Imagine. . . . You receive an invitation to a party.
You are invited to dress as a character according to the book you are currently writing or reading.
OR, you are invited to the type of party you’ve always wanted to be invited to . . .1950s cocktail? 1880’s garden party? Costume party? Bon voyage party?
Options:
~Write about the invitation you received.
~Your thoughts, or your fictional character’s thoughts, as you or he/she anticipate the party. 
~Write about a party you have attended.
~Write about a party you would like to give or attend.
Prompt: Imagine you are invited to a party . . .
Please follow and like us:
mcullen Post author
An hour has gone by and the host still has not made an appearance. The guests search the garden, the house, the guest cottage, the wine cellar. Miss Drew walks about the house and grounds, looking for clues.
Miss Lane sits in the alcove, foot jiggling, impatient for some action. She takes out her reporter’s notebook and looks around the parlor for someone to interview.
“Miss Ball, hello, excuse me. Hello.”
“Yes?” Lucille Ball blinks, her overgrown eyelashes seem to have their own zip code.
“Miss Ball, may I ask you a few questions?”
Miss Drew, lurking behind a philodendron, leans in a little closer.
“Of course, dear,” she smiles, flashing her megawatt teeth.
“Let’s sit over there.” Lois Lane points to a loveseat.
Nancy Drew pushes a philodendron stalk aside and telescopes her neck.
Settled, Miss Ball looks left, then right.
Lois Lane scans the room, wondering what Lucille Ball is looking for.
“Miss Ball, do you know our host?”
“Yes, I do. Of course I do.”
Miss Drew cups the back of her left ear, forming an ear trumpet.
Miss Lane asks, “Who is he?”
“He?” asks Lucille Ball. “He? I thought he was a she. Isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” Lois Lane responds, “I thought you knew.”
“Well, yes. Of course I know . . ” Lucille Ball twitches and rummages through her carpet bag.. “Excuse me, dear. I must find my husband, Desi. You know, the famous band leader. He needs to get into costume.”
Miss Ball rises from the loveseat as if she is Cleopatra emerging from her barge on the Nile River.
Lois Lane scratches the top of her head, pushing her hat to a jaunty perch.
Nancy Drew brushes a philodendron leaf away from her cheek.
“Katniss,” Lois Lane hisses at a young woman standing near the fireplace, where a roaring fire is blooming.
“Yes?” Katniss turns towards Miss Lane.
“May I have a few words?” Miss Lane pats the seat beside her.
“Of course,” Katniss smiles and her brown eyes send sparks of warmth.
“Do you know our host?” Miss Lane asks.
“No, I don’t. I received a summons to be here. I don’t really know why I’m here although I have an idea.”
“What is your idea?” asks Miss Lane.
“Oh, I think that. . . ” before Katniss can finish, a spark jumps from the fireplace and ignites the hem of her flimsy dress.
“Oh, dear,” cries Miss Lane.
Nancy Drew takes charge and quickly extinguishes the flame.
“Please excuse me,” Katniss whispers. “I don’t want to be seen by . . . ” Katniss inclines her head in the direction of the doorway. Lois and Nancy exchange glances. When they look back, Katniss has disappeared.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” says Nancy Drew. Miss Lane taps the eraser end of her pencil against her cheek.
“John, John Boy,” Miss Lane calls to a slender young man walking by.
“Yes, ma’am,” John boy pushes his spectacles up his nose and brushes a lock of hair from his forehead.
Nancy Drew is entranced with his dimples.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Can I help you?”
“Oh, yes, I believe you can.” Lois Lane says dreamily, feeling 16 years old again.
“Do you.. . . um. . . I forgot the question.” Miss Lane gazes into John Boy’s warm and welcoming blue eyes.
“Do I . . . ” encourages John Boy.
“Oh, do I ever,” answers Miss Lane. Nancy Drew rolls her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. Excuse me.” John Boy backs away, almost bumping into the butler.
Miss Lane feels a steely grip on her arm.
“Lois, join me, please.”
Lois looks up into Clark’s kind face. He is smiling, but there is concern in his countenance.
Clark asks, “Miss Lane, are you feeling okay?”
“Super,” she answers.
The butler announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, our hostess will be here momentarily. She asks that you enjoy a beverage while you wait.”
He extends a silver tray adorned with cut glass goblets.
Before anyone could partake, a blood curdling scream punctuates the parlor.
“My amulet,” screams Mrs. Peacock. “It’s missing.”
“The poker, over there,” points Neo. “On the floor. It wasn’t there a minute ago.”
“Everyone, calm down,” Colonel Mustard takes charge, coralling the guests.
Forrest Gump stands on a footstool, “As we solve this crime . . . remember. . . Life is like a box of dots. We just need to connect them.”
Kathy Myers
This piece sounds like the free association of an imaginative mind— flipping like a roll-a-decks through characters on T.V, books and games. An interesting format of staccato sentences and mostly dialog. Would make for an interesting picture book as well.