Writing Prompts February Novels & Stories

February arrives in two parts. The first part is the cold. The January cold is honest and expected. February cold is personal. It has been doing this for weeks now and has decided to make it specific, targeting coats and faces and the particular exposed strip of skin between scarf and collar that no one ever adequately protects. The city moves through it with the practiced resignation of people who have been here before and know it ends eventually. The second part is the fourteenth. The documentary releases on the fourteenth, and the days between the first of February and the fourteenth have a specific quality of time that contains something significant at its end. Not anxious. Just weighted

Ella rebuked her and immediately they both began to argue. "Serena, won't you say anything "? Linda called out to me but I pretended not to hear her. They are not dragging me into their childish argument. "Fine, you win, what's so special about February that you won't stop blabbing about it"? " Am also interested in knowing Linda". I finally joined the conversation. Waiting for Linda to explain the big month. "Well, ladies, February is the month in which we celebrate Valentine's, and the school always through a lavishing party for that".

Where Don recorded the date and the weather and the specific quality of the morning's light, Ernest wrote toward something he could not always name, circling it in prose, approaching it through description rather than direct statement. But in February of the thirty-third year, he counted in the sense of looking at the full extent. He sat in the study. The fire was low — February in England required a fire, but not the roaring fire of December and January. The February fire was the fire that knew winter was not finished but had passed its peak. The quality of February light came through the study window: not the sharp clarity of autumn, not the diffuse grey of deep winter, but something tenta

“Maybe Zyah can help!” “Yes? I heard my name.” Zyah came in close to our direction. Johnny turned to her, still holding his styrofoam. “I was tasked to draw something as long its related to love.” Zyah giggled. “Is anything as long associated with love?” “Yeah. February, month of love. But I don’t know what to draw. Can you help me, Zy?” “Aww. Sure,” she replied. She laid down the styrofoam on the floor. “Can I borrow a pencil?” She asked.

Selene’s POV February arrives without fanfare. This is February’s way. It does not announce itself the way January does, with the weight of a new year pressing on everything, or the way March will, with the specific restlessness of something about to change. February just arrives, grey and quiet, and gets on with being the middle of winter without requiring anyone to make meaning of it. I find I like February for exactly this reason.

Who would come to her rescue? If interested, search GoodNovel Workshop on F******K, OR send any story idea (summary, character profiles, random ideas) to: workshop@goodnovel.com There will be senior editors review the entries and help you develop even the random thoughts to well-written stories.

Now that I have had some rest, I am still trying to occupy my mind with things like decorating my kids' bedroom and starting a huge spring cleaning in my house. I will continue writing Jagger's story in February, but I can't promise it will be updated daily. I will surely try. I hope you all had great holidays and a fantastic new year. I will see you all in February. Love, Peyton.

Elara ------- February arrived the way it always did — grey and indifferent, the city stripped of the drama that winter had promised and delivering instead a flat persistent cold that asked nothing of anyone except endurance. She liked February. It was an honest month. She wrote every day now. Not the reactive journalism of the past six months — the counter-statements and the pre-emptive pieces and the press cycle management. The book. Real work. The kind that required you to sit with something difficult and not reach for the easier version.

November asked you to be accurate. February was different. February was the month of hidden preparation. The branch tips held their buds — not yet open, not yet the green of March or the committed fullness of April, but present, the decision made below the visible surface, the energy gathered, the thing becoming before anyone could see the becoming. February said: trust what you cannot yet see.