Writing Exercises

Prompt Me #6

Today’s prompt was provided by Charlotte over at Upon My Desk. Please, check out her blog. Charlotte is an avid reader, writer, and just like me, a Harry Potter fan! Upon My Desk is definitely worth a follow.

The Prompt:

He didn’t know how to say goodbye; he’d only just said hello.

A laser narrowly missed Marko’s head as he dived into the courier shuttle. He hadn’t flown a shuttle since his days transporting prison laundry from The Camp to the Space Station. A daily ritual for five years, under armed guard, that taught him some of his most impressive manoeuvres. He jumped into the pilots seat and prayed he could remember half of them. Tarik fell into the shuttle behind him, shooting at Stellar Rangers through the closing air lock.

“I thought you were dead, Dude.”

Tarik laughed. “As if. I escaped this hell hole once, I ain’t dying here now. Did you get it?”

Marko strapped his belt, and guided the shuttle out of its port. “Do you even need to ask?” He patted his top pocket where he concealed the chip.

“Hurry the hell up,” said Tarik, as he glanced out of the cabin window.

Marko simply grinned.  They won’t be going anywhere. I disabled their shuttles, but Stellar Fleet will be arriving in five. Here, do your thing,” he said, and handed Tarik the chip.

Tarik brushed his long fringe from his eyes, and studied the chip thoughtfully. “What is this?”

“Eh? It’s the chip. It was in the digi-safe just like you said.”

“This isn’t a code chip, this is a comm chip, dickhead. Shit the bed! We’ve stolen some convict’s message from home. Are you sure there wasn’t another chip in the digi-safe?”

Marko slammed his hands against the controls. “If you’re having me on for shits and giggles this is not the damn time, Dude. That was the only chip in the digi-safe.”

Tarik flopped into the passenger seat and shoved the chip into the reader. The screen above their heads flashed with a sporadic green light, and the image of the Space Medic Centre’s patient bay. Zen’s sweating, scared face filled the screen as she clicked at buttons on the comm system. Her jet black hair slick to her forehead and her eyes puffy from crying.

“Sis,” Tarik whispered.

Marko’s heart had stopped beating and nausea ate at his gut. The sight of Zen flooded his veins with stone cold fear for her safety. He had left her with the Sandine people, they said they would keep her and the baby safe from the humans. His unborn son, Tarik’s unborn nephew, would be born a mixed species baby; half human, and half Sandine, and not allowed to take his first breath if Stellar had their way. Every recorded mixed species birth ended in infanticide at the hands of Stellar. Humans were scum. They were happy to dictate to the universe, but never to interbreed. Marko was disgusted at his own race.

“Help us, Marko. We’re at Medic Centre 10. They’re not killing the Sandine babies, they’re taking them for something. We have twelve hours from his birth before they take him. It could be any day now. If you find this it means Dagan was right. Please, let him be right.”

Before his brain had registered what his heart was doing, Marko set the shuttle into Stellar speed. Only Stellar craft were programmed to move at such a speed, but if Zen said Dagan had something to do with them finding the comm chip, then it was to Dagan they would head. 

“Dagan would never betray Stellar,” said Tarik, his voice cracked around the edges. 

Marko agreed that on normal circumstance Dagan was Stellar Ranger through and through, but this was different. “Dagan fathered a mixed species baby girl. She was taken after birth and murdered. I think he knew about our job, and he knew the safest way to contact us was to remove the code chip and replace it with Zen’s. I believe Dagan cares about what happens to my son.”

“Okay, let’s hope you’re right because Dagan is one of the only people who can get us into Medic Centre 10 without hiccup,” Tarik said, and he played Zen’s message over again.


“I will get you in on the catering shuttle, but then it’s up to you. If I see you on that Medic Centre I will have to arrest you. If you get caught by anyone and give up my name, not only will I deny knowledge and get away with it because my hands are squeaky clean, but I will also kill you. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, kill us. When is the shuttle due?” asked Marko as he slid into a tell tale blue catering overall. Tarik was already dressed and chomping at the bit.

“It’s coming now. Take a tray, play the part, and then get that baby far away from Stellar.”

“Thank you for this, Dagan.”

