I wrote a writing prompt for the readers to continue the story. If you like to write too, maybe you would want to try this out. It begins much like the prologue to Disney’s animated movie of Beauty and the Beast. I’m curious to see what the reader thinks should happen next in the story that follows. I’ve seen these writing prompts on Instagram and thought it might be fun for the reader to try. You are welcome to leave a continuation of the story in the comments or perhaps write your thoughts on your own blog. Here is the story beginning:
There once was a spoiled brat that lived in a penthouse in downtown Chicago during the Roaring 20s. It wasn’t entirely his fault that he was a rotten spoiled brat. His father was a wealthy banker. His mother was a fashionista. They both were more fond of the glamour and glitz of high society than of pampering and coddling their offspring. This particular 7 year old, well, his name was Theodore the III. He was named after his predecessor and grandfather, Theodore the first ….or rather, just simply Theodore.
The first Theodore was a self-made man, so to speak. He was industrious and pioneering in financial banking and quickly grew the family fortunes. He was a proud man. He diligently built an illustrious empire which his son slightly diminished through extravagant indulgences of Roaring 20s excess. In the near future, this behavior would prove quite disastrous. But that’s another story.
That particular night found Theodore the III yet again abandoned by another haggard and quickly worn nanny. She was the fifth, in fact, of a long string of exhausted nannies. You see, young Thedore the III had quite the reputation for driving these poor women away. He rivaled the children of a Mary Poppins story…….although far worse in temperament and quick, cutting wit.
As I suggested earlier, Theodore was not completely to blame. His parents bore some of the responsibility for casting him off as they attended various glittering social functions. His mother was a noted and consummate volunteer for charities which garnered her much praise, accolades, and attention.
That night, the typically resplendent couple was to attend yet another lavish dinner with an abundance of certain most illegal liquors. And, they were to participate in the great coming out or grand exhibition of one Ms. Cilindria Alexander, an already most renowned and self-proclaimed artist of the decade.
So, because a last attempt nanny could not be prevailed upon to follow the beck and order of young Theodore the III that evening, it was proposed that he tag along to the event. Young Theodore the III followed along behind his parents with much protest and reluctance.
The dinner was exquisitely decorated. The meal was most delicious. The company was of typical snobbery and yet also celebratory. The gallery event was on par to be one of the most talked about of the season. And yet, there was sour-faced Theodore the III complaining of his restrictive attire and grumbling quite vocally over the paintings and oddly designed sculptures. While the adults ooed and awed with much pomp fawning over Ms. Cilindria’s exhibit, Theodore guffawed and rudely remarked over this and that. He was a source of consternation to his poor parents, who ushered him promptly to the adjacent wing to sit alone and wait for their immediate return. Of course, both he and his parents knew that return would not be hence imminent and so he settled into a settee to pout.
At some point later in the evening, it was Ms. Cilindria herself who chose to make haste excuse to part from the upperclass high brows and wander down the hall for a break. She stumbled upon Thedore unexpectedly. She viewed him at first with compassion. She sat down beside him.
“Are you by yourself, young man?” she asked with concern.
He just shrugged and nodded no.
“What is your name?” she prompted.
“Theodore,” he said with tilted up chin.
“Well Theodore, do you like the exhibit?”
He shook his head vehemently.
She smiled at first at his apparent and refreshing honesty.
“I don’t like it,” he said pouting. “I don’t like it at all.”
“Why not?” she asked curiously.
“I can draw better than that,” he replied.
“You can?” she queried.
“Yes,” he said. “It is awful. Truly awful.” He only said that because his parents said otherwise.
“Hmm,” she said at this point, a little hurt now.
He went on to say he had seen better pictures in Kindergarten. She smiled wryly and got up from the couch.
“I see,” she said. She eventually returned to the gallery.
Young Theodore the III went to bed later that night with little care or concern for what had transpired. Ms. Cilindria Alexander, however, was quite reflective over the matter in her own quarters. Unbeknownst to those in attendance at the grand exhibit that night, Ms. Alexander was not only an aspiring and influential artist but also a sorceress of unmentionable religion.
She placed a spell upon young and spoiled Theodore the III in order to impart a valuable lesson. First, she offered him three great blessing of long life, immeasurably high talent in innovation, and a lofty degree of ambitious pursuit. Then, she applied the curse that he would retain anonymity all the days of his life unless by the age of 35 he could find the secret key to circumventing the curse. He must find true love of innovation itself. He would hence be known as Mr. Anonymity unless he learned to create without need of adulation. Only then, would the curse be broken.
And so the cursed and curious escapades of one Theodore the III commenced from that point onward.