Each week, I give my cottage school students a writing prompt to begin class.
Sometimes these prompts relate to the text we're reading, and sometimes they are just fun and creative.
I have found that the weirder the prompt, the better. My students don't seem to like a run-of-the-mill, "Write about your future goals" or "Write about your best vacation" prompt.
I search the Internet widely for prompts and ran across this one this morning. It is a line of dialogue, and students were instructed to write a short story around this dialogue: Sir (or Madam), we all have cats we'd rather be at home playing with.
As a college professor once more or less told me: You're a great writer, but your ideas suck. He said it nicer, and he said it about only one particular writing piece I wrote, but in general, I agree with him.
I don't have good ideas.
Here is proof.
This is a very short "story" I wrote this afternoon while my students were composing their stories.
I read mine at the end.
Suffice it to say, my students weren't impressed.
FYI: If you read the professor's dialogue with a fake German or Austrian accent, I think it makes it better.
Sometimes these prompts relate to the text we're reading, and sometimes they are just fun and creative.
I have found that the weirder the prompt, the better. My students don't seem to like a run-of-the-mill, "Write about your future goals" or "Write about your best vacation" prompt.
I search the Internet widely for prompts and ran across this one this morning. It is a line of dialogue, and students were instructed to write a short story around this dialogue: Sir (or Madam), we all have cats we'd rather be at home playing with.
As a college professor once more or less told me: You're a great writer, but your ideas suck. He said it nicer, and he said it about only one particular writing piece I wrote, but in general, I agree with him.
I don't have good ideas.
Here is proof.
This is a very short "story" I wrote this afternoon while my students were composing their stories.
I read mine at the end.
Suffice it to say, my students weren't impressed.
FYI: If you read the professor's dialogue with a fake German or Austrian accent, I think it makes it better.
“I shouldn’t have to say this to my teacher,” I thought.
I had thoughts like that a lot. Thoughts about what an irresponsible teenage human should not have to say to someone who should be a responsible adult human. It was a role-reversal I never wanted nor asked for.
“Madam, we all have cats we’d rather be home playing with,” I said. “But you have to teach today. There’s just no way around it.”
“But Snoopsie and Moopsie and Diffenschmutz miss me terribly when I’m not there,” she sighed. “They mew and lament, their tales hanging between their legs, no feline enthusiasm at all when I pack my bag to leave.”
I didn’t know if it was possible for my eyes to roll permanently back in my head, but given how frequently it happened nowadays, I had begun to worry.
“Snoopsie, Moopsie, and Diffenschmutz will be fine,” I assured her. “Don’t you pay someone to check on them?”
“Yes. I pay Patricia’s Puss Playpals $1000 a week to come give my babies their lovings,” she said.
“1,000 dollars a week!!!!! Are you daft?” I yelled.
“I am a professor of astrophysics, and I understand concepts about this universe that you couldn’t even begin to wrap your puny little brain around. Please do not patronize me! My grimalkins are my world, and if I want to pay $5,000 a week for their care, I will,” she screeched.
“Wait, $5,000? You said $1,000!” I replied.
“$1,000 is for playtime. I spend $2,000 on restorative massages for them. $1500 for a personal chef to grind tuna filets for their meals. The remaining $500 is for cat toys.”
Later that day, after my teacher had taught her classes and careened out of the parking lot to return to her pride of tabbies, I had my mom take me to Dr. Edward’s Eyeball World. I knew mine would get stuck, but I didn’t know my teacher’s budget would be the cause.
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