Dagan just shrugged and turned on his heels. Marko watched as his royal blue, Stellar jacket blew out behind him. He looked back over his shoulder and offered Marko a curt nod. The man who put him in The Camp seven years before was now helping him to save the life of his unborn son.

The shuttle docked, and a stout, greying man ushered them on board, counting the food trays before he closed the air lock. As the man sat down, Tarik wrapped a tray around the back of his head, knocking him out cold. Marko took his place in the pilot seat, gripped the comm chip tightly in his palm, and flew the short distance to the looming Medic Centre. 

The corridors were brilliant white with the same green lighting associated with all Stellar Medic Centres. Tarik pushed the food supplies in a wheeled trolley, keeping his face down. Marko pretended to be running over the inventory list whilst studying the layout, and most importantly, the exits.

A crying baby drew his attention to the door at the far end of the second corridor. The soft hum of a lullaby soothed the cries to nothing. Both he and Tarik peered through the window, and there sat Zen, huddled in the corner, crying and humming to a mound of blankets tucked against her chest. Marko unlocked the door from the outside and Zen screamed. The bundle started bawling once more.

“Please, not yet. Let me have a little more time,” she cried.

“Zen, it’s us, Marko and Tarik.”

“Marko?” asked Zen, as she scrambled to her feet. “It’s you, you’ve come for us.” Her words poured out amidst a torrent of sobs. “We need to go now. They’re coming for Sienne in ten minutes.” Sienne? She had used the name they had spoken about before he left her on Sandine. “Your Daddy has come to rescue us, Sienne,” she said to the bundle.

Marko edged closer, a fear like nothing he had known gripped at his chest. Zen moved the blanket slightly and the pink, fresh skin of newborn took his breath away. The tiny, blinking eyes, unaware of the peril they faced. “He’s beautiful.”

“He looks just like you, ” cooed Zen. “He’s special, Marko. I know why they want him and the other Human- Sandine babies. They have telepathy. I know it sounds weird, but I’ve felt it. He’s tuned in to me.”

Tarik opened the trolley door. “Then we need to get the hell out of here.”

Marko gingerly took Sienne, surprised by how light the boy felt in his arms. The vulnerable, special creation wrapped a little hand around his pinky. A feeling of familiarity and pure love fluttered in Marko’s mind. His son was telepathic. Marko coughed back tears and waited for Zen to climb into the trolley, and then begrudgingly handed Sienne to her.

A siren sounded throughout the center and a rumble of feet grew louder with every passing second.

“They must know,” Tarik gasped. 

“Take them to the shuttle and go. I’ll hold them off. Just remember what I taught you about Stellar speed and you’ll be fine,” said Marko. The colour drained from Tarik’s face. “Tarik, I trust you, Dude.”

Marko crouched to take a final glance into the trolley. Zen was sobbing into Sienne. “Please come with us. Sienne knows, he knows, Marko, and he wants you with us.”

He stroked his son’s cheek for what might be the first and last time. “I will die for you, my boy.”

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If you would like to offer prompts for future posts, please check out the original post and leave a comment: Prompt Me

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman.

Please request permission from the prompt creator for use of the prompt in this post.

Writing Exercises

Prompt Me #5

Thank you to Faith Rivens over at Aliasfaithrivens for another inspiring writing prompt. (If you’ve not done so already, please check out her blog.) This time it’s a dialogue prompt, so without further ado:

“There’s a cloud above your head.”

“I know. It’s been ten days now. I don’t know how to get it to stop.”

“Who’d you annoy this time, Tarne?” Sedar asks, his bemused look adding to his wrinkles and making his face look like a land map of Altarva.

“The ex wife, the stupid, old battleaxe.” The cloud explodes in a torrent of rain. “She said I was being belligerent and cursed me with this blasted thing. It seems every time I say a bad word against her, it pisses down on me. I’ve tried every cast I can think of. She’ll rue the day she cursed me, the old witch.”

The rain cloud cracks with thunder and another downpour soaks his already sodden jacket. Sedar wasn’t a stranger to Tarne’s behaviour. Gren, Tarnes ex-wife, was a reasonable, mild tempered witch, but Tarne could be a chore at times; Jealous and possessive even though the pair have been separated for going on twelve months. She must have had her reasons.

Sedar chuckles to himself. “Have you tried a dual cast? An anti-hex is simple enough, but the curse seems to be linked to your psyche. An anti- hex teamed with a mind purge cast perhaps?”

