If you only wish to read the story, jump to the end of this post.

*Disclaimer and fair warning: I have only been writing for about two months now. I am not your usual seasoned writer. I enjoy writing as a hobby. The below described is based purely on my own experience and opinion and is by no means to be understood as absolute truth.

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Yesterday around 10 pm I found myself bored and lazy, but not tired enough to go to bed. You know, sit back and watch TV kind of lazy.

I figured I could scout the internet for a writing prompt and write a story real quick before heading to bed, which is usually around midnight. I didn't feel like writing, but thought to myself;

"Eh, you'll get into it once you start."

I opened up reddit, went to r/writingprompts and found "You're a serial killer that hides behind joking about being a serial killer."

"I guess that's an okay writing prompt. It could do" I thought to myself and opened a new Word document.

So I wrote the writing prompt as the first line in Word the same way I always do, added the source link below, again the same way I always do and then moved two lines lower to begin writing. Again, the same way I always do.

But what wasn't the same as what I always do, was:

1. My attitude and mood.

I didn't feel like writing at all. All I wanted to do was finish my tea, watch a Youtube video or two, take a shower and go to bed. I was constantly distracted by everything and anything. I couldn't focus and to be honest, I didn't even want to.

2. I had NO idea at all what to write about.

Usually when I sit down to write or even the moment I read the writing prompt, I get a general idea about what to write at the very least. I usually have at least the beginning and the end in mind by the time I open a new Word document. If I don't have an idea, I'll go about my day and eventually it just comes to me.
This time my mind was blank. No idea at all. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

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So I sat in front of the screen for about 10 minutes trying to come up with an idea, constantly looking at the time.

"Come on, @svashta. You don't have the luxury of time. You have to finish this in around an hour to get some sleep." I kept thinking to myself.

So I started writing whatever came to mind.

At that point it wasn't about conveying an idea anymore. It wasn't about fulfilling the writing prompt. No.

It was about writing a certain amount of words just for the sake of writing a certain amount of words.

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Having no general idea what I was writing about, I couldn't immerse myself into the story.

I asked a friend of mine who I usually share my stories with before publishing them on Steemit to help me come up with a serial killer nickname.

"Oh, how does he kill? What do the victims have in common?" He replied.

I got frustrated.

"Dude, I just need a simple nickname. Like Big Ben or something."

"I was just asking to be able to give you a fitting nickname. You can't exactly call a shooter a gut-ripper."

"Ah, I'll just never mention it."

It was at that point that it became clear to me.

I had no idea what I wanted the main character to be like.

Should he be laughing the whole time or be sarcastic? What kind of a reason did he have for the murders? What was it that made him do it? How did he pick his victims? How did he kill them?

I couldn't answer any of those questions.

Not one.

But I kept on writing.

"Why stop now that I already have 400 words?" I though to myself.

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I had to modify the text all the time.

Oh, if A does this, then A shouldn't have said what he had said at the beginning.

I was jumping from one personality to another without ever actually knowing what I wanted the characters to be like.

Courageous or cowardly? I couldn't even decide on antonyms as strong as that.

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When I got to describing the first murder I somehow managed to come up with an idea of how he kills.

But instead of taking that idea and incorporating it into the killer's character and the story itself, I just left it hanging there with no real reason or emphasis. I didn't change anything about the story at this point, but having decided on a key factor about the idea of a serial killer, I most definitely should have.

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I looked over at the clock again.

"&%#@! Think, @svashta. You need to finish this soon! Just kill everybody and wrap it up somehow."

Which is exactly what I did.

I didn't think about what's best for the story, no, I thought about the fastest way to end the story.

And what better way than get rid of everyone, one after another?

Don't get me wrong, the idea of consecutive murders in a story like this could have been amazing, but the problem was I hadn't had the slightest idea of how to do it.

And still, even at this point, all of the aforementioned questions about the main character remained open. I hadn't even fully decided yet whether or not to stick with the idea of how he was murdering.

I just wrote down whatever came to mind. And the more I wrote, the more questions arose.

Why would he do that? Why would react like this if he didn't before? Why ...?

I got lost in my own story and just wanted to wrap it up.

