Writing Prompt: Story Thread Chart

Life is full of possibilities! Create a story thread chart to explore writing ideas that might lead to unexpected places!

HINT: Handwrite the chart. All those little arrows were difficult to make on a computer!

Inner Life

I must be working for pay in a company again because I’m pissing people off without even trying – it’s my superpower. But since I can leave this job if I want, there’s a certain joy in pursuing an ethical course without worrying about my relationship with a large corporation.

I process anger and grief through my art. I’m feeling these because of worldwide politics, wars, and injustice. I’m okay with negative emotions; they produce action. Their by-product is art and writing, which makes me feel happy again, as does the actions I take to directly change the insanity of our human existence.

Irritating People

I take a certain satisfaction in knowing I piss a lot of people off. I pissed off my employer this week by asking about how to get my therapy notes translated into Spanish. I pissed off a comic who made an anti-Semitic and anti-Chinese joke by yelling (so the whole bar could hear), “That’s not funny.” I pissed off a snobbish person in my club by chatting her up in an incredibly upbeat voice.

Sometimes, it’s a delight to be obnoxious.

Me

I’ve been redefining myself lately. Into what, I’m not sure but I’m now in my mid-60s and feel like I’m blooming into myself! In an effort to understand what’s happening I’ve been painting a variety of monsters (some of them friendly) and women and imaginary animals. Whatever is happening to me, it feels magical. The world is opening up, my senses are alive, and the wind blows through me.

Cat

He does wander
I couldn't be fonder.

The paws are signing
He wants to be dining.

He walks on my keyboard
Because he's ignored.

He lies on my legs with a purr
While shedding all of his fur.


Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.