Ready to be blown away?
(Well, don’t take my word for it, but I am positive you will be.)
It all started when I was watching TV. Well, not really – more like watching TV, feeding my dog, eating breakfast and writing an email to my teacher explaining why I would be late today.
You can take the italicized words and change them. For example, if your novel is a sci-fi, you can change dog to alien. What if your story is set in the 1920s? Swap email with telegram. And if your character is a ninja…? Teacher becomes sensei.
You can do the rest. For now, I’ll show you what I wrote, sticking to the actual prompt.
It all started when I was watching TV. Well, not really – more like watching TV, feeding my dog, eating breakfast and writing an email to my teacher explaining why I would be late today. And to top everything off, my sneakers were soaking wet because I had just poured about a half gallon of milk on them. So they were hanging by the laces over my stove, which was still hot from last night’s late night DIY pizza party.
I guess the pizza party is what started it all. If I hadn’t stayed up so late, I would’ve gotten up earlier, eliminating the morning rush and the email to my teacher.
With my cold cereal devoured and my dog kicked into the backyard, I grabbed my backpack and squished down to the city bus stop. I stopped to catch my breath. The next bus would be around at the top of the hour. It was 8:45. I had time to kill, so I set down my backpack with a clank.
Clank? School supplies shouldn’t make a clank. With my heart sinking lower than Krubera, I ripped into my backpack…uh-oh. The things I’d used at Chloe’s house two days ago for our history diorama!
If I timed things just right, I could run back, change out the things in my bag with the stuff I needed, and be back at the bus stop before nine.
So off I squeaked back to my house.
Time out. I don’t know why they call them sneakers. For one thing, they have a habit of making loud noises on most hard surfaces. Second, the sort of people who wear sneakers are either always in a hurry or really klutzy.
I always seem to be both.
I bashed through my front door into an umbrella stand, sending it (stand, not door) skidaddling around my living room. Ignoring it, I hurtled into my bedroom, dumped the junk in a corner on top of a stack of comic books, swept everything off my desk into my backpack and stumbled over the threshold towards the door. After stumbling over the umbrella stand, nearly stepping on Snappy, who had somehow gotten back in, kicking him, slamming the door, and jabbing my key into the lock, I took off down the street like Usain Bolt.
A lot of weird people ride the bus, but I think they thought the kid with the milk stain down his hoodie and the soaking sneakers quite insane.
That’s why they call me Maniac.
Tell me what you think – do you want to hear more of Maniac, or something else? And will you use this prompt in future?