This workbook was made as a short and simple creativity exercise to help practice creative, observational, and descriptive skills. One one page of the notebook I’ve pasted a found image from a magazine or newspaper and filled the other page with 100 words inspired by the image. I found that the length constriction helped to made the task seem easy to accomplish, which in turn reinforced the creative habit. Akin to a sketchbook, this is roughly used to flesh out creative ideas and practice my writing.

He'll look at you and smile, always. Rain or shine, cold or otherwise, always an upward crease across his lips. And you'll try and smile back because you startle because you don't know what else to do, catching what looks more like a polite wince in the reflection of his glasses. Grief softly settles on your shoulder for not being able to smile back and extend yourself towards the kind stranger. But the flowers he sells are more for himself than for you; his own way of waving at the world and spreading handfuls of happiness for $3 a bunch.

He'll look at you and smile, always. Rain or shine, cold or otherwise, always an upward crease across his lips. And you'll try and smile back because you startle because you don't know what else to do, catching what looks more like a polite wince in the reflection of his glasses. Grief softly settles on your shoulder for not being able to smile back and extend yourself towards the kind stranger. But the flowers he sells are more for himself than for you; his own way of waving at the world and spreading handfuls of happiness for $3 a bunch.


It sat along the sidewalk and wept silently. Tears of old paint dripping mournfully onto the pavement, shoulders shuttering in the wind. Silently now. Memories long since leaked out from its cracks and onto the streets, memories filled with togetherness and growth. All down the drain now. Weeds had already begun to grow between its toes, and long spindly winter shadows stretched across the cold black road, beckoning like Charon. The street emptied and it closed its eyes, face falling without expression. It slouched, finally surrendering to time. And withering away with a dying breath, it groaned, "For Sale".

It sat along the sidewalk and wept silently. Tears of old paint dripping mournfully onto the pavement, shoulders shuttering in the wind. Silently now. Memories long since leaked out from its cracks and onto the streets, memories filled with togetherness and growth. All down the drain now. Weeds had already begun to grow between its toes, and long spindly winter shadows stretched across the cold black road, beckoning like Charon. The street emptied and it closed its eyes, face falling without expression. It slouched, finally surrendering to time. And withering away with a dying breath, it groaned, "For Sale".


Human beings were berserk before Allogene Incorporated. In the 21st century before qubit technology made personoids a reality we were so primal. Fighting over ideologies, over borders and resources? How savage. Now machines have lifted us into our final era; a platinum age for humanity. A zenith of evolution personifying desire itself. A technological covenant blissfully easing the population pandemic and ending reckless procreation, their existence we always prayed for unknowingly. Strange how long we suffered our animal instincts. As our numbers peacefully dwindle alongside our silicon soulmates, we'll look into their flawlessly crafted eyes and say, "at least". 

Human beings were berserk before Allogene Incorporated. In the 21st century before qubit technology made personoids a reality we were so primal. Fighting over ideologies, over borders and resources? How savage. Now machines have lifted us into our final era; a platinum age for humanity. A zenith of evolution personifying desire itself. A technological covenant blissfully easing the population pandemic and ending reckless procreation, their existence we always prayed for unknowingly. Strange how long we suffered our animal instincts. As our numbers peacefully dwindle alongside our silicon soulmates, we'll look into their flawlessly crafted eyes and say, "at least". 


"This downward stress is a killer," thought the man in the necktie noose. Living on the corner of Same St. and Dull Dr. the pressure to comply, to step in line can kill a man if it weighs just right. Always "sharing" and comparing ourselves to something called "normal," an idea never described clearly but harshly reminded when you didn't abide. So one normal night under normal street light with some color he'd been saving for when the time was just right, smeared the front of his house as if to say when he was done that, "one size fits none".

"This downward stress is a killer," thought the man in the necktie noose. Living on the corner of Same St. and Dull Dr. the pressure to comply, to step in line can kill a man if it weighs just right. Always "sharing" and comparing ourselves to something called "normal," an idea never described clearly but harshly reminded when you didn't abide. So one normal night under normal street light with some color he'd been saving for when the time was just right, smeared the front of his house as if to say when he was done that, "one size fits none".

Fold up the years, put your memories in the overhead bin. Everyone's born with their ticket for a trip to some other place, beyond where the water meets the sky. And while our departure times may vary and our destination is on no flight plan, we'll all catch the connecting flight sometime or another. So to stress, to fret? Why bother. Why distract from looking around this terminal? People watch; make a quick friend out of someone who's also waiting and ask where they're from, and how long they've been on this layover. Perhaps you'll meet again someday on another trip to somewhere.

Fold up the years, put your memories in the overhead bin. Everyone's born with their ticket for a trip to some other place, beyond where the water meets the sky. And while our departure times may vary and our destination is on no flight plan, we'll all catch the connecting flight sometime or another. So to stress, to fret? Why bother. Why distract from looking around this terminal? People watch; make a quick friend out of someone who's also waiting and ask where they're from, and how long they've been on this layover. Perhaps you'll meet again someday on another trip to somewhere.


Despite missing the tip of one finger and multiple bouts with river blindness, Dr. Rupert Tellingford remained unshakably optimistic. Research into the dining rituals of pre-Columbian Amazonian culture demands considerate personal sacrifice, thus he viewed these experiences as nominal. In the past 14 months he'd made progress with the local tribe, been accepted even! Though their glances were cagey he'd be permitted to begin his research in earnest, implied suspiciously eager elders. But while walking one day a chilling thought suddenly struck him, forcing anxious speculation on what (or who) was to be the main course at the upcoming ceremonial banquet.

Despite missing the tip of one finger and multiple bouts with river blindness, Dr. Rupert Tellingford remained unshakably optimistic. Research into the dining rituals of pre-Columbian Amazonian culture demands considerate personal sacrifice, thus he viewed these experiences as nominal. In the past 14 months he'd made progress with the local tribe, been accepted even! Though their glances were cagey he'd be permitted to begin his research in earnest, implied suspiciously eager elders. But while walking one day a chilling thought suddenly struck him, forcing anxious speculation on what (or who) was to be the main course at the upcoming ceremonial banquet.