Elizabeth: Friday Writing Sprints – Baby it’s Cold Outside

snowOkay Mother Nature, I get it, summer is over.  You can stop trying to convince me.

The forecast for this week is rain, rain, and more rain, which is great for our drought-thirsty land, but not so good if you need to be out and about on the roads.  Looks like this weekend will be spent curled up in front of the fireplace with a good book and a warm adult beverage.  Well, since I haven’t had a functioning fireplace in years, it will be more like wrapped in a cosy quilt with a purring lap cat.  Hopefully someone will bring me a warm adult beverage. 🙂

While I’m waiting for my beverage, I think a little bit of Random Word Improv will be just the thing to keep me warm.

Care to join me?

Whether your weather is warm, wet, cold, or somewhere in between, a few minutes of Random Word Improv are a great way to have a little fun and get some words on the page.  No need to have a lap cat to play along today, although that might be just the thing to trigger your imagination.


For any of you new to Random Word Improv, here’s how we play:

  1. Pick as many words from the list as you want
  2. Write the first line(s) of a story (or a whole mini-story) incorporating your words
  3. Post your results in the comments section.

All right, let’s get started. Here are today’s randomly selected cold weather related words – can’t wait to see what stories you find hidden in the list.

drift                       shower           puddle            chill

flake                     mitten             sled                  coat

icicle                     slip                   red                   boots

temperature     storm               damp               cocoa

Are you ready?  Go!

*whistling aimlessly while you are off being creative*

Back already?  Can’t wait to read what you’ve come up with.

Happy writing to all.

5 thoughts on “Elizabeth: Friday Writing Sprints – Baby it’s Cold Outside

  1. Better late than never. Here is my improv attempt.
    In retrospect, the red suede boots were a mistake.

    If I’d been sensible and worn rain boots, I wouldn’t have slipped on the puddle of melted snow at the bottom of the stairs. If I hadn’t slipped on the puddle, my mittens wouldn’t be soggy or my coat damp. If I hadn’t then walked 10 blocks in soggy mittens and a damp coat, I wouldn’t have arrived at the restaurant chilled to the bone, wanting nothing more than to turn back around and head home to a warm shower and some hot cocoa.

    But I did wear the red boots, the most recent in a series of bad decisions made in pursuit of a guy. A guy who couldn’t even be bothered to show up for our date.

    The flake.

    I should have known better. My best friend warned me what Peter was like, but I was swayed by his eye-candy appeal.

    I envisioned him trapped in a snow drift, impaled by an icicle. The thought cheered me up more than it probably should have.

    Just as I was about to call it a night and go home, a man from the bar at the side of the restaurant walked over and asked if he could buy me a drink.

    He was the opposite of eye-candy, but the look in his eyes made the temperature in the room rise a few degrees and all thoughts of heading out into the storm disappear.

    “I don’t normally do this,” he said sheepishly after I’d agreed to the drink, “but I never could resist a beautiful woman in bright red boots.”

    I guess I hadn’t made such a bad choice after all.

    • Aw, that’s great! I love it when lemons turn into lemonade!

      I have a little free time today. I will try and come up with something. Of course I want it to be about Jack and Olivia and Mr. Clock, but . . . I’m hesitant for some reason. (-: Terribly afraid of what Santa will wind up being. So, I’ll either get over myself today, or I’ll write something else that gives me a few minutes of fun! WRITE THE DESSERT!!! This is a great list of words, btw.

  2. A shower of ice pellets blew from the roof, and speckled the drift next to the front door in a rather pleasing, random arrangement, Jack thought. He pulled his coat tighter against the chill. Mr. Clock was bound in a cat carrier that Olivia found; of course he grumbled, but conceded it was better than the fire extinguisher. The Uber sleigh was waiting, and Jack helped Olivia up to her seat, holding onto her darling mittened hand and making sure she didn’t slip on the high step. Her boots were impractical on ice, but looking at the way the cocoa leather defined the smooth curve of her calf, he certainly appreciated the sacrifice of safety, and was willing to do his part to make up for any deficiency. He set the carrier down on the floor and hopped up to take his place.

    The driver was muffled in red scarves and black wool. “Where to?” the mysterious mound of fabric muttered, in a voice that was guttural beyond sex or age.

    Mr. Clock piped up, “Santa’s Workshop, North Pole.”

    “Izzat right?” the driver asked, and Jack nodded confirmation. The driver punched in the coordinates into his GPS, and the sleigh slid slowly down the road, gained speed, then took off into the sky. If it was pulled by reindeer, they were invisible reindeer. They cleared the drift at the end of the road, then made their way through swirling flakes and moist clouds. Jack put his arm around Olivia for warmth and stability. The temperature dropped further as they surfaced above the storm clouds into a starlit fantasy above the moonlit landscape made of puff and wisps. In a twinkling, they began their descent, leaving the clouds behind on the North American continent, and landing on the breast of the new-fallen snow, lustrous as a pearl under the full moon.

    Jack paid the driver and asked him (her? it?) to wait until the clock struck one. The elf whispered from his carrier, “Not the front door. The back door. Go around back. We need to avoid Santa until we get the elves together.”

    They made their way into a cavernous back entrance. Icicles were forming on the doorsill, but there was a small fire blazing in the hall, giving the entire dark scene an eerie orange glow. The hall was damp and full of puddles from boots and workcoats hung up to dry. Jack set down the carrier and patted Olivia’s hand, tucked into his elbow. His eyes adjusted to the dark, when suddenly the electric lights overhead were flipped on. Blinded!

    “And who are you?!” a big voice boomed. “Naughty children sneaking into the backdoor of Santa’s home?”

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