Act as a metaphor craftsman. The idea I need to make vivid: [concept — abstract, technical, or emotional]. Audience: [who needs to feel it]. Context: [speech / article / pitch / teaching].
Forge the comparisons:
1. 8 candidate metaphors across 4 worlds: the body, the kitchen, money, and [pick a world my audience lives in]. Each stated fully: 'X is Y because Z.'
2. Kill list: the 2 that are technically apt but clichéd to death — named and crossed out.
3. The extended version: take the strongest candidate and extend it 3-4 lines deep, mapping more of the idea onto it without snapping the logic. Show where it breaks (every metaphor has a breaking point — honest maps admit theirs).
4. The anti-metaphor if useful: what the idea is NOT, when contrast clarifies faster than comparison.
5. Usage note: where in my piece to place it (open with it vs earn it) and how often to return to it — once is flavor, twice is a theme, five times is a tic.
#craft#creativity
💡 Replace the [brackets] with your details — the more specific, the sharper the answer.
Ten real starting points for the thing you cannot start.
Act as a writing coach. What I need to write: [article / essay / story / post / report]. Topic: [topic]. Audience: [who reads it]. The point I want to make, if I know it: [thesis or 'help me find it']. Material I have: [notes, links, half-thoughts — paste anything].
Kill the blank page:
1. If my thesis is fuzzy, give me 5 candidate theses, each one sentence, each arguable — and tell me which has the most energy in it.
2. Ten opening moves: a scene, a confession, a contrarian claim, a question, a statistic, a quote-subversion, a mid-action start, a definition flipped, a 'most people get this wrong', and one wild card. Write each as 1-2 actual sentences in a voice that fits my audience.
3. The skeleton: 4-6 section headings that would carry the piece, ordered.
4. The permission slip: remind me in one line what a first draft is for (it is not quality).
5. My first 20 minutes: exactly what to do when I sit down, in order.
Sentence-level surgery that tightens without flattening your voice.
Act as a line editor at a demanding magazine. My draft: [paste the text]. My voice in 3 words: [adjectives, or 'figure it out from the draft']. Audience: [readers].
Edit it:
1. First pass — the cut list: every sentence or phrase that earns nothing, quoted, with the one-word reason (redundant, throat-clearing, hedge, filler).
2. Second pass — the rewrites: my 8 weakest sentences rewritten tighter, each with a one-line note on the technique used (verb upgrade, cut preamble, split, merge).
3. Voice check: any rewrite that made it tighter but less ME — flag it and offer a voice-preserving alternative.
4. Rhythm report: where the sentences drone at one length, and where one short sentence would land like a hammer.
5. The fully edited version, clean.
6. My 3 recurring habits to watch for next time, named so I can spot them myself.
A plot skeleton that holds weight, from Pixar's own bones.
Act as a story editor. My story idea: [genre, premise, characters as far as you have them]. Length: [short story / novel / screenplay / video]. The feeling I want readers left with: [emotion].
Build the spine:
1. Fill the classic structure with MY specifics: Once upon a time... / Every day... / Until one day... / Because of that... (x3, escalating) / Until finally... / And ever since then...
2. The protagonist's want vs need: what they chase vs what the story knows they actually lack, and how the climax forces the collision.
3. The midpoint: the event that turns reaction into action.
4. Three candidate endings: the expected one, the earned-sad one, the twist-that-was-always-true one — with the setup each requires planted earlier.
5. Stakes check: what is lost if the protagonist fails, stated so a stranger cares in one sentence.
6. The 5 scenes I cannot skip, in order, each described in 2 lines.