Word Prompt: Glow | Story Prompt: from the book “A Verse To Beasts: 23 Reasonless Rhymes” by Nick Bantock

Write It Out: Instruction Video


Eating beasts is not a sin.

Open wide and pop ’em in.

Baked or boiled or even roasted –

why not try them lightly toasted?


Eating beasts is such a treat,

gnawing legs and nibbling feet.

Don’t fret about its mortal soul,

pick ’em up and swallow them whole.


Eating beasts is not a sin.

Open wide and pop ’em in.

But be prepared, for the other view,

and don’t complain when they eat you.”


Write a Scene about an Oil Painting and a Faux-Fur Blanket – MEC 2017

The air was heavy in the dark room – thick, stale, like nothing had entered or moved in it for years. I cast my gaze around it, feeling more and more overwhelmed with the task before me. The entire 2-storey mansion was to be taken apart, dismantled like an archaeologist dig, and reassembled at its new location, closer to the centre of the city where those who made these kinds of decisions had chosen as most appropriate. I was leading the project. I would have preferred to do most of the work myself – a slow, curious investigation of the 200 year old home, room by room, taking my time and reveling in my discoveries, but, well, that could take years and this work needed to be complete by end of summer, all things considered.

There would be countless photos to take too, photos which would catch the detail, the placement of things. There are layers and layers of things, which will necessitate even more photos. Then the painstaking parallel labeling of photos and objects, as each item is gently wrapped then packed. Then corresponding boxes labeled. Moving gone mad, if you can imagine. And the thing of it is – each piece, every single household item, is to be handled similarly regardless of value.

Surveying the stately room again, this time with a more discerning eye, I shake my head slowly at the unmistakable beauty of the oil painting hanging directly across from me. It had not seen the light of day, nor had it been seen by any human eye over the past 15 years. I smiled to imagine the eventual outcome, the unveiling of it all, after being cleaned up and brought back to life with the new exposure. It will be such a pleasure to reveal to art-lovers and the public alike. The paintings’ brush strokes will finally reveal the artist and her love for both the subject, this old home, and her process.

I went to step away but I suddenly started as, directly below the painting and draped casually over the desk chair, was the jarring sight of a pumpkin-coloured faux-fur blanket. Dust motes swirled in the dim light above it. Ugh. My mind could not fathom how such a home could have such an incongruous object. I began to plot how I might erase this one item from the scene. Surely, it would not be missed.


Here I am, thinking about perspective again. Not only the perspectives from either side of an argument, but also from others who are less involved. Like, for instance, the environment. Or perhaps our ancestors, or conversely, our progeny. There are always more than two sides to any story, and in fact, the number of perspectives could be limitless. Does that make writing a story easier, or more difficult? Does it make the story simpler, or more complex? Share your thoughts below!

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