Today is both National Day on Writing and International Sloth Day. And because I love combining two seemingly disparate topics when writing, I decided to acknowledge both holidays when writing today. Keep reading to see the full writing prompt and my completed version of it: Dash.
Today’s Writing Prompt: Writing And The Sloth
Today, write about a writer and a sloth in one scene. Use your imagination to figure out how their worlds would intersect and or interact.
Completed Version of Today’s Writing Prompt
Dash, by K.E. Creighton
When Shana first started watching the sloth through the glass, she was anxious. It was moving so slooooowly. She had felt the urge to break through the glass and give it a boost up the tree it was climbing– if you could call it climbing.
Shana was here in this musty enclosed space on her lunch break— when she should be at her desk writing about air raids happening half a world away— because she had been tasked with writing about the newest baby animal at the local zoo. The baby animal was a baby sloth named Dash. Add no, she hadn’t found the ironic name cute. She had been way too annoyed. She was only here because Maureen, the writer who usually covered these stories if you can call them that, had called out sick with a bout of food poisoning.
Shana had already interviewed the zoo staff monitoring the baby sloth, so now she was just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, to get a glimpse of…
Finally, she noticed a little head poke out from the abdomen area of the sloth climbing the tree. It was baby Dash. She breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she had finally spotted him. Now she could get on with the rest of her life.
Dash had a placid expression on his face that was calm and mesmerizing. How had she not noticed him before? He had been right in front of her face the whole time she was sitting here. Regardless, now that she had spotted him, she couldn’t look away. He was adorable and so peaceful, especially while drinking his mother’s milk. It was a beautiful sight to see. She almost felt like she was in a forest watching them.
Shana’s phone buzzed. She was still watching the sloths climb the tree in front of her as she felt around in her purse to grab her phone, careful not to avert her eyes from the animals.
When she answered her phone, a perturbed voice greeted her. “So, are you ever going to come back? I know you were annoyed with the zoo assignment. But we still need the story about the baby sloth ready to publish in an hour.” It was her editor.
“Calm down, Charles. It’s only like, what… one o’clock?”
“Shana, are you high? You sound high. It’s nearly three-thirty! Get back here A.S.A.P. with the fucking story, the cutest fucking story about the cutest fucking sloth baby that ever existed at our fucking fantastic local zoo. Or you’ll be writing about the fucking sewer line hiccup at fucking City Hall next.” He hung up.
Shana looked down at her phone. Damn. It was almost three-thirty. Oh well. She suddenly felt relaxed, and much calmer. She didn’t even care about all of her editor’s f-bombs. Perhaps slowing down to write about the sloths wasn’t such a bad thing for her to do after all. At the very least, it seemed to be good for her blood pressure and anxiety. And better yet, now she knew exactly what she’d write about: the adorable baby sloth, Dash, and how sloths will help you breathe long enough to remember how to conduct a healthy speed of life.