#Maydays Prompt – Playing with Fire

“Man may have discovered fire, but women discovered how to play with it.”
― Candace Bushnell, Sex and the City

fire

Haha! A fiery one for today’s #maydays prompt, hopefully this will get you guys all fired up. Figured the theme yet? Of course, FIRE. You may interpret it in any way you want, fire/fire/fireman etc.

Remember you can write a memory, short flash fiction, poetry or whatever may take your fancy and pingback here so that I can pop by and visit you. Don’t forget to TAG your prompt #maydays too.

Maydays logo

Advertisements

Know Your History – 1st December – Candace Bushnell born

know your history - writingOn this day… 1st December, 1958 – Candace Bushnell born

Candace Bushnell (born December 1, 1958) is an American novelist and television producer. She wrote a column for The New York Observer (1994–96) that was adapted into the bestselling Sex and the City anthology. The book was the basis for the HBO hit series Sex and the City (1998–2004) and two subsequent movies.

Bushnell followed the best-selling work with the international bestselling novels 4 Blondes (2001), Trading Up (2003), Lipstick Jungle (2005), One Fifth Avenue (2008), The Carrie Diaries (2010) and Summer and the City (2011).

On Writing

Take Inspiration From Reality, Carefully

It’s no secret that Carrie Bradshaw is based on Bushnell, and that many people and events in her other works are also influenced by the Candace Bushnell women fireauthor’s real life. That’s not a bad thing — but, as Bushnell advised, it’s important to remember that fiction and reality do not intersect when taken literally. Putting an actual person on the page rarely works well, because fiction is about creating your own world, with a unique vision and voice that may be inspired — but not entirely based — on real life.

Did You Know?

Bushnell has suffered from depression

In an interview on Oprah when asked the biggest obstacle she had overcome Bushnell responds,

“Depression. Stone cold depression where you cannot get out of bed and you’re convinced you have a horrible disease and spend all your time writing half-baked suicide notes. And, of course, nobody can tell you what’s wrong with you. But that was