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Dirty Deeds (Writing Prompts)

Writing Prompts

 I can't speak for you but the title of this week's writing prompt definitely starts AC/DC going in my head, which starts me singing Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, which starts me channeling Angus McKinnon Young duck-walking across the stage only I'm still in jim-jams not a velvet school boy uniform.

Hmmm. I feel some part of all of that is going to influence what I write for this week's challenge. Should it do so with you I will be delighted to see what we each see on imaginations stage.




Dirty Deeds (Writing Prompts) 

Did Last Week's Prompt Collide With Intestines?

Actually no, it didn't but I wanted a title that amused me and anyway there were, however, a sort of intestine in last week's writing prompt except not and bellow is but a small quote from one of the prompt fills, you really need to go read the rest.

You don't know what you're missing.

You get up to leave the room and I run after you and we collide in the doorframe and tumble into the kitchen. I slip on the cool kitchen tiles and slam into the fridge and somehow the door opens and the stupid thing spills leek and carrots like intestines.

You look at me and shake your head with a small sigh before closing the door again. Once my clumsiness used to make you laugh. I wonder if I should tackle you to the floor, but that seems a tad excessive 
It didn’t take long to get the guy alone, he had a bounce in his step that took him pretty far pretty fast. When we were just coming up on a pet store I like — they don’t sell living things, just feed and toys galore — and though it was shut-tight for the night I called him and pointed into the store’s interior.

By reflex he looked in and quick-as-blinks I pushed my hoodie back until Estheriel, Meshana, Reav, and Clovom hissed out, tongues flickering.
And served up with a clever, sly
Pre-determined alibi
That under stress will hold.
Resist the worn out metaphors
Equating stealth with padded paws
Find other ways to stalk
Bide your time and make your plot
Until you think that I’ve forgot
Your will to do me in


All right, it's your turn to turn a phrase, write a vignette, craft an intriguing grocery list for a the snails that live in your garden, it is utterly up to you what inspiration you take from these prompts, so long as they inspire you to write, create, imagine, potter, putter, cogitate, craft, or whatever the hell they can do for you that's a thumbs-up good thing.

G'wan, write some little thing or other. No one's looking. We're all just—*whistles*—hangin' out with the snails.

(I don't know, it's just…what occurred.)

More Writing Prompts
Don't Go
I haven't forgotten
Other Stuff
Warthogs and All: Researching Prey, a South African Thriller
Books Inspiring Us Right Now
(Comments moderated to foil the spam bots.)

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  • Ali Coyle on

    “I thought this was your area of expertise,” Marcus said with a petulant whine behind his words. “Dirty deeds done dirt cheap and all that. Wasn’t there a song you used to sing? Before you sold out? Back when we were young and cynical?”

    “My services might be available,” I said through gritted teeth, gripping the phone so hard it dug into the flesh of my fingers and hurt. I closed my eyes and promised myself that the calm exterior would be worth it. “For the right person and for the right price. You want dirt? You want something done cheap? Take your business elsewhere.”

    “Ah, c’mon, remember how we were good for each other? For old times’ sake, babe—”
    My resolve evaporated into the bone-dry recycled air and I almost yelled. “Don’t you ‘babe’ me, you little—”
    “All right! All right,” he said in a soothing voice that irritated like the fancy shoes that pinched my toes. “Sorry, hun,” he drawled. “Guess I caught you at a delicate time. Look, will you do it? For me?”

    I should have said no and ended the call. But some shred of respect for past me, that naive fool, made me hesitate. A deep sigh eased from my chest. “Give me the details,” I said, affecting boredom. “I’m not saying yes or no yet. Tell me everything you can and I’ll call with a decision in two days.”

    Trust me, nothing Marcus Janson ever says should ever go unchallenged. Back when we were an item, things got back to me. Things I’d rather not have believed about him. Things I’d rather hadn’t been believed about me. I made my getaway after one of his lies—sorry, extravagantly embellished anecdotes—almost got me suspended from university for cheating by copying his copy of my essay.

    So I asked all the right questions, put on my most professionally sympathetic voice, and took copious notes. Later, I cross-referenced every damn word that dripped from his lips. Some, the background names and dates and places, was even true.

    Two days of investigation and I made that call.

    The voice seemed hesitant. “Hi,” I said with all the warmth I could project through electronics and aether. “You don’t know me, Mrs Janson, but I work for…” I named my company and imagined worried eyes widening. “I’ll take your case against that shithead pro bono.”

  • Jamie Ashbird on

    This challenge
    This battle
    So savage
    Such mettle

    Hear the boom
    From a mighty blast
    Vacate the room
    Getaway fast

    A cynical one
    May see war
    Horrors done
    A cry, no more!

    All that is here
    Dirty deeds imparted
    Have no fear
    I only farted

  • Wendy / Atlin on

    It seemed so innocuous. So small. It’s just an egg. Not even one of those jumbos, just a little one, maybe an ounce and change.

    I mean, it was my fault, for forgetting, yes. It was my fault that it had been in the car for two days. It was my fault for it being in there two days more because I somehow thought being hard-boiled it’d be, I don’t know, like one of those cynical old dime-store detective. Too tough by half, not afraid of no challenge, prepared to brave dark alleys or hot cars for a clue, then ready for a retirement getaway to the comforting climes of the…of the…okay the fridge and yes my analogy has gone too far.

    What I’m saying is when, through your own negligence, you have to face the dirty deed of getting a four-day stench out of your car you learn the hard way why ‘your bad as a rotten egg’ is in the English vernacular.

    You know what? I think I’m going to give up. I could maybe just drive the car into the lake tonight. Give some hard-boiled detective—you’ll pardon the pun—a mystery to solve. I’ve always wanted a sweet little Vespa anyway.

    (Does anyone know how to get this smell off your hands?)


    ATLIN: Yes, yes I did once leave hard-cooked eggs in a car, thinking that because they’d been boiled they were fine for a day or two.

    NARRATOR: They were not fine.

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