The Writer Who Wouldn't Write - 2

Writing prompt: Have your character cook something without a recipe.
My nano novel this year is purely based on writing prompts taken from the website or given to me through twitter.

Here is the second instalment.


Slightly denser and lumpier than he remembered, but he wolfed it down. He had missed lunch to make this wondrous dessert after all.

With the third fork-full half-way to his mouth, Alfredo’s eyes suddenly alighted on the clock. For a moment his brain did a double-take. It should be about 12.30 shouldn’t it? But for a funny minute, he had thought that the hands were the wrong way round. Ridiculous, it must be the sugar reaching his brai… six o’clock.

It was six o’clock. Not 12.30pm as he had been thinking. Where on earth had the time gone? He looked around the kitchen where the spent time lay scattered about like so many broken egg shells, used spatulas and egg whisks. Shell-shock also befuddled his senses. Absent-mindedly he picked up one of the discarded wooden spoons and carelessly licked some of the raw cake mixture off it. Then he realised that the fork was still half-way to his mouth with his other hand and finished its journey.

The lemony smell and sour taste brought him round.

So, that meant that he only had four hours to write forty thousand words. Ten thousand words an hour? Not even his sugar-laden mind could think that he was able to write 160 words a minute.

Or could he?

He stared down at the plate of cake in his lap, his thoughts beginning to congeal around an idea. It was not just a plate of cake. It was the plate of the cake. The whole cake, with eaten chunks removed which stared up at him accusingly. Could a cake stare accusingly? Apparently an Angel Food cake could. It was the strawberries, they looked like pointy eyes. Pointy insecty eyes.

Alfredo took out the piece of paper and wrote ‘pointy insect eyes’ on the back, underneath the words ‘orang utan’ and ‘last banana’.

It was a simple plan really. He would simply type whatever came into his head as quickly as he could for a minute and see where it led him. Who knows? It might just be the beginning of an enormously successful best-seller, which would make him a fortune.

Or not.

Five minutes later he gazed in despair at the words:

‘When orang-utans go out for picnics, they never forget to bring their Angel Food Cake with them because it reminds them of home. They live in jungles with a lot of insects and the strawberries look like pointy insecty eyes.’

Freddy groaned. Aaaargh! For twenty seconds he had stared at the screen. It ghostly blankness had crawled into his mind and taken root. There must be some kind of mind-numbing radiation coming out from it. Why else did it glow like it did? There was no reason for it.

Then for twenty seconds all he could think of was images of orange fur lolloping through jungles, swinging through trees and sitting on high branches throwing things at each other.

Then finally, for the last twenty seconds, he had frantically typed that.

That putrid two sentences which was all of… thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty words was not going to get a thriller written now, was it?

Alfredo tossed the paper aside in disgust. The cake was still staring at him smugly from where he had discarded it.

‘Oh, shut up!’ he said to it. But it remained inscrutable.


Daniel Efosa Uyi

hey nice post mehn. I love your style of blogging here. The way you writes reminds me of an equally interesting post that I read some time ago on Daniel Uyi's blog: How To Live Your Dream Life .
keep up the good work.


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