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Writing Prompt Wednesday is Back!

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Hi Everyone!

It seemed like doing a weekly writing prompt got to be too much for people (except Maddie Taylor!) so we've decided to go to once a month. Also, you have all week, until next Wednesday, to post your response to the prompt. The winner, who will be selected by Random. org will receive a $5 Amazon gift card.

Basic rules—250 word maximum

No one under 18

Must be “fresh” words based on this prompt and not something from a book you have written or are working on. This is not meant to be promo for your latest, but a fun little exercise for your brain and (often) sense of humor.

Have fun!

This week's prompt is:

Text Your Ex Back Official Site

“What a turkey”

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17 Responses to “Writing Prompt Wednesday is Back!”

  1. Maren Smith says:

    “What a turkey!” Madeline folded her arms across her chest.

    “Don’t be mean,” Carol censured, pointing out the bird she wanted.

    “I’m not being mean.”

    “Yes, you are.”

    “I’m not!” Madeline insisted, stomping her foot and pointedly ignoring the warning look her husband shot her. “He’s big, fat, struts around like he owns the place and can’t keep his big yap shut for more than two seconds at a time! What. A. Turkey!”

    Cuddling her newly-chosen turkey to her chest, Carol tossed her sister a smug grin. “You’re just jealous because I got to pick the bird again this year.”

    Shifting her weight to one hip, Madeline shot her husband another dark look. “I’m not talking about the bird.”

    Wallet in hand, Jim paused in the midst of paying the farmer and frowned at her. “Maddie, baby. Do we need to talk about this in the study when we get home?”

    Her bottom already tingling with dread, Madeline still couldn’t summon up enough give-a-damn to watch her mouth. She sniffed, the snottiest response she could come up with, before snapping around on her heel and stalking back to the car. “Like I said, what a turkey.”

    Jim glared at her retreating back.

    “Ten bucks,” the farmer said, hand outstretched to take Jim’s money. “For the turkey,” he specified, before shooting a meaningful glance at the line of hickory trees not far from the parked car. “By all means, son, cut all the switches you want for free.”

  2. Oh Maren! That’s great. Gave me a chuckle on a rainy day.

  3. “What, a turkey?”

    Jason grins at me. “You’ve never made one before?”

    I roll my eyes at him. My skills in the kitchen are, well, non-existent.

    “I’ll do most of the work,” he promises, his gorgeous brown eyes filled with laughter. “We’ve got to have turkey for Thanksgiving.”

    ***

    In the kitchen, he moves behind me. Dangerously close; the kind of close where I can feel the heat emanate from him, smell his intoxicating mix of aftershave and soap. I close my eyes for an instant. Yes, we have both our parents coming over for Thanksgiving dinner, and yes, it’ll be the first time we are hosting, but suddenly, I just want to lean into my handsome husband’s body, and be taken by him.

    I turn towards him. He can see the heat in my eyes as I ignore the turkey on the counter; the bags of groceries all over the place, the pie baking in the oven.

    An answering heat blazes in his eyes. “Jess…” he mutters. He leans into me, kisses my neck, the stubble on his face grazing against my soft flesh, sending little tremors of lust coursing through my body. “Baby, we’ve got a ton of work to do…”

    But I ignore the cooking; I pull my breasts out from the tank-top I’m wearing. His eyes darken as he sees me holding my breasts in my hands, pushing them together and offering them to him. “Jason…” I beg, “I want to feel your stubble against my nipples…”

  4. Whew. That’s hot. And not just from the oven.

  5. Natalie rolls her eyes. “Kat, we are not getting a bigger bird this year!”

    She thinks she’s the smart one in this relationship? She may be boss of the house and of me, but I’m the boss of Thanksgiving dinner. I pick up a spatula and point it at her. “When should we tell her?”

    Halfway to snatching the weapon, Natalie pauses. Her eyes flick toward the completed application on our kitchen counter. “Why not now?”

    I pull the spatula back and flip through my battered cookbook. I lick my lips with a suddenly dry tongue. “Maybe I’ll put raisins in the stuffing this time,” I offer. “Your dad would like it.”

    “Stop changing the subject.” Her hand slides down my back to grip the belt loops of my jeans, and my knees grow rubbery.
    I turn the page, pretending to ignore her. “Look, if we get a bigger turkey, I can make more stuffing.” It’s her favorite part of the Thanksgiving meal, more than the turkey or pie.

    Ordinarily, she would argue about poundage and leftovers and her dislike of the yearly parade of turkey soup, tetrazzini, and sandwiches. This time, she takes the book away from me. “Why not tell our parents we’ll give them a grandchild?”

    My stomach flip-flops. I whisper, “Because no one will pick me to adopt.”

    Swat! I yelp as the spatula lands across the back of my jeans, and Natalie hugs me tight. “What a turkey,” she says affectionately. “Of course they will.”

  6. Jaye Peaches says:

    She should never have let her husband buy it. Normally she did, but she had been too busy. Standing staring at it in the kitchen, she was grateful he had taken the kids out. It gave her time to deduce a plan.
    The cookbook was tossed aside: no help to her situation. The main oven was not going to grow in size overnight. Tomorrow the wider family were descending for lunch. Her husband had simply chosen the correct size for the number of mouths to feed and not thought about the oven.
    The power carver was needed and she began to saw the damn thing in half. It was messy. He was the carver not her, but she got some satisfaction watching it being sliced apart. There would be no stuffing this year, there was no hole left to stuff.
    She had thought about cooking one half in the microwave and the other in the main oven, but couldn’t work out the timings. One would look roasted and the other…. Well, she dread to think what the microwave would do to it. Her culinary skills were put to the test. She would wedge one half in the smaller top oven wrapped in foil and the other below with the roast potatoes.
    Gathered around the dining table the next day, her husband expectantly waited with carving knife in hand. When presented with the two halves, his jaw dropped.
    “What a turkey!” he exclaimed.
    “Yes, it was,” she glared back at him.

  7. Laurel Lasky says:

    I met a little turkey, his name was gobble goo,
    I asked him in for breakfast, he ended up in stew.
    One day he came to haunt me, but I knew what to do,
    I took a great big hatchet, there’s no more gobble goo.

  8. The turkey is supposed to be the centerpiece of the Thanksgiving meal, holding court in the center of the table in all its juicy golden brown glory like a king on his throne. That’s what Leila had pictured in her head when she had imagined Thanksgiving dinner. It was her first Thanksgiving since marrying James. She had volunteered to host the meal. She had very little family of her own, and she had wanted so badly to impress his. Never mind that she had never cooked a turkey before and had no idea what cooking a turkey entailed. She was a reasonably intelligent woman. She could figure it out.

    And so she had, or at least she had thought she had. Everything was going just fine until the moment James had started to carve the turkey. She had known almost instantly something was wrong. To her horror, it quickly became apparent that the turkey had not cooked completely through and was still half frozen. Leila had never been so humiliated her life.

    Her father-in-law, bless him, and tried to be encouraging. “It’s no wonder,” he said. “A bird that size is bound to take longer to cook. What a turkey!”

    Yes, Leila thought, what a turkey indeed, and she wasn’t talking about the bird.

  9. Congratulations Maren Smith. Random.org picked you to be the winner of this week’s prize—a $5 Amazon gift card. Wooohoo.

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