Craft,  Writing Prompt

Apples to Apples to Words: Weekly Writing Challenge

Since it’s the weekend, we want you to have a little fun with your writing* so we’re bringing back the Apples to Apples Challenge!

This is *not* a contest, we’re just playing with words today, but here are the rules:

  1. Incorporate the words in large text from the cards below into a short piece of writing – 250 words or less – and post it in the comments for us all to enjoy. 
  2. Please keep it family friendly! We want to show off your well-crafted work but we can’t keep it on our site if it goes against our family-friendly policy. You can explore dark topics but you have to handle them with finesse – minimum gore, no explicit content, and no foul language. If your usual work is loaded with that stuff, this will be a good way to explore how to write for a different audience.
  3. Be sure to read other people’s work and give them some encouragement.
Three cards from the board game ‘Apples to Apples’, each featuring a cartoon apple in either red or green, sit on a wooden surface. The cards read ‘Delicious’ ‘The Grateful Dead’ and ‘Visionary’ (one word per card) in large letters on the left side. At the base of each card is a comment on the term. The ‘Delicious’ card reads ‘Delicious: tasty, pleasing, appetizing.’ The ‘Grateful Dead’ card reads ‘American rock band founded in 1965 and best known for their 'Dead Head' fans.’ And Visionary reads 'Visionary, idealistic, prophetic, far-seeing.'
So, our words today are ‘Delicious’, ‘Grateful Dead’, and ‘Visionary.’ That should make things interesting.


  • Maryanne Eagleson

    Delicious, The Grateful Dead, and Visionary
    by Maryanne Eagleson

    I didn’t think of her as a visionary. She was my Nana. We were her life. It took her two weeks on an old ship that barely fit all the migrants from Southern Italy to cross the frozen waters in winter to the freedom shores of America and The Statue of Liberty in 1922. She was twenty-two. I’m not that into numerology, but I marveled at the simple coincidence.
    When I turned twenty-two, I was into strange loud music like The Grateful Dead which she called, in her thick Italian accent, “Crazie musica.” She loved to sing when she cooked and baked. When I was younger, she sang opera, Caruso her favorite. Her voice was rich, full and light. I didn’t understand the words she sung; we weren’t encouraged to speak anything but English in those days and she didn’t argue. America gave her the freedom she sought.
    Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought that aria infused food she cooked or baked was extra delicious. As I got older, I began to appreciate the little wisdoms she shared like; “You don’t have to be rich to dress nice” or “Close your mouth on the bus and breathe through your nose, you don’t want to get sick.”
    She’s been gone now for thirty-three years and I still feel her around, especially at moments when I’m confused, torn, or seeking advice. Thanks Nana; I still keep my mouth closed on the bus.

  • Birgitte Necessary

    Are you a friend of the devil asks the brown eyed woman. Delicious brown eyes. Like apples in the fall. I’m walkin. Still walkin. Heading for a life on Easy Street. Hoping to avoid the danger. She warns me. Trouble ahead. Trouble behind. But I tell her I will get by. I will survive. She laughs. Delicious laughter. Crunchy. Like apples in the fall.

    I try not to think about what I’m leaving behind. Turn up the radio. Listen to the music play. Try not to think about walkin in the valley of the shadow of her death. Her death. Mine. Whatever kills you, kills you. She twists the knife. I am the receptacle, bleeding out on the floor.

    I grab her hand. Pull the knife out. Try not to beg for more. Her eyes turn hard. Like apples in the fall. I will not forgive you, she says. You never take a chance.
    I figure this is an ending.

    The universe has changed she says. The bus came and you got on without me. Always without me. You don’t hear me when I call.
    I pull the knife out. Push her away. I can’t take that ride again, so I chose the lesser of two evils.

    Still an evil she says, and there is nothing delicious about that. I’ll drink to your health. She turns away.

    I should have known she was a visionary. Ain’t nobody messing with me but me. I lay my body down.

  • Jeff Greene

    Bottom Drawer
    By Jeff Greene

    “One way or another this darkness got to give.”
    New Speedway Boogie by The Grateful Dead.

    I cleared the clutter off my desk. Reached down and opened the bottom drawer. In it was everything that was good and bad about my life depending on what day I peered inside. I was no visionary by any means but I knew what kind of day this was going to be.

    I pulled out an old cassette player and placed it on the desk. I hit play and the Grateful Dead’s New Speedway Boogie began to play. Next I reached in and placed the half empty whiskey bottom down beside the tape deck. I uncooked the top taking a healthy swallow. The alcohol didn’t burn as it used too. But what chance did it have against the anger, regret, and sadness raging inside.

    I looked at the two items I pulled from the drawer. Two of the three things holding the highest importance in my life. Music, my everlasting companion through everything, and a stiff drink that clarified or clouded my moods when necessary.

    I grabbed the last thing out of the drawer, complete, ready and all I ever was or wanted to be. It symbolized my life and ironically it was life and death.

    It tasted delicious against my lips as I pulled the trigger.

  • Pam Martin

    “Delicious!” Charlie proclaimed, flinging the apple core over the fence to Maude, the Jersey cow who had been eyeing them complacently during the entire picnic. “It’s a Delicious apple and it’s delicious, mummy! That’s funny. Suppose carrot meant something else too and then you could say a carrot was really carrot.”
    “Doesn’t quite work that way, Charlie, because you’re not saying that an apple is apple. It’s different. Delicious is a variety of apple, like MacIntosh.”
    “You sound like my teacher, mummy. Are apples dead when we eat them?”
    “Not unless they’re applesauce.”
    “So, we’re eating them alive! Does it hurt?”
    Sharon sighed. “No, sweetie it doesn’t hurt, any more than it hurts when you crunch up a raw carrot or a piece of celery. Let’s just be grateful that we have good food to eat and not worry about it. “
    “I’m not worried, I’m interested. I’m curious. My teacher says it’s good to be curious, that’s how you learn stuff. You want me to learn, right? My teacher told Ben that he was a great visionary because he was making a robot out of a cardboard box and he said it would do his homework for him. I like doing my homework though. Is visionary like a missionary?”

  • Adelina Laffitte

    We met freshman year of high school when he sat in front of me in English class. Jack. His name was Jack. He always sat sideways in his desk for some reason, yet whenever he cracked a joke in class that had everyone in stitches, he made sure he could easily glance back at me with a goofy grin to make sure I was laughing too.
    Jack became my best friend. I learned he was a passionate cook who could fashion the most delicious, five-star dishes I’ve ever tasted. He would turn on The Grateful Dead and boogie around the kitchen, using dirty stirring spoons as a microphone to sing with me. No one at our school knew about this band except for us.
    Senior year we took a creative writing class together. The brainstorm of stories got our minds wondering about our futures after high school, and Jack was a true visionary. He was determined to become an artist of some sort. He had been dabbling with the ideas of becoming a photographer or writer. “I’m going to travel the world and meet so many new people,” he would say, “That’s what I’ll shoot and write about.” I knew he would do it, too. He always did what he said he would. Maybe that’s why I fell in love with him. Maybe that’s why yesterday, we packed our things into our Volkswagen minivan signed “Just Married!” on the back window and made our way out into the world.

    • Jeff Greene

      Certain writings strike certain people. Every story is not every bodies cup of tea. On first read this was fantastic. It flowed, it grabbed me. Best line to me “he sat sideways”.