Welcome to day two of the Winter Writing Challenge! Are you ready to get those creative juices flowing? I loved reading all your submissions yesterday. Let’s see what you come up with today!
Here’s your next prompt!
Write a vignette about waiting outside on the front porch.
Think you’re up for the challenge? We can’t wait to see what sort of vignette you guys come up with. Remember, it’s time to work together to unlock some of those awesome prizes, so post your vignette in the comments!
But wait…what’s a vignette and how do I write one?
A vignette is a brief evocative description, account, or episode. It doesn’t have any plot, backstory, or any elements that can move the story forward. For more on how to write a vignette, click here!
(Keep in mind, they should be less than 500 words!)
Before you start writing, we have some important rules for you to follow.
Writing Rules
1. Please keep the content of the poems and vignettes you post to a PG rating. Please avoid real curse words. Violence/fighting should be limited and purposeful. Please do not include any spice.
2. Have fun!
Remember to scroll all the way to the bottom of the page and post your story as an “answer” to this question. 🙂
You guys posted over 130 times yesterday, via this Q&A Board, Facebook, and Instagram! That’s incredible, and we’re well on our way for big prizes.
Remember, if at least 50 people post every day, we’ll all get one free month of Premium Membership to The Company. Premium Members get access to all of The Company’s live coaching groups, where you can get real answers from real professionals for all of your writing and publishing questions. Keep posting, and let’s get this!
Happy Writing!
Alli Prince
The street lights glistened on the snow between patches of darkness as I climbed the steps to the front porch late that evening. The snow crunched under my boots and my breath frosted over in the chilly air. The porch light shone, and even though the curtains were closed against the night, light peeked through cracks. “Someone’s home,” I muttered, stomping my feet a little in an effort to knock some snow off my boots. It was quiet, except for a small breeze that rustled a loose piece of paper that skittered across the porch. I stood in front of the door, wondering how long it had been since I last visited my parents. Too long, I decided, still hesitant to ring the doorbell. My fingers were numb inside my gloves, and the air stung my nose. Someone had lit a fire outside.I could smell the smoke in the air. The acrid smell contrasted with the clarity of the frozen air. Hesitantly, I reached out to ring the doorbell. What would my parents say? What would I say? How could I explain to them why my whole life had unexpectedly imploded? Did I even know why? Tears started to fill my eyes, freezing even as they fell, and the bitter smell of the smoke also filled my mouth, turning the clean, cold air to ashes in my mouth.
Shivering, I finally rang the bell, wanting to get inside, out of the cold, into the warmth, and then maybe, some of the cold inside my heart would thaw as well. Maybe then I could find the words to explain to my parents, and myself, what had gone wrong in my marriage, why things had fallen apart. Maybe, even on this cold, winter evening, as I stood on the porch waiting for that door to open, maybe, here, with my parents, I could find answers, and strength, to move out of the cold and into the warmth again.
Late, but still wanted to write something, so I’m posting it as a comment, if that’s ok. (it’s also not my best work)
The red gingham pattern of her dress stood out starkly against the white siding of her picturesque childhood home. From my view, her life was pretty perfect. She had a loving family, friends that were with her through thick and thin, and everything a girl could want.
And as I stood here, in the street, my breath puffing out into great white clouds in the cold, watching her wait for me on the porch, I realized something.
I couldn’t stand here forever, watching her wait for me here on the porch. It was now I had to make the decision.