Writing Prompt

A father and daughter? Husband and wife? A policeman trying to keep a child safe? A family being arrested? Is it the beginning of a story, or an ending?

Write a short description of everything this picture could represent. Pick one that grabs your attention and run with it.

~Maria

NOTE: I did not take this picture. All copyright belongs to the photographer.

Writing Prompt

Culture is a powerful and complex part of our world. Nomads, farmers, villagers, city people, rich, poor, artistic or academic, everyone has a culture.

Think about different cultures: Spanish, French, Norwegian, Native American, Indian, Japanese. Now think about “subcultures:” America's southerners, people from Louisiana, different casts in India, the wealthy of society, the beggars. What character can be given depth and interest by changing their nationality? What could be unusual? Think about different types of people and try switching around their nationality: The construction worker from Louisiana, the soldier from France, the Native American chef, the wealthy Norwegian mountaineer.

~Maria   

Writing Prompt of the Week

Since I missed last week (trip to the Creation Museum & Kentucky Horse Park), I will post two prompts now.

What is something that you would not expect to find a character liking? Maybe a shy, quiet girl enjoys turkey hunting or deep-sea fishing. Maybe a hardened warrior is an avid pottery collector. Maybe your villain is an expert on teas.

Think about your characters. Try to give each one something surprising -- either a hobby, a memory, or a cherished object.

Music plays a huge roll in a film. Ben Botkin (a composer himself) says that "if script is king, then music is queen." A lot of people like to listen to music while they write. Soundtracks or contemporary music can provide inspiration. 

Listen to soundtracks while thinking about your writing. Think about how, if your novel were a movie, what scene would go with each song. Try "storyboarding" a scene in your head. See what ideas or scenarios the music gives you.

~Maria

Writing Prompt of the Week

Pain, fear and secrets give depth to a person. Fear was last week's prompt. Now, what pain does your character have? A regret? A memory? Or is it a physical ailment, one that keeps them from doing things they would like? If your character doesn't have a pain, brainstorm until he or she has one.

~Maria

Writing Prompt of the Week

Two this time!

What is your character's greatest fear? Write a scene where your main character or a secondary character has to face their greatest fear.

What food does your character hate? Write a situation where he/she is served their least favorite food and feels compelled to eat it.

~Maria

Writing Prompt of the Week

Well, let's see if I can keep something going on this place...

Think of a compass and a sword. What do they mean? What kind of person do they belong to? Were they found by someone or given as a gift? What story do they have? Who can own them that seems unlikely?

Guide Me to the Land

Blue, crystal clear, endless. So much ocean, so far, in every direction. No land in sight. The captain licked his dry lips and looked up at the smiling sun, so yellow and bright. Steady waves slapped gently against his tiny craft's hull, rocking him in their swells, lulling him, crooning. His cramped hands felt molded to wheel, unable to move. No matter. There was nowhere to go.

A tiny whisper, seeming to mix with the gentle lullaby of the waves, lifted his drooping head off his chest. He knew the voice. He knew he should listen to it. He did. The voice curled and murmured, different than the waves, but so soft it hardly mattered. It called for action, for movement. He didn't move, but he smiled. He had listened to the voice. Was that not enough? He would follow it, someday. But not now. The waves were more gentle than they ever had been, now.

The voice whispered again. His cracked lips frowned now. He had listened to it, why wouldn't the voice stop? It whispered again. The waves called, so soft, so comforting. He should stay. More whispering, beginning to rise. He should go.

The captain opened his eyes again, weary and unused to the brightness of the sun. Did it always glare so? The waves lapped and caressed. He squinted. He has opened his eyes before. It was enough.

More murmurings, rising again.
Why do you wander?
Wander? He raised his head more, straightened his back. He was not wandering. He would never wander! Too much was at stake. His boat, probably others. The waves laughed and turned his boat. See? They said. See? There is land in sight yet. He turned about and strained his eyes. Curse this sun! Beating down, clouding his vision. Was there land? Or had he truly wandered?
There! There, away from the sun, lying low on the horizon. Land, lush, green, full of water. He licked his lips, so dry, and longed for the water. Come! Come to me, drink the living water, never thirst again! That voice, calling, carried on the cooling breezes, carried with -
The scent of land.
Stiff hands broke from the tiller, nerve pains shooting through them as the captain swung it over wide, steering for land. Slowly, so slowly the boat began to drift around. Too slowly! Another moment and the land could be lost from sight. What could move him quicker, turn him around? Row, row! cried the waves, slapping against his hull. He reached for the oars, but his hand stopped when it touched them. Row, and see where you get! the waves where chuckling. He listened for the voice. What might it tell him to do?
No voice came. He waited for a moment more, rigid in the sun. And then a breeze started.
Wind! Cool wind, sent by the sender of that tiny voice, he knew. The captain grabbed for his sails, lying stiff and unused on the deck, coated with salt. His fingers broke through the crusty surface and grabbed the cloth, pulling it out of its neat pile and to the mast. Hurry, he urged himself, the waves were pushing him away from that precious land! They were whispering to him still, dragging him back down to his place on the floor. He would not listen. He worked the lines frantically, how stiff they were, running up the sail to catch the precious breeze. The voice whispered on, always there to guide him if he would only listen.
Now the sail was up! He grabbed the tiller again and stood fast against the rocking waves. The sail luffed, and he kept the tiller swung wide. The sail filled! The boat lurched and swung, pointing towards land. The waves still came, stronger now. The boat's prow caught the first one and lifted high into the air, crested the top and led the startling drop down into the trough. It caught the next one and nosed high again. The captain struggled to keep the tiller straight, keeping the boat pointed toward land. He tired, his hands cramping with his tight grip.
Let me steer. The captain listened, his struggle calming. He loosened his grip on the tiller, not sure how he would stay on course but ready to trust. Sure enough, strong hands gripped it and began to guide it towards land straighter than an arrow's flight. The sailor smiled, feeling another's strength and wisdom guiding him, guiding him home, guiding him to the land.