“Mike, try to think of one of the most insane things that could happen…” the text conversation began.

Turns out, that’s EXACTLY the kind of writing prompt I LOVE. And even better, he didn’t want to share the experience until our next call.

“You should write a three paragraph story of what you think happened.”

It’s like someone gave him a manual for hacking my writer’s brain.

I replied that writing was the easy part, but expected I wouldn’t be anywhere near the mark for what actually happened. In much of my writing, I tend to drift into fantastical situations or absurdity, and I’m usually not interested in reining myself in.

I was waiting for the school bus, so I started telling myself a story similar to the 1947 Roswell UFO crash, but in his neighboring state instead of New Mexico. However, it immediately became clear that he was bursting to share, even if he was keeping the full story secret until we could talk.

“It involves death, prison, and six hours at the animal care center.”

WOW. OK, no aliens. For now.

I’ve had conversations like this before, if not with details as intriguing as this, and I’ve found that including some personal info is a great way to draw the person into the brief story I’m crafting for them. It’s same reason I first considered a regional event like Roswell. I set the aliens idea aside and let those three details form a kind of movie for my mind’s eye.

Fifteen minutes later, I had this.

A Day of Troubles

Saturday. Bright. Warm but not too hot. One of the best kinds of days to say goodbye. Little did we know, God had more than one kind of farewell on the agenda.

Scratch that. There’s no way we could have had even the smallest inkling, but I get ahead of myself.

The day of my mother-in-law’s funeral had finally arrived. I say ‘finally’ because the disease had taken a long, tortuous route toward the final conclusion. But as I stated above, it was a good day – the kind she would have liked. One where we might have had lunch as a family in the park, or perhaps spent some time hiking in the desert foothills.

We were both drained and energized in a way that only funerals make a person feel. You reconnect with so many people and share so many wonderful stories. You also laugh more than you anticipate. And yet, you have to be on the whole day. It’s like you’ve adopted a persona that people expect to see: someone strong and well-adjusted. They don’t want to see behind the mask you wear, even though they wouldn’t be surprised because they’ve worn that mask, too.

Afterwards, we enjoyed the weather like she would have wanted us to: my wife, myself, and our dog, Trouble. He’s quite empathetic for a dog, and he seemed to be behaving out of respect for us. Until he wasn’t.

On our way home from the park, he caught me off-guard as he chased a rodent or something under a car. Before I could blink, I lost the leash, he scurried under the car, and disappeared on the other side.

We searched for hours, considering ourselves fortunate that we could follow the occasional bark or curse words that chased him as he scampered through people’s yards.

Dusk approached, heralding more than the night. Ahead lay the state prison, and it was lit up like a city under siege. We’d later learn that Trouble had discovered a hidden tunnel under the fences, and that three inmates had discovered Trouble.

What happens next? I have no idea. It’s an unedited draft of an idea that simply flowed from brain to page. It might never be fleshed out. Despite that, conscious writing decisions were made.

The story begins with a mix of emotions and proceeds at a slow pace, which was deliberate so I could ramp up the action or whatever absurdity my writer brain could conjure. I’m building toward something, even if I don’t know that is.

This brings me to another decision: while there’s nothing particularly profound about these 350 words, I’ve left myself an intriguing mystery to help spark inspiration, should I ever go back to it. It’s a writing technique I developed to help me on those days when my creative tank is running low. To learn more, check out Set Yourself Mysteries.

It reminds me of another creative exercise I did in college after I changed my major from computer programming to writing. I’d tell someone to give me three details, usually something like a name, a place, and an event, and then I’d spend ten or fifteen minutes telling a story I was making up on the spot. Call it “reverse Mad Libs”. In hindsight, I was teaching myself a way to organize my thoughts around a few key details.

I share these techniques as examples of the tools in my writer’s toolbox. Even when I’m enjoying a simple writing exercise, I’m using these tools without having to think about them. It means the creativity flows better and the effort of writing is more joy than work.

Good luck with your writing!

–Mike

(C) Michael Wallevand, June 2026