A fun writing exercise for your Muse.

A friend of mine, Heather Osborn, who is my editor and fellow author, just had a birthday.  She received this really awesome present called:

The book is full of writing prompts.  Which is really helpful if your muse went on vacation and forgot to give notice, leaving you stranded.  This will get your writing juices going.  See, you really didn’t need that Muse after all.

Anyway, she posted one of the writing prompts in a group we’re a part of: Epilogues Classics.  It was called Epilogues Book Club, before Facebook decided to eat the group.  No warning, just gone.  The group is for readers to meet new authors, and authors to meet new readers.  It’s a fun group, and I would suggest joining.

It’s amazing how writers will take the same prompt and come at it from different angles.  So, for a bit of fun, I thought I’d post these prompts to my blog, along with my interpretation.  Here’s the prompt:

You wake up by the side of the road lying next to a bicycle, with no memory and no wallet. What happens in the next hour?

And, here is what I wrote:

Something cold and wet is dripping on my face. I slowly open my eyes to see a sky full of gray, dismal clouds. Great, it’s raining. As I try to push myself into a sitting position, a sharp, hot pain stabs me in the left shoulder, so I sink back onto the wet, muddy ground. I gingerly press my right hand against my throbbing shoulder. It feels sticky and warm. With trembling fingers I open my jacket, peering at the bullet hole in my shirt. The wound doesn’t look fresh. In fact, it’s not bleeding much at all. I shake my head, befuddled. Who shot me? And why? Are they still after me?

Fueled by fear, I roll over to my right side and proceed to push myself into a sitting position, leaving me gasping and panting in pain. As I wait for the pain to subside, I look around. I’m sitting along a two-lane highway, no cars in view. It looks like I’m in the country, as I see fences with rows of corn growing everywhere. There are several crows sitting along the fences, staring at me with their yellow, hungry eyes. Where the hell am I? How the hell did I get here?

I push strands of wet, long, brown hair off my face. My brain is a fog.  I don’t seem to remember anything.  Not even my name.  Heart pounding in my throat, I start searching my pockets for some type of clue as to what has happened to me, who I am.  I find nothing. No wallet, no keys, no phone.

Looking behind me I see a ten-speed lying in the ditch, with a flat tire and twisted frame. It looks like I got hit and left for dead. They should’ve come back and checked, I think, anger starting to rise. Who is They?  I don’t know, but I will find out what happened, and I will make whoever did this to me pay.

I rise to my wobbly legs, looking around some more. Now I can see a farmhouse, off in the distant, perched on top of a rolling hill. Staggering, I take off for the farmhouse, left arm pressed tightly against my chest. Okay, I have a destination. Make it to safety first, then exact justice later.

Now it’s your turn.  How do you see this playing out in your head?  You can respond in the comments below.  Have a wonderful Wednesday.