Do you remember a time when you officially decided to quit doing something? Well, today’s writing prompt will help you channel your maybe not-so-pleasant memories into memorable fiction.
Check out my completed version of today’s writing prompt in today’s post, too; it’s called The Day I Quit Drinking.
Today’s Writing Prompt: The day I quit …
For today’s writing prompt, write about the day you quit something (a job, a project, a class, a competition, an addiction, a relationship, etc.). Or about a time you wish you would have quit something sooner. Your writing can, of course, be completely fictional. But write from the first-person point of view.
Keep scrolling to see my completed version of this writing prompt.
Tip for Completing Today’s Writing Prompt:
Usually quitting is frowned upon. But sometimes it’s absolutely the best thing you can do, especially if continuing to do something is not in your own best interest, or the best interest of others around you. Before you begin writing, think about a time in your own life when you should have quit doing something much sooner, for inspiration. Perhaps you stayed at a job with a terrible boss with little pay for too long. Perhaps you stayed enrolled in a competition your heart was not in for a little too long. Etc.
When completing this writing prompt, focus on how you’re describing the behavior of the actors or characters you’re writing about.
The Day I Quit Drinking, by K.E. Creighton
There I was, standing on a barstool in front of a crowded bar, flailing my bright orange halter top around above my head with my right index finger. I was flailing it around like it was a helicopter rotor made of clothes, like in a bad, very bad, soft porn film, about dorky girls who can’t handle their alcohol. And I had done this while the bar crowd had looked at my flat, bare chest, for at least two whole minutes… through their camera phones, of course.
I was a minor celebrity that night, and for many nights after. I was being filmed while I was being wild and uninhibited for once. Or so I had thought at the time. I had been so drunk that night that I didn’t even care I was being filmed by strangers while semi-nude. Me, the raging introvert, who can’t even open her door when people she knows show up at it unannounced. Me, the person who is still a virgin at the age of twenty-four.
I was laughing hysterically in the videos. My cheeks were pink and rosy. I was sweating. And everyone else was laughing and drunkenly happy in the videos, too, according to the background noise. The laughter had gotten even louder when I knocked my glasses off my face with a rogue elbow, toward the end of my uninhibited display of not-so-sexy-but-naked-anyway awkwardness.
The videos captured that night became a lot less funny. And not just because I eventually sobered up. But because of all the videos that became permanent and took on a life of their own online afterward. Videos I had no control over whatsoever. And the fact that the videos went viral… so that even deleting them from particular platforms never worked or could prevent the next person from turning them into both not-so-nice and blatantly-hateful-and-misogynistic gifs and memes.
I still occasionally get random onlookers gawking at me on the street. Some of them actually point and laugh. So I flip them the bird, those who laugh, before turning around and walking in the opposite direction. Unless we’re in a crowded store or in line somewhere. At those moments, I just look at my creepy or mocking onlookers as if I’m confused and have absolutely no idea why they’re staring at me.
That day, for which there will forever be graphic video evidence, was the day I quit drinking alcohol. Forever. Or, the day after that night, to be more precise. But even now I still can’t get weirdos or people who have such boring lives that they need to obsess over someone else’s infractions, to quit gawking at me. I even had a few stalkers for a while. They’re gone now, but there’s never a guarantee they won’t come back. Especially George. George will likely be back once he’s out of jail again in two weeks.
And the boyfriend, the one who broke up with me earlier that night— hence why I went out and got more hammered than I had ever been in my entire life—even proposed a week later, after the day I quit drinking. But that was also after his best friend felt me up underneath the table (without my permission, mind you) at the booth we were sitting in with a group of friends while eating our phở the afternoon the Sox won.
No one believed me, none of my family or friends, about the stalkers and about what my ex’s best friend did. They believed I received weird looks sometimes, though. But, so what, they said, I had earned it, hadn’t I? Hahaha…
Still. No one really wants to hear my story about that night, even after a couple of years have gone by. I’m still looked at as the idiot slut or slutty dork. And I wonder if that will ever change—if there’s ever a way for that to change.
[All Rights Reserved by K.E. Creighton and Creighton’s Compositions LLC. The above work is a piece of fiction. All names and locations referred to are the product of the author’s imagination and are used entirely for fictional purposes. Any similarities to real-life persons or places are purely coincidental.]
Notes on Completing this Writing Prompt
This writing prompt was uncomfortable for me to write. At times, I even wanted to change what it was about. But I eventually stayed with it and completed it because it’s about something worth talking about.
With all the videos people post online nowadays, we never hear, or hardly ever hear, the story of who was filmed and what they felt about being filmed, especially if they’re filmed without permission. I’m talking about those explicit videos or embarrassing videos, those videos you know the person being filmed wouldn’t want online. These videos don’t just live online most of the time either, they also manifest themselves in the real world and lead to a lot of bullying and real crimes–especially crimes against women, or those who are more vulnerable and unprotected in our society.