Writing Prompt #12

As usual, let me remind you that you can share your responses to the prompt either in the comments on this post, or in the comments on my response. If your response to the prompt is too long, let me know in the comments and we’ll get it posted as a regular post!

Genius. It’s a funny word. We attach such importance and stigma to the concept. But here’s the question. Would you rather be a genius, or be the person who birthed/supported/trained/discovered a genius? Give us characters on all sides of the equation because without their support network, geniuses would never be able to do all that they do to advance our society. So…genius or genius’s sidekick?

Picture of Albert Einstein

3 thoughts on “Writing Prompt #12

  1. I find IQ fascinating, so I’ll give it a shot. Here’s my ten minute answer to the genius problem.

    Jacklyn sat on the floor in front of the coffee table again with her crayons spread around the sketchbook her grandmother had bought her the week before. Her chubby little fingers could barely grip the slender sticks of wax, but she had stamped her foot on the tile floor of the supermarket and insisted that the baby crayons didn’t have enough colors. It was rarely worth the fight with Jacklyn, her mother had learned that often enough over the last five years, so she bought the big box of crayons and watched her daughter struggle to get the pictures out of her head. 
    Dinner was cooking, would burn if she forgot about it again, but she couldn’t help but lean against the doorframe and watch her daughter draw. No matter how often the crayon slipped out of her fingers, she picked it back up and kept drawing. The landscape starting to cover the page was more colorful and more detailed than her mother could have managed after three years of high school art classes, but Jacklyn never thought they were good enough. She’d torn up dozens of pictures before her mother could hang them around the house and her mother was sure that there were more than she’d never been allowed to see. There was this look in Jacklyn’s eyes sometimes before bed, a disappointment in what she’d been able to create that day. 
    The schools were calling already, fighting over the chance to have Jacklyn, but she wasn’t ready to let her daughter go yet. She was supposed to have two more years of ring around the rosie and bed times stories with big pictures and little words. She’d been prepared for begging for ponies and puppies and tantrums over eating enough veggies. No one had ever warned her about IQ tests and prep schools and college-level classes for thirteen-year-olds. She turned around and went back into the kitchen, starting another pot for some green beans. Jacklyn hated green beans.


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