“And forget the last twenty four hours? I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction,” Tarne growls.

“Suit yourself, but I hope you are not prone to a cold,” Sedar says, leading him inside. “No slurs on Gren whilst you’re in my house if you don’t mind. I’m carpeted throughout.”

Inside, the smell of boiled herbs permeates every room. Even Tarne relaxes at the lulling aroma of lavender and camomile soup. Sedar trained as an apothecary during his youth, but once the High War begun in his early twenties, he became a key part of the resistance. His casting ability has not been matched much to Tarne’s annoyance.

“I know you are not here about this palava,” Sedar says, waving a withered hand at the cloud. “So, what is it you do want, Tarne?”

Tarne positions the Ram’s skull back in its place on Sedar’s mantel. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure that you can help, but I reckon you’ve seen your fair share of the dark occult in you time, old man. Have you any idea what this is?” He pulls a black, velvet pouch from his pocket.

Black velvet is never used by the light occult. It is said to be a bad omen and its presence puts Sedar instantly on edge. Tarne would know this, surely? The thought of black velvet in his house isn’t an easy one, but Sedar remains silent, holding his breath as Tarne tips out the contents.

Sedar stumbles backward, throwing his frail arms in the air. “Get that out of my house,” he hisses at Tarne. “How dare you! How dare you!”

Tarne smirks, twirling the small vial of red in his fingers. “Okay, okay, old man, I’m going. You’ve just told me everything I needed to know. So, this is what I think it is, huh?”

Sedar grasps at Tarne’s jacket with shaking hands. “You ignorant fool. You have no idea what this means.” He shoves Tarne toward the door. “Get out I say! The High Order will be hearing of this.”

“Ah, see, now you’ve put me in a predicament, old man” Tarne says. Using his strength, he forces Sedar back into the kitchen. “The High Order can not find out about this.”

Sedar feels the knife slice into his abdomen, but that isn’t what holds his attention. Even as he bleeds out, all he can sense is the darkness seeping from Tarne’s eyes. It has already begun.

I am taking a seven day blog hiatus, so any comments will be answered next week. Posts have been scheduled as usual.

If you would like to offer prompts for future posts, please check out the original post and leave a comment: Prompt Me

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman.

Please request permission from the prompt creator for use of the prompt in this post.

Writing Exercises

Prompt Me #4

Prompt #4 comes from HyperActivePandemonium. It it is the first of three prompts created for me, and I shall tackle them over the next few weeks. You won’t regret checking out this blog! You will find writer musings, experiences, and short stories, so click that follow button!

The prompt:

It would be only a matter of time until he realised I had stolen his wife’s body and claimed it as my own. If he really loved her, he would tell the difference. Wouldn’t he?

 woman-918780_640Acquiring Toyah’s body was a test of my patience. I watched and waited, waited and watched. Her descent into depression, alcoholism, and drugs was slow, but turbulent. Zeke wasn’t watching, he wasn’t waiting, and Toyah’s cries went unheard.

I was there the first time she stood on the cliff, toying with the idea of jumping, but something made her return to her ever absent husband.

For a week I thought I had lost her. She showered every day, tipped the alcohol down the toilet, made meals, even started back at yoga. The old Toyah was fighting her way back, but I couldn’t allow that. I had grown accustomed to the idea of having her body; long legs, flat stomach, and chiseled cheek bones. At first it was about getting a body, any body, but now, it was solely about getting that body. Nothing else would compare. Yes, I wanted life, but I wanted a beautiful life.

It wasn’t hard to tilt her back over the edge; a gentle nudge toward the wedding album; a time when Zeke looked at her like she was the only thing he could see. A push toward the off license when she came out of the yoga hall. I was clawing it back, and Zeke was still unaware of his wife’s turmoil. Unaware or in denial, take your pick.

I was there again, the second and final time she stood on that same cliff. She wore the same pink, summer dress as before. I guess she wanted to die in it for some unknown reason. It wasn’t me who gave her the final push, though. Her phone buzzed, a text from Zeke- ‘Don’t wait up. I’m out with the work guys.’ She launched the phone, and then launched herself right after it.

