Writing Prompts

“We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” —James Baldwin Tell me about a time you stood up to hatred or injustice—a slur, a slight, or an attack on you or someone else. Or tell me about a […]

“This is precisely when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its

“They had invented a game: ‘the five wonderful things’. Each evening you had to name five wonderful things [that] you had experienced along the day: the patterns of milk and chocolate in cocoa, four raindrops in a row on a blade of grass, a snowflake on your sleeve, the one-legged pigeon, the sound of Rice-Krispies

“Memory doesn’t work directly. . . . You might stub your toe one morning and your mind tumbles back to an old friend, who wrote poems, and introduced you one May to peonies. The buds secreted a sticky sweet juice that attracted ants. The ants crawled in and opened the big petals. The flowers couldn’t

“Strawberries are too delicate to be picked by machine. The perfectly ripe ones even bruise at too heavy a human touch. It hit her then that every strawberry she had ever eaten – every piece of fruit – had been picked by calloused human hands. Every piece of toast with jelly represented someone’s knees, someone’s

“You were last seen walking through a field of pianos. No. A museum of mouths. In the kitchen of a bustling restaurant, cracking eggs and releasing doves. No. Eating glow worms and waltzing past my bedroom. Last seen riding the subway, literally, straddling its metal back, clutching electrical cables as reins. You were wearing a

“Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines, hidden under the weedy mass of many years and experiences. Hit a tripwire of smell, and memories explode all at once.” —Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses Tell me about a smell that reminds you of your mother (or a different significant childhood

“Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.” —Albert Einstein Tell me about a mistake that opened the door to something you never expected.

“It is not up to you to finish your work, but you are not at liberty to quit.” —The Talmud Tell me about the work you are not at liberty to quit.

“The experience of silence is now so rare that we must cultivate it and treasure it. This is especially true for shared silence. Sharing silence is, in fact, a political act. When we can stand aside from the usual and perceive the fundamental, change begins to happen.” —Gunilla Norris Tell me about a time when

“She made of her life an offering, a beautiful gift far greater than the sum of the heartbreaks that had come one after the other. She proved, with her life, that great love can eclipse great sorrow.” —excerpt from a eulogy by Santa Cruz writer, Nancy Grace, for her mother Tell me about someone who

“All I know is that while I’m asleep, I’m never afraid, and I have no hopes, no struggles, no glories — and bless the man who invented sleep, a cloak over all human thought, food that drives away hunger, water that banishes thirst, fire that heats up cold, chill that moderates passion, and, finally, universal

“We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all that we need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about.” – Albert Einstein What are you enthusiastic about?

“People long for the light, and that’s what the books in my store do. They shed light in a time of darkness. That’s why a bookstore is the place where heaven and earth meet.” ―George Whitman, owner of Shakespeare & Company Bookstore in Paris Tell me about a book (or books) that shed light for

“I must say a few words about memory. It is full of holes. If you were to lay it out upon a table, it would resemble a scrap of lace. I am a lover of history…[but] history has one flaw. It is a subjective art, no less so than poetry or music…The historian writes a