This isn't much. Just a scene written for practice. But I'll call it a prompt, just to have a category for it. If you want to add anything, be my guest. 

Title:  People of Earth
Author:  Bob Freye

“People of Earth …”

“No! No! No!” Bob waved his hands in the air, bringing the first practice run of his wife’s speech to an early end. “What is that?”

“It’s my first sentence.”

“It’s too ambitious,” he complained.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like you’re trying to talk to everybody in the world all at once, and that doesn’t work. You have to narrow your focus.” 

“I narrowed it,” she shot back. “In my first sentence, I’ve eliminated all the people who come from other planets.” 

“I don't imagine that any of those kind of people will be at your speech anyway.”

“Really?” she asked. “Your family isn’t coming?”

“Do you want help with this, or not?”

“No, I don’t,” she snapped.

“That’s exactly your problem.”

“No, Bob. You are my problem. This isn't a big deal. I'll be fine, just as soon as I get up in front of people.”

“What kind of a plan is that?”

“A good plan.” She fell back onto the and threw her small pile of note cards beside her. “You know, I do this all the time.”

“Things are different now.” He knew he was talking to her like a child, but he couldn’t stop himself. The stakes, after all, were higher than before. Sloppy habits might not hurt the chairperson of the Flowers and Card Committee, but the president of the Residents’ Association lived in the public eye. Every mistake would be remembered for years and discussed at every meal.

“Don’t worry, Bob,” she said in a weary voice. “They like me.”   

She was right, of course, but that wasn’t the real issue. A proper speech needed proper practice, especially if it was to be delivered to the demanding audience of the retirement community.

“I just think you have to take this more seriously,” he begged.

“I will, Bob. I promise. Tomorrow, when I’m on the stage.”

It didn’t work to talk to her when she was this determined. Bob retreated to his workshop and tinkered with a model of a 1938 Ford roadster.

“I try to help,” he sputtered to himself, “but what good does it do?”

And as he struggled to attach a miniature rubber tire on what would become a tiny left rear wheel hub, Dr. Bob Thrimble, former esteemed professor of rhetoric, worried about his wife’s frustrating inability to accept his help.