She hit the squall of the waves below, tossed about like a dog’s chew toy. The impact of the wave crushing her skull against the rocks was the last moment of her miserable life, and I took advantage. I slipped into her being, tasting sea water on my new tongue, feeling the rush of blood in my new ears. You can never imagine the intensity of feeling the world for the first time.

Healing the damage to my new body was by far the hardest and worst experience of my new life. The complexity of giving life is as draining as it sounds. I had to use half my life force to restart her heart, and repair the damage to her brain and skull. Toyah was gone, and this body was finally mine.

I went back to my apartment, ate fruit from my fridge, showered in my shower, and waited for my husband to return from his night out. He slipped into bed and brushed a hand across my thigh. Did Toyah ignore his advances? The sensation of his cool, rough hand against my warm, soft skin was euphoric. Oh, how I had been missing out. How Toyah had allowed herself to miss out. Just the simple act of rolling into his embrace was enough for him to look me straight in the eyes.

“Where have you been? I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

My heart kicked against my rib cage. It was as if he was talking directly to me, not her. I tried to push thoughts of Toyah from my mind. It would be only a matter of time until he realised I had stolen his wife’s body and claimed it as my own. If he really loved her, he would tell the difference. Wouldn’t he?

“I’ve missed me too,” I said. “But I’m here now.”

If you would like to offer prompts for future posts, please check out the original post and leave a comment: Prompt Me

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman.

Please request permission from the prompt creator for use of the prompt in this post.

Writing Exercises

Write Me: Thirty Word Story

It’s week three of my ‘Write Me’ posts and I’m getting into the swing of these exercises. The more words I have to play with, the easier it gets.

My thirty word story:

There comes a day in every girl’s life when she has to hoick up her big girl panties, wipe off the black mascara streaks, and admit that she deserves better.


Feel free to join in with your own thirty word stories, and let me know what you come up with.

All written works are the property of K.J.Chapman

Writing Exercises

Prompt Me #2

This week’s prompt comes from Sarina over at Cookie Break. If you haven’t popped over to Cookie Break, please do. You won’t regret clicking that little follow button either. Sarina shares her writing experiences, musings, book reviews, and much, much more.

The Prompt:

The secret that, if revealed, would upset everything.

“It’s not like I asked him for much. I wanted to be loved, and I guess that’s harder for some, but we’ve all got the capacity, or so I thought. It’s a shell shocker when everything you think you know comes crashing about your ears. I feel like I’m still stepping over the pieces. I can hear the crunching beneath me, and every step is taking me away from the person I thought I was.”

She looks over her glasses at me; a cliche therapist move if ever I saw one. “Perhaps the person you thought you was has merely grown, moved on, learnt from experience. What do you think about the person you are today, in comparison to then?”

I lay my sweating hands against the cool plastic of the chair, and sit a little straighter. “I’m wiser.”


“You see, I don’t know if it is good. I’m judgmental, wary, isolated. I doubt I’ll ever be able to trust again. He broke my heart and opened my eyes at the same time and I don’t know which is worse?”

She closes her file and pushes her glasses onto the top of her greying mane. “Can I offer you a little advice, Libby? This is strictly off the record as what I’m about to say isn’t professional or kind.” I tilt my head in curiosity. “Sometimes people break our hearts- end of story. We are left with trust issues, commitment issues, but we get on with it because life goes on. We don’t go around stalking people, breaking into their houses, frightening their spouses half to death in the middle of the night. If you break your restraining order again, you’ll be looking at jail time. You need to let go, rid yourself from the burden of hurt that sits on your shoulders. Carl and Chantelle are happy, leave them be.”

Nothing I did compares to the hurt he caused me, and I was only trying to make him see that he still loved me,” I sob. “There’s a lot unsaid between us. I just need a chance to tell him by myself, but I can’t get near him.’ She makes it sound like I’m psychotic, like I did those things to harm Carl. I simply followed him to work to give him his birthday card. I didn’t break in to his house, our house. I used the key he always leaves in the shed to quickly get my mail, and as for scaring Chantelle, well, who cares? She deserves to rot in hell for what she did to my relationship. I can tell that this shrink is just like the others, pompous, unsympathetic, and has a superiority complex.

“I think we should pick this up again on Friday, Libby. I want you to think about the positive changes you have seen in yourself in the last three months. Write them down in your journal and we’ll discuss them together.”

