In the part of Bristol where I live, people not only paint their homes gorgeous vibrant colours, they also add murals that make me smile.

This bee-emblazoned property is one of my favourites, and makes me think of Erin Morgenstern’s glorious book The Starless Sea, which feature a house inhabited by cat-sized bees.

What wildlife would you be perturbed to find in your home? Would it be more or less unsettling if it was extremely large or very much smaller than usual? Can you spin this into a tale?

What kind of buzz could the creature’s arrival make in the neighbourhood?

If you’ve chosen to make your species extra big (or extra small), how does the tone shift if you switch it to being especially dinky (or especially large)? Is that more or less alarming for your protagonist?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

The city I live in has a two rivers and a harbour, which manages to add up to rather a lot of bridges. I do love a bridge – that in-between space spanning two tracts of land and the chance to pause and watch the water flow. I even gave one of the rivers a voice in my new collection The Stairs Are a Snowcapped Mountain in a story that asks and partially answers ‘Why rivers run to the sea’.

But back to the bridges, the yellow one above (Langton Street Bridge, known locally as the Banana Bridge) also features in The Stairs Are a Snowcapped Mountain in a story titled ‘Tidal Suck’.

Can you write a tale inspired by a bridge you know? What might happen in that space between? If it’s over a river, what could the water carry or conceal?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

Click here to read about The Stairs Are a Snowcapped Mountain book launch & lit night.

I recently encountered this impressive fungus structure in a woodland. To me it resembles an ornate ceramic sculpture. Yet this glorious thing is only the fruiting body, and a fraction of what exists hidden beneath the surface. A network of threadlike filaments called hyphae spread through the soil out of sight, carrying nutrients and information as well as passing news to other plants including trees.

I’m also intrigued by the green filaments decorating the frilled, saucer-like structures. Is this another lifeform? Is it working in symbiosis or attacking the fungi?

It’s all fascinating, isn’t it? Imagine if the parts of icebergs that are under could communicate in this way and warn of coming storms and other risks? What about our own hidden depths, and the microscopic bacteria that help us function? Is that a thrilling thought for you, or downright creepy?

Explore this idea and see if you can turn it into a story.

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

Today is International Women’s Day 2022, and I think the theme of #BreakTheBias is an excellent creative prompt.

Most of us experience unconscious bias, which we need to write against. If you have written a female character, try rewriting them as male. What changes do you find yourself making? What traits become more dominant as you flesh them out?

Now change them back to female, but without switching the traits that developed while they were male?

What happens if you remove all indicators of gender? How does that influence how you imagine them?

Now write their story and see what they have to tell you.

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

This carved barn owl sits in a nearby nature reserve in the depths of Bristol. Owls have always had a place in our folklore, gliding silently as they do and marrying grace with lethal speed and accuracy.

In this case, the pristine white baby shoe sitting beside the sculpture makes me think of foundlings and changelings, while raising lots of questions. Who does the shoe belong to? How did it get here?

Is it significant that the owl is wooden rather that a living feathered creature?

Depending on the direction you choose, the shoe also raises the question of whether the owl is friend or foe.

Can you turn this into a story?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

A storm felled this beautiful tree in a local park. Nature seems to have teamed up with gust and gale to create a glorious sculpture. I love the fact this shot also captures the proximity of the railway tracks to a playground. Each of these elements feels to me to reveal the tame fringes of our wild spaces, and the wilderness edging even the most domestic scenes.

Can you interpret this to write a dramatic story? Once written, can you turn it on its head so the untamed elements reveal themselves to be the most civilised, and vice versa? What could that tell us about the way we live?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

On a rainy February weekend, I visited Bristol’s M Shed with my sister and nephews. This brilliant museum on the waterfront is packed with nuggets of the city’s history, from being the place the first chocolate bar was made by Fry’s to the site of riots and anti-slavery movements. There’s an exhibition celebrating the city’s formerly unsung heroes, and an assortment of model ships made by John Healy, presented in front of the real harbour.

A notice stated that John had a lifelong fascination with the port, photographing and recording every ship visiting from 1930 to around 1980 and making near-scale models from wood saved from wine cases.

I’m always intrigued by other people’s fixations.

Can you write a story about a character with a museum-worthy obsession?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

I love the fact that this impressive heart-shaped topiary stands outside an ordinary terraced house on a residential street.

What would it take to make you trust a person’s declaration of undying devotion? A ring delivered on bended knee, some impressive topiary, or something else?

As Valentine’s Day nears, consider the lovelorn and hopeful, and see if you can write a comic yet sympathetic tale about your protagonist offering or being offered love in an unexpected way. What details could swing their response one way or another? What baggage might they be lugging that influences how they respond?

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 may publish it on SkyLightRain.com.

I’ve enjoyed some unusual sightings on my lunchtime walks recently – a small egret that seems to have come on a city-break, presumably swapping a coastline or wetlands for the tameness of our urban streamside walk. It’s a wild creature of such beautiful grandeur, and yet as I stand and stare, people job, cycle and stroll by without paying it any heed. It makes me feel lucky to be someone who notices and finds pleasure in the rarities others overlook.

Can you turn this into an ecological fable, a story about community or something more fantastical?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.

There are few more hopeful sights at this cold and grey time of year than a flash of yellow in wet, brown leaf matter. These primroses are a much-needed reminder of brighter, warmer days to come!

Imagine if you’d never before lived through a winter or had no memory of ever experiencing these cold months. How alarming might the apparent death of most growing things be? How keenly might you seek signs of life, and how might you respond to finding it?

Would you share the news or guard it jealously for fears these might be the only blooms, or that someone might deliberately or clumsily damage the precious plants?

If you choose to share news of the sighting, could this clutch of yellow flowers be the prompt for a riotous fiesta thanking unseen powers?

Can you turn this into a tale that works on more than one level?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please send it to me in an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com for possible publication on SkyLightRain.com.