Writing Prompt: After the Wedding
One late night in a California hotel, I saw a trail of white rose petals in the darkened corridor. The trail began—or ended—near the front of a closed door to a room.
Read MorePosted by Hank Phillippi Ryan | Nov 19, 2017 | Writing Prompts
One late night in a California hotel, I saw a trail of white rose petals in the darkened corridor. The trail began—or ended—near the front of a closed door to a room.
Read MorePosted by Hank Phillippi Ryan | Nov 6, 2017 | Life, Marketing
Which do you fear more: Heights? Or public speaking? Spiders—or giving a speech? Plague? Or teaching a class? For some people, the plague is preferable.
Read MorePosted by Hank Phillippi Ryan | Oct 25, 2017 | Craft, Life
We type “curly.” Then delete and type “straight.” We type “brown.” Then delete and type “auburn.” We type “frowned,” then delete and type “crumbled.” Or whatever. And in our heads, a new person—with a face and desires and conflicts and intent—emerges, bit by bit, dot by dot.
Read MorePosted by Hank Phillippi Ryan | Oct 16, 2017 | Craft
Writing a story where motivations don’t match action? Your book will sink like a bad joke.
Read MorePosted by Hank Phillippi Ryan | Oct 8, 2017 | Writing Prompts
Everyone believes the third floor is haunted. This woman’s photo is on the wall in the entryway. Her name says: Mary Shreve Ames Frothingham. Who is she?
Read MorePosted by Hank Phillippi Ryan | Sep 17, 2017 | Writing Prompts
You open your back door. And there, on the driveway, is this perfect red maple leaf. Just one...
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