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The final, and in my opinion the most crucial mistake I had made, came when I had to provide the reader with a reason of why.

Why was he murdering them? Out of fun? Out of spite? Hate? Had he gone insane?

"Just... Because?"

The answer that should have been deeply embedded into the entire story was missing.

I didn't have a reason. I didn't have a "why".

And so yet again I wrote down the first thing that came to mind and had zero connection to the story so far.

I didn't even care so much as to go back and correct the rest of the story to be in line with the newest addition.

I just wrote it down, pressed "Save" and closed the document.

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Seeing as my friend who I send my stories to before publishing was still online I sent him the story for evaluation and hit the shower while he read.

When I returned to the computer I was greeted with well deserved criticism.

"Something just feels off. It doesn't make any sense. Why would he be friends with them if they did that to him? Why would he kill the women? Why was his friend so cold over the phone? I'm sorry mate, I usually enjoy your stories, but this time I'm just not feeling it."

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He was right.

How could he have immersed into the story if not even I myself didn't?

How could the story make any sense if there was no idea I was trying to convey?

How could it not feel off if I hadn't had the slightest clue about what to write about?

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I decided not to publish the story.

I sent the story to the reddit user who provided the writing prompt (by the way, he's a really cool guy) in a private message and received mixed criticism as well.

Again, well deserved.

I couldn't help but feel I've wasted all that time writing a story that was too bad to publish.

Wasted all that time writing a story I didn't want to admit was my work.

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But just as always, there's a positive way to look at things.

I didn't waste all that time.

True, I have written a worse story than usual, and I believe it's important to own that.

I believe it's important to know I've written something that doesn't read and feel right.

To know what I did wrong and what I could have done to make it better.

And I believe it's important to know why it happened. To know what lead to this, and what I could have done to prevent it.

So today when I woke up I reread the story and tried my best to identify its faults.

I believe this story was an experience for me. And not an experience for the reader.

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All in all, I am happy I had written my first bad story. Not because it was bad, but because it gives me a chance to learn from my own mistakes.

I see it as an opportunity to improve myself and my writing.

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WARNING! Bad story ahead

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*In case anyone wanted to read the story in question, here it is in usual format:

The writing prompt was:

You're a serial killer that hides behind joking about being a serial killer.

Provided by a reddit user MoonGosling.

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The four of us met at the same pub every Thursday and this week was no different.

"Did you guys watch the news last night?"

"Yeah, it's insane. Fifth murder this week."

"I think we best stay inside until this lunatic is captured."

"Nonsense. They'll never catch me. And everything they told the news is pure guesswork. They've got it all wrong. I would never have attacked her on that street." I replied, laughing the whole time.

"Not cool, dude. Not cool. You shouldn't joke about this."

"Oh come on! Relax a little! The victims are all women who wandered the streets at night all alone. Or are you a little sissy girl, Jacob?" I stood up and walked around the table imitating a chicken.

Ron grabbed me by my shoulder and dragged me back to my seat.

"Jesus! You guys are so uptight! Perhaps you'll be next, I hear he chooses victims he knows are afraid."

I was enjoying myself. I was telling them the truth and they didn't believe it. I could've told them exactly how I abducted and killed every victim and they still wouldn't believe me. I knew exactly what characteristics of a person I had to act in front of them so they would think of me as their best friend who wouldn't hurt a fly.

"Seriously, David, not cool. What if it was your girlfriend tomorrow?"

"Natalie? Why would I kill my own girlfriend?"

I looked at their faces and knew it was time to back off.

"Alright fine. I'll stop joking about it. Natalie is never out at night though, so I believe she's safe. But I guess I'll tell her not to take out the trash after 7pm."

We changed topics and discussed the usual matters for the rest of the night. Cars, parties, women, college, future plans, ... Anything to pass the time, really.

"So... same time next week?" I asked when we were leaving. I knew that after a couple of beers they had lost all the fear they previously had.

"Yeah, I guess."

I knew Ron was home alone all day on Saturday.

He invited us over for a party and I showed up two hours early.

"Hey man, I thought I said 7 pm. It's no problem though, I just hope you don't mind the mess."

I stepped inside the house and closed the door behind me.

