I once wrote a story inspired by the sight and smell of horse chestnut candles, those fragrant towers of flowers that bloom extravagantly at this time of year. In ‘Reaching Branches’ the ghostly scent of a tree that no longer stands brings strangers together.

You can read it in my collection The Stairs are a Snowcapped Mountain.

The pollen and nectar of these flowers are incredibly important to bees, hover flies and other pollinators. I love the idea of an aroma being such a strong presence that it has the power to change a community for the better even after the blooms are long gone.

Can you create a story about a community being enhanced, or destroyed, by something that initially seems insignificant?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

Exploring my new home town in January, I strode up hill to an area of ‘mini’ Gothic mansions valued at £1m+. The property that caught my eye, however, was a gorgeous treehouse with a seaview.

Now horse chestnut leaves are flourishing that may obscure the view, and some prickly conkers could soon invade this cosy space, but in my heart I still covet this space.

Is there a type of home that fills your inner (or outer) child with wistfulness or glee? A caravan, cave or palace perhaps? Can you turn this yearning into a tale?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

As I meander through the streets of my North Somerset town, I occasionally glance into back gardens in case there’s a dog or cat to say hello.

This time I got more than I bargained for as I spotted a female mallard, then realised she was surrounded by tiny ducklings. As the mother duck saw me, she quickly ushered them between the slats in the wooden fence, up the footpath and onto the pavement. They waddled off roughly in the direction of the nearest river, cheeping and quacking all the way.

Where did they hatch in such a human neighbourhood? What brought them to this doorstep? Can you turn this into a tale that explores how we live alongside wildlife, even when we’re not aware of sharing our streets and, as in this case, gardens?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

I encountered this gorgeous butterfly sunbathing on a patch of mud beside a river. It seems like an unimpressive patch of land, and yet this butterfly, known endearingly as a comma, found exactly what it needed here. In punctuation, commas offer a pause and a moment to simply breathe, which makes this sighting particularly apt.

I love how its wings look storm-torn or artfully picot-edged, depending on your viewpoint.

I looked up the species on the Butterfly Conservation website, where it states “Polygonia c-album, the comma, is a food generalist butterfly species belonging to the family Nymphalidae.”

It also says: “The species has a flexible life cycle, which allows it to capitalize on favourable weather conditions. However, the most remarkable feature of the Comma has been its severe decline in the twentieth century and subsequent comeback. It is now widespread in southern Britain and its range is expanding northwards.”

This adaptability must have helped in its survival story. What can we learn from this? Can you harness this as a fluttering off point for a hopeful story or other creative work?

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to spotting my first semi-colon butterfly or ellipsis butterfly…

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

This spring has been so unsettled – some days are calm and sunny, while others storm from dawn to dusk and beyond. While smaller birds like sparrows take shelter in coastal bushes, these gulls are riding the rioting wind and look like they’re loving every moment.

Add in a human with a bag full of birdseed, and the mayhem increases.

Can you imagine yourself as a gull, a sparrow, the person with food, or a bystander? Why not use this cast to create tumultuous tale?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

Trees are magnificent natural sculptors. My sister recently shared a photo of a trunk with one glorious moss-covered ear. I’ll take that ear and raise it with this rooted foot contemplating a Shakespeare-esque or Tolkien-worthy march through the woods in North Somerset. Or perhaps I’ve accidentally taken a photo of Roald Dahl’s BFG without his slippers on, and he really needs to trim his toenails.

Whatever the truth, something’s afoot…

Can you let your imagination run free and turn this into a magical tale?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

At a nearby sculpture woodland called Ty Sculpture Trail, one of the highlights is a natural phenomenon rather than human-made artwork. At the Bubbling Pond, silvery bubbles rise from the depths to cast circular ripples. It’s a gloriously tranquil setting.

The trail makers claim no one knows what causes the bubbles, and suggest it could be a dragon snoozing in an underwater cave.

What myth or bubble-blowing science could you attribute the bubbles to? Can you create a character who shares this idea as a tale within a tale, and give them a someone to tell it to? What might the consequences be?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

On the UK’s coastal path between Clevedon and Portishead, North Somerset, there are lovely woodlands, but not all of these are open to everyone. This one is privately owned, yet I’ve never seen anyone enjoying this area.

I found myself feeling annoyed they were keeping it to themselves – surely trees and greenery are for all of us? But then thought about how I would feel if that rule applied to my own tiny garden. Imagine looking out of your bedroom window to see a family picnicking on your lawn below. The smaller the space, the weirder and more intense that would be.

How could you persuade them to leave? Something about this is so absurd it hovers between comedy and horror.

Can you turn this into a story or other creative work?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

The small coastal town where I live sits on the edge of one of Earth’s greatest tidal ranges. It re-sculpts views and terrains, providing the perfect habitat for wading birds one day and fish the next.

Last week, I strolled towards the path to a rocky beach and discovered it had been swallowed by the sea… Yet I know it will return in the next few days and shrug off its driftwood and seaweed as though it was never hidden.

Can you write a story inspired by this variance? How do these dramatic changes impact your characters?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

I’ve always been intrigued by the space between things. In this case, the space shows the view between the boards of a Victorian pier, where the Bristol Channel’s waves beat far below.

Imagine a scenario where someone, or something, slips between these storm-battered planks of wood. Could it be something metaphysical rather than solid, like a promise, a hope or a memory?

Can you turn this idea into a thought-provoking tale?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.