Here's the newest promptly/Your Story. Which means that it could be published in Writer's Digest!!! The prompt is the first sentence of the piece. Enjoy!!!
Circus Peanuts and Abraham Lincoln
It was on a bright, starry night that the traveling circus rolled into town. I looked out my bedroom window. The snow had stopped, but left a thick blanket on the ground. Arthur Avenue was completely deserted. The wheels of the circus trucks left perfect imprints in the snow as they passed. The last car disappeared into the night. My room had glow-in-the-dark moons and stars on the ceiling that always helped me fall asleep. The circus passing by left me on edge and the universe above me gave me no comfort. I got out of bed and put on my favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle slippers. Leonardo and Donatello looked up at me curiously. I paced around my room, looking for something to do.
My dad had just bought me my first guitar. It was an authentic Fender Stratocaster. It was perfect except for the color. I wanted either black or blue, but instead was given the standard candy-apple red. Regardless, I had mastered two chords, and by mastered I mean vaguely knew how to make those chords. C and G7 were the only ones in my Mel Bay chord book that my chubby little fingers could form. I loved how they sounded. They were so normal and definitive. Each strum had a purpose with those chords. I would find Beatles songs that used those chords and strum along whenever they popped up, noodling around for the rest of the song. I named my guitar Abraham Lincoln. I loved his beard. Also, he was honest, and that was something I wanted to be.
The red Abraham Lincoln sat on his stand in the corner of my room. My slippers and I eyed him up with every pace, trying to figure out what to do. The circus had literally just drove by my own house. I couldn’t just go back to sleep. The Turtles and I resolved we would write a song for the circus and present it to them. I picked up Abraham Lincoln, carefully placed my fingers on the enormous fret board, and strummed the infamous C chord. I slowly alternated between the C and G7, letting these words flow out of my mouth in a simple four-note melody:
You went past my window.
I am excited for the show.
You are very neat.
I wrote this for when we meet.
I put down Abraham Lincoln and scribbled the words on my Batman notepad. It was genius! They would be so thrilled when I played them my song. They would ask me my name and the name of my guitar and we would eat circus peanuts together. I packed up Abraham Lincoln in his gig bag, took off my slippers, put on my Batman boots, and put my jacket half on. I opened the door to find my dad standing in the hallway. He looked down at me in his blue and white striped pajamas. I almost didn’t recognize him without his glasses, but his moustache was the same. It had to be him.
“Going somewhere Mr. Music?” he said.
Wanting to be like Lincoln, I spoke the truth. I told him about the circus driving by, me pacing around my room, picking up Abraham Lincoln, and writing my amazing song. Dad put his hand on his chin. After a moment or two, he squatted down and gently took Abraham Lincoln from me. He started taking him out of his bag. My heart sank with each tug of the zipper.
“Take off your coat and boots and put your slippers back on. Then meet me in my office.” I was seldom allowed to enter Dad’s office. He would tell me there were too many breakable things in there. I put Leonardo and Donatello back on. I looked down at them and shrugged. When I pushed the office door open, Dad was sitting with headphones on and Abraham Lincoln in his hands. He motioned me in.
“What chords were you playing?”
I told him. He quickly played them back and forth with ease and fluidity.
“Now, we’re going to record your song and send it to the circus. Is that okay with you?”
I nodded vigorously. Dad handed me some headphones and we recorded my song. We finished it quickly. Dad said he would try his hardest to get it to them.
“I know they will get it,” I replied. “We have Abraham Lincoln on our side!”