"You call this a mess? It's nothing compared to what it's going to be."

He laughed.

He thought I was talking about the mess after the party was over.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

I helped myself into the kitchen under the excuse of being thirsty.

But instead of a glass of water I picked up a chef's knife from the cutlery drawer and hid behind the kitchen door.

"Ron! Look what I found!"

He came storming down the stairs and into the kitchen, unknowing what awaits him.

I tripped him from behind the door and jumped on his back.

"Not funny, David. Get off me and help me tidy this place."

I grabbed him by the hair, lifted his head and sliced his throat.

I cleaned the handle of the knife, then stuck it in his back.

I left through the front door as if nothing ever happened.

At 7.03 pm my phone rang. It was Jacob.

"Dude! Ron got &%#!ing killed man! &%#!ing butchered like a pig!"

"Oh come on, I've got style. I didn't slice him up like a pig."

"&%#!ing hell! This isn't the time for your jokes, David!"

"Wait. Seriously?"

"Yeah, the police is here and all. I found him in a pool of blood. He's been stabbed in the back in his own kitchen."

"Holy cow! Listen, I'm on my way there. Do you need a ride home?"

"Can you? I don't want to stay here. This is crazy."

I picked him up in front of Ron's house after the police was done questioning him.

"Dude. You were supposed to go right here, not left."

"Oops. Sorry. I must be in shock because of Ron. I'll turn around as soon as I can."

I knew exactly where we were going.

The northern part of the Tiyan forest had been deserted for ages now.

I tried to make a U turn and deliberately drove off the road.

I stopped the car and stepped outside to inspect the damage. I knew no damage had been done. It was just mud. Nothing serious. But I made it a big deal just to lure Jacob out of the car. I walked over to his side and pointed at the front wheel.

"It's stuck in the mud. Come outside and help me push."

He opened the doors and just as he was trying to stand up I knocked him on the ground head first. I twisted his left arm behind his back to gain full control of the situation.

"You son of a &%#@! It really was you all along, wasn't it?"

"Too late now, Jacob. Just a little too late."

I slit his throat, cleaned the knife and stabbed it in his back.

Same as Ron. And same as everyone before him.

With both of them dead I called Patrick, the last of our group.

"Yo, have you heard about what happened to Ron?"

"Terrible. Just terrible."

"I'm shocked too. Listen, can I come over? I don't want to be alone right now."

"Sure thing, David. Come any time."

"Thanks! I'll be there in five."

I couldn't help myself but smile when I hung up the phone.

It was almost too easy.

I drove off to Patrick's and when I arrived the police was there.

They must've come to question him about his friends, I thought and opened the doors of my car to get out.

But just as I lifted myself from the seat two police officers came running towards me and shouting to freeze.

They knocked me down on the ground and cuffed my hands behind my back.

Then Patrick came out the front door with tears in his eyes.

"Why? Just tell me why, David. What did we ever do to you to deserve this?"

"Remember what you did to me in high school? Remember how you humiliated me? You told everyone I am a hermaphrodite. Every girl I ever tried to date me mocked me because of it. You robbed me of a normal life, Patrick."

The girls I had killed were all girls I used to like but couldn't date.

The police officers dragged me to the back of their car and Patrick went inside without saying a word more.

They later told me Jacob had sent Patrick a text message saying I was driving him home.

Patrick must have connected the dots when I called him and didn't tell him about Jacob.

I am now serving a death penalty. Perhaps it wasn't so easy after all.

The end

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While you are waiting for content new,
in the comments below leave me a clue,
an idea for a story you'd love to read,
a journey to the unknown my keyboard will lead.

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In case you enjoy writing, I am hosting a writing contest myself where I don't give you a writing prompt, but instead I give you different challenges that hinder your writing.
Check it out by clicking here.

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Previous writing prompts fulfilled:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

• #18 - Die an old man, reborn a 10 year old boy
• #19 - A struggling door-to-door salesman takes things one step too far
• #20 - A love story about a war veteran
• #21 - The red star
• #22 - A terminally ill child wishes to meet a villain

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Next writing prompt:

"Your idea in the comments."

Provided by: @ "your name here"