One of the early inspirations for my story Knotted Rope (published on the Seren website) was a small pink hair clip I saw lying beside a grave in Arnos Vale Cemetery. It made me wonder about the child who had lost it, and then wonder what would happen if the child want missing instead of the clip.
Could this inconsequential item serve as a clue? In the end my story about a missing child took a different route, and that initial thought was reduced to the following:
I overhear one police officer mutter to another: “Shame it’s not a girl.”
“Excuse me?” My voice rattles through the air. “What difference would that make?”
“Oh, none, nothing. Just, little girls tend to carry things, hair slides…” He flounders, pointing to a broken clip on the side of the path. The pink paint is peeling away; it’s spotted with rust. “They’re more likely to leave a trail.”
I glare at him. “If you’re any good at your job you won’t need a trail, will you?”
What ephemera you spotted by the side of a path or road? What directions could it carry you in your writing?
If you write or create something prompted by this, please send an email to judydarley(at)iCloud.com to let me know. With your permission, I’ll publish it on SkyLightRain.com.
At this time of year, magical performances begin unfolding on every city centre street. It’s a touch of the bizarre that I love to see, but it does make me curious.
I often find myself moved to write strange and dreamy fictions while travelling. For instance, my story 
Some storms sweep in fast and transform the world, if only for a few wracked hours. Create a scene with a moment of tension that builds and breaks in rhythm with rain, wind and thunder. A marital spat, sibling rivalry, two strangers misconstruing an encounter…
There’s a man in Bristol who spends his days dreaming up new creations, and his nights building extraordinary sculptures. Each one is formed from those rubbery yellow cladding that swathes scaffolding poles in situ.
Here’s a challenge. The Ugly Duckling is a story we’ve been told all our lives. It seems that magazines, movies and all the other elements of popular culture agree that the ending’s only happy if the ducking emerges as a radiant swan.
Our new home came with an unexpected lodger, who seemed rather surprised to discover us peering into his pond after months, or even years, alone.
This image captures a moment of carefree fun, just before one small child (not pictured) fell in with a squawk and a splash, and another (also not pictured), lost his rag and threw his welly into the mire.
