Writing Prompt

So every famous author says the key to becoming a great writer is to write everyday. And what better way than writing prompts?

"You have an extra $1,000,000 to give away; you cannot spend it on yourself. What would you do with the money?"

Charity. Duh.

Uh, well that didn't go so well. Let me try again.

'Tell me about your siblings."

A- 13. Doesn't that say it all? That awkward age where you feel entitled to teenagerhood even though you're barely out of elementary school. Finding the delicate balance between standing out and fitting in, and the fear of becoming just another carbon copy. She's funny, she's moody, she's spunky, she's sassy. She makes me angry, often. She makes me want to pull out my hair, too frequently. She makes me laugh until I can't breath, a lot. We may not get along too well, all the time, and I may even dislike her at moments, but I can't help but love her always.

N- He's really, really, sweet. He acts like he knows it all, but only to cover up how much he doesn't know. He acts really tough and macho, but its only to hide how vulnerable he really is, how easily hurt he is. He's my baby brother, and you know what they say about baby brothers: Can't live with them, Can't live without them.

I1: Like the color yellow. Everything about her is bright; her intelligence, her personality, her smile... You can't help but be drawn to her. Everytime I see her chatting up the lady at the cash register I wonder where she got her conversational skills, and all I have to do is look in the mirror to find the answer. I see myself in her. Mini-Me to the core. A huge attitute, but an even bigger heart. A desire to be everyone's friend. A creative streak that makes everything and anything seem possible. A perfectionist, but not quite. Emotianal. Outrageous. A princess in the middle of Suburbia.

I2: Last but certainly not least. Cliche, I know, but so true. He is everything I have never had the nerve to do in a 3 ft 11' bundle of fire. He's restless. He's reckless. He talks back, he hits, he cries, he punches, he yells, he laughs, he throws tantrums, he spills milk. He speaks his mind, regardless of who its to. And I can't help but admire his defiance, his disregard for the rules. He never learns from his mistakes, well, except for that one time he called 911 on my grandmother, but that's another story. He's a distaster waiting to happen, something about to break, an adventure about to be taken. He's refreshing, and exasperating, and absolutely amazing.

Writers blank, block, whatever you call it

Write. Write. Write.
I want to be a world famous writer. I really do.
But I am running on empty. I have no idea what to write about, I have to no idea how to get started.

Girl, 16.
Aspiring: Writer
Currently: Failing (miserabley, at that.)

Remember Me

My potential scares me.

I have never realized, never been made aware of how powerful I am.

In my own two hands is the ability to do anything.

The ability to touch lives, to heal, to destroy. The ability to make and to break.

If I choose to do so, I can make the world a better place. I can also make it a little worse off. It's my choice.

I feel like a prophet of God after being handed the fate of humanity.

Exaggeration? Maybe, maybe. But this is more important than my sixteen year old self has ever felt. So maybe the fate of the world isn't in my hands, but its nice to know that my choices will effect people. Weather they are good or bad, they matter.

And I think about the ignorant teenagers I go to school with, and I can't help but wonder: why hasn't anyone ever told any of them? They don't know how important they are! And then I wonder, how many of them will never find out?
For the billionth time, as I hear about how faded someone got this weekend, and how they made out with someone they didn't even like, and how they're grounded because their mother found their shot glasses under the bed, I want to reach out and shake them. Shake some sense into them.
Wake up! Get over yourself! You may not realize it but you've been telling that same story, albeit slightly different, for years now! Does it never grow old? Do you never open your eyes?

You matter, I want to tell them. You are important. You can make a difference. Good or bad, its up to you, but you can still have an impact. You can save baby seals, you can stop global warming, you can feed the homeless, you can donate to charity, you can tell your mom how much you love her, but to do nothing? Wake up, I want to yell. Do something, anything. Just don't do nothing. Don't go your entire life unnoticed. Because honestly? I've heard your story from my next-door neighbor. From the girl with the blue hair that sits beside me in American Studies. From the clerk at Walgreens.

Like the countless general fiction novels at the library about the girl whose parents get divorced and her best friend moves away and her boyfriend breaks up with her and then her dog dies.
It's all the same. Sure, the characters have different names, and they live in different cities, but its just another carbon copy.

Be different, I want to whisper. You are the future. You cannot erase what is already written, but you can always turn the page. Begin again, I say. And this time, make sure the world will remember it.