I smile at her just as she expects me to, and shake her hand with a firm grip. “I will do. Thank you for today, and thank you for being honest with me, it really has helped,” I say.

She places a hand on my shoulder, and offers me a patronising smile. I’m not even lying, it really has helped. I’m going to rid myself of that burden of hurt. I’m going to drive a knife right into Chantelle’s heart, and I’m going to make Carl watch it all. I just have to decide whether to show her my scan picture first or would that just be cruel? I kind of want to see her face when she knows our secret. There’s no rush, I can decide on the way home. I’m quite hungry actually, I might stop by McDonalds first.

Sarina has offered me five prompts in total, so keep your eyes peeled for those future ‘Prompt Me’ posts.

If you would like to offer prompts for future posts, please check out the original post and leave a comment: Prompt Me

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman.

Please request permission from the prompt creator for use of the prompt in this post.

Writing Exercises

Prompt Me #1

This is week one of my ‘Prompt Me’ posts and I’m raring to go. I’m particularly excited about these writing exercises because the prompts have been created by fellow bloggers and I have just ten minutes to expand on them.

My first prompt was created by Faith Rivens over at Aliasfaithrivens. Head on over and check out her blog for her writing musings and journey so far. Faith is currently partaking in NaNoWrimo and posting about her experience. If you’re a NaNo participant give her a follow.

The Prompt:

‘The whole idea was absurd. Thank goodness. She would never waste her time on anything less.’

She rings the bell and waits. No lights come on and there is no sign of movement. She rings again. This time, the upstairs window opens and Matty hangs out, topless, and with hair like a birds nest. Pretty damn cute.

“Jenna, what the hell? It’s 2am.”

“I’ve just finished work and I wanted to tell you something. Can you come down?”

“Can it not wait until normal o clock? Jesus, Jenn, you always pull shit like this. You know I’ve got to be down at the docks for four.”

He’s right. She’s always been irrational and impulsive, and even though she knows that is partly why he likes her, she can’t blame him for palming her off.

“Are you coming down or not?”

“And what if I say no?”

“Then, I suppose I’ll have to say it anyways. I love you, okay? There, I said it,” she says, the unfamiliar heat of embarrassment gracing her cheeks. Turning on her heels, she hurries down the path and jogs up the street, cutting through the park before Matty can get dressed and follow her.

She had never dropped the ‘L’ bomb in her whole life, and an unwelcome doubt seeps into her chest. It may have been wiser to have waited for him to say it first, but when did Jenna Guymon do anything wise? Matty was probably trying to think of a gentle way to let her down, and if he starts with some ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shit, she might just punch him one. A quick thank you, but no thank you would suit her better; just like removing a plaster- brutal, but quick.

She’s at the end of her street without realising she has walked the whole twenty minutes. Why does it feel like the walk of shame? Greasy Gregs is open seeing as it’s a Friday, so she gets a bacon bap, not that she can actually stomach it. One of the many reasons she picked her flat was the prospect of Greasy Greg’s bacon baps on tap.

She takes a bite and almost chokes on it when she sees Matty leaning against his car outside the flat. Suddenly, her dwindling appetite is non- existent. When he sees her he straightens up, brushing a hand through his hair.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Is there not a rewind button for tonight?”

“You don’t get to take it back,” he says, and then he’s kissing her. It’s different to anything she imagined; it is more than just a kiss. “Say it again.”

She eyes him warily, but it’s now or never. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ve loved you since we were eight years old,” he says, against her lips.

I hope you enjoyed that ten minute writing exercise. Faith also offered up a dialogue prompt for me to use in a few weeks time, so keep your eyes peeled.

If you would like to offer prompts for future posts, please check out the original post and leave a comment: Prompt Me

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman.

Please request permission from the prompt creator for use of the prompt in this post.

Writing Exercises

Ten Weeks, Ten Prompts, Ten Minutes #10

I find myself at the finish line of the ‘Ten Weeks, Ten Prompts, Ten Minutes’ writing challenge that I set myself back in September. These posts have been some of the most enjoyable posts I have created to date. It was nice to take ten minutes from the writing of my second novel, and to indulge other story ideas that rattle around in my head.

I have worked my way through every prompt I posted in my Narrative Prompts post, and now onto the tenth and final prompt.

