding in the corners of my cabin that night, and he surprisingly tasted good. Perhaps the salt sea air had seasoned him. Perhaps I will find more in my journey home.

But I must not think of the journey home. I must think of this gargantuan standing before me. I have arrived late, and so I am nearly alone with the behemoth. I had dreams, day after day, of what might await me in Tokyo. One morning I awoke with the word "Odaiba" on my lips, and from then I was infatuated with what I would face there.

I thought perhaps a sea creature, born of volcanoes and the deep-sea abyss. I thought perhaps a shadow demon, like the one I expunged from the homeless man I battled weeks ago. I have come to learn the nature of the shadow demons - how they connect themselves to man, leeching off of his body; how they turn a man's compass away from his true north, perverting his duty from the light to the darkness. I have witnessed the fall of great men, because they unwittingly fell prey to the shadow demons. And, even though they can't thank me from their shallow graves, I know they are grateful the demon was removed, much like their heads.

But, in all of my pondering, I was wrong. I never thought a giant. I never thought a machine. I never thought my adversary would look so bright. He manipulates. He lies.

He wears white, like the most proud and ancient and wise of samurai, but he has no honor. Not like I! I shall use my great sword, the Whispering Thunder, to strike this steel giant down. I shall cut him into pieces, and then the townspeople will come to me and buy the pieces and hang them over their doorways to ward off the shadow demons. To warn them that a warrior still strides upon the mountains and the clouds of this earth. The shadow demons will be wary of these homes, for they shall call upon my protection. They shall call upon the great giant and demon slayer, Timothy-san!