Date: March 22, 2026
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins
Prompt: Write about an unexpected package

Henry thought very little of the plain cardboard box that appeared on his doorstep in the early hours of the morning, until he picked it up and it growled.

Not just a growl; a series of guttural yawps and snarls that sounded as though the creature they belonged to was panicking from its world rocking off its axis – which, to be fair, may have been the scenario Henry created by picking it up, suddenly, from his gloomy stoop, still damp from the early morning fog, the air heavy and clammy. Henry paused, box in hand; it couldn’t have weighed more than a pound or two, but something decidedly alive was contained within, protesting loudly about its circumstances.

Against his better judgement, he brought it indoors. Rested it on his living room coffee table, where it proceeded to shake and shudder, inching its way precariously toward the table’s edge. Henry steadied it, peering closely at the shipping label. His name and address were correct: Henry Oliver Livingstone, 10 Abernathy Court, Edinburgh. There was no sender. The box itself was in relatively poor condition, with stains and portions of the cardboard that appeared to have been singed, by heat or flame. 

The box creature went still for a moment, growls subsiding. Henry didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want a cat, he was allergic and never spent time at his sister’s house because she had a full cricket team of rescued fur balls who never failed to find his trouser legs with their needlish claws any time he was forced to visit. Even then, he wasn’t prepared to temporarily provide food and lodging for one dropped at his feet.

A pitiful mewling emerged from the box, the tiniest of pathetic and dejected utterances. It tugged at Henry’s heartstrings in spite of himself. He slowly pulled the packing tape from the cardboard, and lifted the flaps. And shrieked in surprise.

It was most certainly not a cat. Not even remotely. Not even possibly.

Or was it?

Catlike paws with the dreaded needles, a mangy furry feline-shaped body, and a whipping tail. But the head…

Two raptor eyes stared up at him, with a vicious curved beak, deadly albeit in miniature. And from its back, two feathered wings awkwardly askew, flapping haphazardly against the cardboard. The creature opened its tiny maw and, to Henry’s horror, belched a small plume of smoke and sparks into the air. 

Henry stared, mouth agape, stunned into a frozen stupor, certain he had stumbled into the weirdest and worst kind of nightmare. Who, on this earth or any version of it, would send him a gryphon through the post? And how did a gryphon of legends, of myth and magical fantastical imagination, exist to find its way to his door?

Date: December 14, 2025
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins
Prompt: Think of a famous line from a movie/book/song, take it out of the original context, and start your story with it. (I chose the last line from the song “What It Sounds Like” from KPop Demon Hunters)

“When darkness meets the light, this is what it sounds like.”

The thought flickered across her mind as she sat there, sightless yet defiant, lifting her face toward the commotion above her head. There was a strange purity to the clash. An instant stripping bare of pretenses, breaking into the black void that had for so long loomed over and within her, ominous and heavy. She felt the light rather than saw it, pulling her upward, strengthening her limbs, tearing the dark thing out of the center of her to rend it to ash, scattering the fragments into nothing. She was weightless. Free, for the moment. Not saved, but alive. Not whole, but healing, and nothing if not something of herself again.           

Date: November 16, 2025
Location: Cream & Amber, Hopkins
Prompt: Write a piece using these words (Healing, Coffee, Horror, Normal, Potato, Fresh, Writhe)

Mornings like this were difficult. There was never enough time to cook the breakfast potatoes. On this particular morning, there wasn’t even time to brew a single fresh cup of coffee. The unholy shrieking grated on my ears as, like clockwork, the shadows slithered from the dark and mysterious wall of pristine forest to surround the cabin. My own personal horror movie, every single morning, for the last several years. I’ve learned to live with them, but it’s difficult to maintain a normal routine when you have angry and likely malevolent spirits testing your walls and windows for weaknesses at dawn.

I glanced out the window and identified their individual shapes, some resembling inkblots on a piece of fabric, or amoebas overwhelming a bacterium; dividing and regenerating, healing themselves, spreading and shrinking and spreading again. Others appearing as slender tree branches, snapping in two and growing on the spot, each new entity of fluid shade determined to writhe and roil against the glass. 

I filled my mug from the tap, and dunked a bag of tea into the lukewarm water. I settled in on the tattered sofa. I took comfort in the knowledge that as the sun rose higher in the sky, these creatures – whatever they were – would fade and disappear entirely by noon.  

Date: September 21, 2025
Location: Cream & Amber
Prompt: Use these words in a piece (Stylish, Dragon, Rotund, Pathway, Pickles)

He knew it wasn’t going to be a regular Saturday when he met the dragon in the courtyard.

Just sprawled across the crumbling pathway, wings akimbo, its rotund belly emitting sounds of the sort that made him wonder whether the thing was on its way out of this life. The air around it had taken on a slightly sour smell, like a jar of pickles about to turn. It took him a few moments to register the reality of the situation; a fire-breathing reptile from the depths of myth, a profound scientific discovery that since medieval times had eluded erudite scholars, wayward adventurers and naive dreamers alike. And here it just… was. On his property. Passed out.

He edged closer, muscles tense and ready to carry him away if it started to wake up. An absurd notion, he thought: attempting to run away from a creature that could incinerate him where he stood, in his stylish velvet morning coat, before he could take a single step. He took a moment, absently bringing his teacup to his lips – a wonder he hadn’t spilled it – barely registering that it had cooled. Just looked. It was at least the size of a city bus, an iridescent sort of silvery green that resembled the olive grove just down the lane, especially in the foggy autumn mornings, like this one. A strangely horselike face, save for the fangs. Those were the size of his forearm, from the looks of it.

What on earth was he going to do with a dragon?

Hi everyone!

I’m not going to use the cliched “Well, it’s been awhile…” opening (although, ironically I did just technically use it) but my obvious absence is glaring. I think it’s easy as writers to stretch our capacity past our limits, especially around time; it’s easy to be less intentional with one thing in your life when all of the other things have collectively monopolized your hours, and energy. While there is an entirely separate discussion to be had around strategies to create intentionality with protecting your writing time, I wanted to share the larger idea that has emerged from one of the strategies I had thought about frequently, and am now ready to try.

Because, believe it or not, my absence from this blog notwithstanding, I have been writing. Quite a lot, actually. I facilitate two monthly writers’ groups in my community; one at my local library, and one at Cream & Amber in Hopkins. The latter group has taken to writing prompts in person, fresh and chosen in the moment, when we meet. That simple act has done wonders for stretching the big creative muscle in my head, and I thought: “Why not share with the folk of the World Wide WordPress and Beyond?”

So, that is what this is. I’m calling it “Working Title,” because in fact, that’s what these pieces really are. Prompts, tidbits, flickers of ideas. Words that may lead to something larger, or not. I had a previous series that I had been calling “Notes on a Bar Napkin.” This is cut from similar cloth, only I hope by posting pieces that aren’t considered finished or ready for publication, I can move things forward, share some weird and fantastical and funny words with the world, and keep up with my own mind.

Working Title, indeed.

Cheers!
Jen