Writing Exercise

Writer’s Digest produces a whole lot of writing prompts, one for every day of the year. I don’t do writing practices everyday as I should, but I do them at least three times a week and I thought I would share this one with you all.


You're in bed and you awaken to a presidential candidate standing outside your window, staring into your face with a giant smile. What's going on? (Fictional candidates, preferably).


The morning light is filtering in through the window as my eyes slowly open. I stretch slowly as I ponder how I will spend the day. I’m in no rush to get up and out of bed, except for the tiny odd sensation of being watched. I push myself up and look towards the window. I almost fall out of bed as I see a tall familiar looking man staring in through my window. I don’t scream because I am irritated and annoyed and bordering on downright mad. Who does he think he is!
I manage to find my robe as I stride angrily to my front door. I yank it open and stomp outside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I shout. The man keeps smiling. There is something about him that makes me think I know him. He is over six feet tall and wearing a dark suit and nice shoes as he stands amidst my flowerbed. Those teeth are so white, I think as I wonder if I need to brush mine.

“Good morning, Miss. Jenny. Terribly sorry for the intrusion, but I need your help,” the man said, still smiling.

“What could you possibly need from me at seven in the morning! I haven’t even had coffee yet,” I grumble.

“Well, I could go and get us some, I noticed a coffee house not far from here.”

I gave an exasparated sigh. “Oh, come in. I’ll make coffee. No use spending good money on bad coffee.”

I allowed the stranger into my house and sat him at the kitchen table. As I made the coffee it hit me. I knew where I had seen that face! It was plastered all over the news and televisions.
“Hey, You’re that guy that wants to run for president,” I say.

“That’s right, Abraham Simon, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ok, right. So what was it you were doing spying in my bedroom window? You don’t have some sort of closet peeping tom thing happening?”

“No, Miss. Jenny, I’m afraid I need your help. You see, in order to run for president I need a history, a past to be delved into,” Abraham said as he accepted the mug of coffee.

“A what?” I asked, not sure what he meant or how it involved me.

“I have nothing to hide, no skeletons, no nothing really. I’m just an ordinary man with a squeaky record. I want you to write something more sordid for me,” Abraham said.

“Huh? You want me to make up a past for you? Why? And why me?” I said as I wondered if America needed to know about his psychiatric issues.

“Americans, they need someone real and real people need to have a background worthy of gossip, and I’m afraid I have nothing.”

“But that should be a good thing,” I argued.

“Unfortunately, according to the polls, it’s not. Will you help me?”

“Why me?” I asked.

“You are a writer. A creative one at that. This project needs special care and I feel you are the best person for the job.”


Well, that's all I got done in ten minutes...not too shabby...until next time.