I’m so excited to welcome you to our first prompt for 100 Words.
I hope this is the start of a wonderful experience where your writing grows with your confidence. This is where you just need to write just 100 words. A few either side is fine but the object is to get your imagination going and your words flowing. The Gentle Pen is a writing community for anyone who’s ever wanted to write — but hesitated.
Every week, I’ll share a writing prompt and invite you to respond in approximately 100 words.
No perfection. No pressure. Just the joy of beginning.
The Prompts
New prompts arrive once a week (you’ll get them by email if you’re subscribed).
Each prompt is short and open-ended — something that can spark a story, reflection, or poem.
Feel free to interpret it your own way — there’s no “wrong” response.
How to Share Your Writing
You can respond in any of these ways:
In the comments under each prompt post — this is the simplest way to share.
As a link — if you have your own publication and have posted there, pop the link in the comments
By email — if you’d like to be considered for a future Community Showcase (where I share selected 100-word pieces).
Privately — if you just want to write for yourself.
There’s no obligation to share — reading, thinking, or quietly drafting all count as participation.
The ‘100 Word’ Guidelines
Keep your piece to 100 words or fewer.
Don’t worry about being exact — 95 or 105 is perfectly fine.
Focus on feeling, not formality. This is about expression, not precision
Community Values
This space is built on kindness.
If you choose to share, please read others’ work with empathy and encouragement.
We’re here to support beginnings — not to critique or compare
So, to our first prompt!
Any images/photographs used have been taken by me or my husband, Nick
Something in keeping with the season!
Look closely at the image and its surroundings.
Who might it be?
Why are they there?
How are they feeling?
Is it even human?
Let your imagination fly. Whatever comes to mind is fine. You cannot get it wrong!
Nine months later, Collum's feet started to itch - little grasping roots caught in the weave of his sandals.
It was time; he'd wait till nightfall. One more day to watch his sisters play, bring in wood for his mother, visit the overflowing root cellar to remind himself why he had to go.
The witch had promised his family would never starve; he had to trust her. Even harder than knowing his fate was not knowing theirs.
When night fell, he bundled into his warmest robe - for he had no idea how long he'd still feel the cold. He stood between the Spruce that always dropped branches for their kindling and the Oak he'd taught his sisters to climb.
When the sun rose, he'd already rooted, his robe becoming bark around him.
Here's my take, Julia : https://open.substack.com/pub/writevibes/p/the-messenger