The Power of Writing Prompts in Creative Recovery

I’m part of writers group at VA that meets every week. It’s all online and we tend to become cheerleaders for one another. As for experience, we’re all over the place. Some are published and have lost their way and trying to find their way back. Others have a dream.

Some, like me, dip their pens into the wells of the past .

We write out our experiences, terrors, joys, and pains. And yes, even our fears and hopes.

Others dance around their past and hurts like kids around a campfire. The know it’s there, but they don’t want to get to close, or they might get burned.

Here’s an example of a recent writing prompt. The prompt was to write something and then turn have it on a dime.

Perhaps the best example of one a story turning on a dime is the old MASH episode “Sometimes you hear the bullet.” It’s a laugh riot when one of Hawkeye’s buddy’s shows up. He leaves. In the second act wounded shows up.

Guess who’s one of the wounded.

Hawkeye’s buddy.

And he dies and Hawkeye can’t do anything except cry over him.

That episode set the mood for the entire series. And the series was full of those “Turn on a dime” moments.

Another TV series that does this well is Golden Girls.

I wrote what came to mind in the prompt and then read it to the group. The overall response was “My God. We saw it coming but hoped it wasn’t.”

First a little background. I’m Director of Security for our church of eight thousand members. I have an incredible security team and we run it like we were a protective detail for the White House.

Most of us are armed.

We train hard and always look for improvement.

But that also means we know what can go wrong. This represents my worst nightmare and I put it into writing.

Let me know what you think:

“I’ve got eyes on Pastor Alan,” Mark said.

Pastor Alan had just walked out of the sanctuary to the lobby. He was doing the pastoral duty of shaking hands and catching up with members of the congregation.

“Everyone,” he said loudly. “Remember, we got cookies on the table. if you don’t eat ’em, then I have to.”

It was a good crowd tonight. The sermon had been great. The praise and worship had been awesome. Everyone was in good spirits.

“Security two,” I radioed. “How’s things up in Children’s Church?”

“All good here. Parents picking up their kids.”

“Tiny tots, how you doing?”

“All quiet, Rich.”

I took a breath and watched as people got cookies. Some waited for Pastor Alan to talk to him. Others took the cookies and walked out.

A young woman walked in. She was dressed like a college student and was carrying a back pack. She seems to have been late for service. Odd, I thought. Something about her was firing off my Spidy Sense.

“Greg,” I radioed. “Blonde wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. Black back pack. Check her out.”

“Roger.”

A retired marine came up to me and asked if I’d seen the latest episode of the Chosen.

“No,” I said. “Haven’t . . ” I stopped.

The girl had opened her back pack like Greg had requested. She was smiling and laughing and flirting with him.

The smile faded and her eyes changed. Her hand came out of the backpack, holding something metallic and dark.

“Gun!” Mark yelled. He was starting draw his weapon on her.

Greg saw the gun. His eyes went wide knowing there was nothing he could do to stop what was happening.

My hand went down to my holster; the Colt 1911 was cold against my hand.

I started to pull.

There was gunshot.

The thing with using writing in therapy is it help one to face their fears and past.