Sunday Scribble 12.15.24

Hello, Scribblers!

Happy Sunday and welcome to the last Sunday Scribble of 2024.

I honestly didn’t think, when I first started posting these prompts, that I would be able to keep it up. My creative demand avoidance can make regular, long-term commitments REALLY difficult, so I’m pleased that I managed to stay (more or less) on the schedule that I set for myself. Go me!

Now, having said that - I have to ask, are these at all valuable to you? I mean, do you use the prompts with any regularity? I don’t get a lot of feedback or engagement on these posts (which is fine, you should be scribbling not spending time leaving me a comment!) so I’m never sure they’re useful.

I’m looking ahead to 2025, deciding where I want to spend my creative pennies, as it were, and plug any leaks that might be channeled elsewhere…so, I leave it with you, something to ponder. I’ll check back in once I come back from my break, but feel free to leave a comment or drop me a note if you have thoughts.

Speaking of breaks…I’ll be signing off after the Silent Scribble on the 18th, until some time in the new year. I don’t have a return date yet, I want to feel my way into it. So, if our paths don’t cross again, I wish you the happiest of Christmases (if you celebrate) and a gentle easing into the new year. Times are going to become increasingly challenging, (understatement of the century) and we will need each other, and our creative outlets, to weather the storms ahead. I hope we can stand together in the face of the maelstrom. 💜

Right, enough housekeeping…on with the final prompt of the year!

The invitation:

Even if you don’t normally identify as a writer, I invite you to have a noodle in a notebook or on a scrap of paper…just to see what might happen.

Write by hand, if you’re able.

Give yourself a time limit.

No edits.

No second thoughts.

Let your pen take a walk across the page.

Ready?

Let’s begin.

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Another Story Starter for you, this time in the guise of a scene. To me, there’s a melancholy tinge here — though my default is towards the melancholy so that’s my writerly bias showing — but I think it could just as easily be the scene of something comedic.

That’s the beauty of the imagination, it’s limitless.

The table was set for ten, but only eight would be sitting down for dinner.

Have fun with this…and remember, don’t think too much. Just write.

until we meet again,

~m. xo