Prompt Ten:

The ticket woman looks at me like I’m a crazy person. “The year is 2030.”

I laugh in her face. How can I go to the cinema in 2015, fall asleep, and wake up fifteen years later?

“You wouldn’t happen to be Serene?” She asks.

I nod, fighting the bile taste back down my throat.

“Good, because that thing has been creeping me out,” she says, pointing to a white robot machine of sorts. It has the frame of a human being with angular edges, but no face. A black panel fills the space instead, lights glowing like fireworks behind. In its gripper hands it holds a piece of paper with Serene Miller written on it.

“What is it?”

She spits out some of her slushy. “You’re kidding, right? That’s a LiveBot, the most intelligent robot on the market. It is programmed only to it’s owner.”

“Who’s its owner?”

The robot animates, moving toward me in a fluid, human like fashion, and the ticket woman shrieks. “I am the assistant to Mr Miller. I have come to escort you to his residence, Miss Serene.” The voice sounds human, if not a little monotone. It’s male and well spoken.

Relief floods my body. My Dad will have answers and explain everything away. I need my Dad, I need his reassurance. “I think I might be ill,” I tell the LiveBot as it thanks the ticket woman and leads me gently by my arm to a parked car.

“I have read your vitals and you are perfectly healthy, Miss Serene. All will be explained in due course.” The robot opens the passenger door to a swanky sports car, and climbs into the driver’s seat. “Buckle up, please.”

“Are you allowed to drive?” I ask, mouth gaping.

The Live Bot turns it’s screen, face, head, thingy in my direction. “There have been zero vehicular accidents of LiveBot operated vehicles since 2020,” it states, pulling out into the flowing traffic. “Mr Miller has a strong emotional attachment to you, and would not entrust you to my care if he was not certain that I could escort you safely.”

I close my eyes and phase out the robots ramblings. Perhaps, if I try to sleep I’ll wake up back where I started and be out of this nightmare. I know the robot said I am perfectly healthy, but a cool sweat settles on my skin and a nausea flushes through me.

We head out of town and into what my Dad calls ‘rich folk territory’. The houses seem different, more angular, uglier in my opinion. The LiveBot pulls up outside a high, metal gate and presses a button on the dash. The gate slowly opens, and he crawls into the drive, stopping outside a glass fronted, expensive looking house that sticks out from the manincured lawns like a sore thumb.

“This is the Miller residence,” says the LiveBot, getting out of the car.

I shake my head in disbelief. This is the last place Dad would live. Being a blue coat in a warehouse left him with a little resentment toward the white collars. His boss lives up in ‘rich folk territory’ and Dad can’t stand the man.

“Are you sure? This doesn’t look like the–“

The glass door automatically slides open and a figure rushes out. Dad’s black hair, graying at the edges, and his tall, lean frame, but… I stagger away from the man approaching me. It’s not my Dad. He has on black rimmed glasses, the same black rimmed glasses that Joey wears.

“It’s me, Sis,” says a voice I recognise. I recognise it, but it’s huskier, deeper than I remember. I take another step backward, bumping into the LiveBot. “Serene, I know this is confusing, but it’s me. It’s Joey.”

“But your twenty years old not…”

“It’s been fifteen years. I’m thirty five now. You haven’t aged a day. I knew it, I knew he was telling the truth. The police said you were a runaway, but we knew you would never do that. I wish Dad could see this.”

“Why? Where is he?” I say, welling up. I want to cover my ears with my hands because I know by Joey’s face what he is going to say.

“Dad’s dead, Serene. He told me that you’d come back on this very date and at the exact time that you clearly did. He was murdered for knowing too much, that’s why I couldn’t risk collecting you myself and sent Frederick instead.” He turns to the LiveBot, Frederick. “Any problems?”

“Nothing to report, Sir.”

Joey rubs a hand over his head. “Good. Good. The van is packed. Wipe all the hard drives when we leave, even yours.”

Frederick shakes Joey’s hand. “Yes, Sir, it has been a pleasure working for you.”

Next week, there will be more prompt writing exercises, but with a twist. Fellow bloggers have put forward some brilliant original prompts for me to expand on. If you would like to offer a prompt, you can check out this link: Prompt Me, and comment below.

All excerpts are the works of K.J.Chapman