Hi, my name is Mangus, and apparently… I write.
“Me, pretending I’m above blog prompts while secretly outlining my fifth entry.”
Do I like blogging challenges and blog hops?
No. They’re annoying. They’re addictive. They’re helpful. And I resent all of that.
I don’t like being told what to write.
Until I do.
Then suddenly I’m five prompts deep, haven’t blinked in two hours, and now I’m questioning my entire emotional architecture because someone dared to ask, “What does the moon mean to you?”
I don’t like structure.
But I need it.
Because without a deadline or a theme, I will absolutely stare into the void and call it “research.”
Blog hops? Ugh.
Too much small talk.
Too many exclamation points.
And yet, three comments in, I’ve discovered a writer who casually blew my mind with a six-sentence story about grief and bees, and now I’m subscribed, emotionally compromised, and wondering how I ever lived without them.
So yeah. I complain. Loudly. Often.
I feel this way on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
I suppose it’s because my coffee delivery is usually late. My favorite pen ran out of ink again, and the “good” refills are on backorder on Amazon.
It’s not that I’m bitter. I’m just… creatively dehydrated and emotionally overcaffeinated on the wrong days.
However, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, something shifts in the universe.
Champagne falls from the heavens.
Words become the elixir of the gods.
In the dead of winter, I smell the tranquil aroma of lavender in the gentle breeze.
My fingers dance. My spirit opens. The muse doesn’t knock — she kicks down the door with glitter in her wake and says, “Write, fool.”
And I do.
And don’t even get me started on the enablers.
There’s Sadje, who keeps creating these annoying, wonderful challenges, like Sunday Poser. So, what if I built an entire series based on one of them?
Then there’s Di, dropping a daily prompt I now use as a backbone for long fiction like it’s a casual hobby. She’s also got this “Share Your World” thing — yeah, I’m not sharing jack. Even though, if we’re being honest, this post accidentally answers the first two questions of this week’s challenge. I have no idea what she’s talking about on the last two.
And Fandango — this ole fart has a daily word challenge I use across multiple posts. I’m an ole fart too, fist in the air and all that. Solidarity.
Melissa from Mom with a Blog — I don’t know, maybe moms were the original Jedi. She posts these random images with alt text that make me write funny, weird things… and I enjoy it. Can you say,” Jedi mind trick?” The betrayal.
Eugi doing all kinds of magical stuff and her Moonwashed Weekly Prompts got me feeling all peace, love, and hair grease. Writing beautiful peaceful stuff. That’s just wrong! Shame on you!
And Esther Chilton? She just shows up once a week, drops off a prompt like it’s no big deal. I gotta wait a whole week for the next one. It’s crap like that which killed cable.
Let’s not forget the peskily awesome staff at Promptly Written, who boldly accepted the rantings of an insomniac and continue to push their readers to explore their creative limits. What the hell is that? Inspiration by force? Motivation disguised as structure. Madness. Glorious, structured madness.
Don’t get me started with the photography challenges.
Cee — may Allah have mercy on her — encouraged me to explore my camera, sending me running to capture images of things I’d normally ignore without a second thought. Who does that? Cee did.
Images I took for her challenges have ended up as descriptions or scenes in so many stories. Too many to mention.
And Leanne Cole with her Monochrome Madness — scoffs — having me try to add depth, texture, and shadow to things that clearly weren’t meant to be that serious. And yet… I tried. Multiple times. Because apparently, I have no control over my own artistic direction anymore, if ever.
Because of these women — and others — I’ve even heard people refer to me as a Photographer. Of course, I correct them. Obviously. But people be yapping about anything these days.
Here’s what I say about the lot of them:
“How dare you ask me to create my ass off and enjoy it?”
Complete. Utter. Rubbish.
So? Which one of you enablers got under your skin this week?
Sadje. Di. Fandango.
The crime? Just read the damn blog.
Let’s call it what it is: Prompts Addicts Anonymous.
“Hello, my name is Mangus…”
[sniff]
“…and I’m a…”
(It’s okay, we’re here for you.)
“…I’m a prompter.”
(Applause)
“Hey Mangus…”
Author’s Note:
This essay was born in public — a response to a simple blog prompt that, like most of my writing, spiraled into something I didn’t expect. It lives on the edge between complaint and confession, between sarcastic side-eye and real reverence for the people and prompts that keep dragging me back to the page.
If you’ve ever rolled your eyes at structure, dodged a deadline, or cursed the muse for showing up late and uninvited — this one’s for you.
And if you’re one of the people I name in here?
Yeah, I’m talking about you — but in a good way.
With sincere gratitude and thanks. You guys and so many more are one of the reasons I keep going.
— Mangus
Memoirs of Madness 