Inspiration time… and a CONTEST!
Okay, let’s stop the rants and continue on with the more writing related topics.
INSPIRATION
Have you gotten stuck in your writing? Felt like you had no place to start, but knew you should write SOMETHING to keep up the habit? Let me give you some ideas and cool links for prompts, inspiration, or exercises to get your brain moving towards writing again!
Espresso Stories is a website that boasts “complete stories that take no longer to read than an espresso takes to slurp.” If you look through their submissions, you may find a sentence that hits a nerve. Maybe you’ll find a story prompt from this or this. I mean, imagine how you could expand on those sentences. Do you see the characters already in this? Is the scene or plot already beginning to take hold when you read something on that site? Then write. Don’t plan. Don’t think about it longer than the time it takes you to pull out that pen or open that file.
The Brainstormer is another fun link. Have I given it to you before? If so, this will be a reminder. Click the random button in the center. No, really. The button in the center that says random. Take those three words and try to write 300 more based on that prompt. Don’t like the first choices it gives? Hit it again until something stands out. But limit yourself so you aren’t hitting it all day. Best out of three, maybe? I got… odd couple, small town, and tank. Hm.
Cemeteries. Yes. I’m not kidding. My very first experience with story prompting was unintentional when I was a kid. I lived close to a cemetery and I LOVED taking walks in it. Yes, I was a strange person. Still am. My point? Go for a walk in a cemetery and get inspiration. If the silence and peace don’t help you, the names on the gravestones sure will. Maybe you won’t find interesting headstones like these. (I sure didn’t.) But pay attention to names, dates, and especially names of people related to other people. Sally Jones 1890 is just a few feet away from Tim Smith 1887. Did they know each other? How? *Am I making sense or talking crazy now?*
Need something more obvious? Go generate a plot.
Maybe you need even more obvious writing tips? Try these 13 from Chuck Palahniuk. And here are five editor secrets for writing.
Images can also do amazing things for inspiration. This is another trick I actually use a lot because I’m a very visual person. Even NPR is holding a contest using this concept.
Want to spice up your visual writing prompts? Check out this website. Yeah, second morbid sounding thing in this post. Sorry. 
But take a look. Click the info link to read what the project is and then scroll around. Do any of those faces inspire a new character for you?
As if I didn’t give you enough suggestions…
What does this image below say to you? You don’t have to be literal and write about the people in the images. Maybe the tone of the picture triggers something. Jeez, that facial expression alone…
*My friend Cole Alpaugh (wonderful writer and photographer) took that shot and agreed to let me post it.*
Want to do more picture prompts? Hey, why not make it a game?
Pick a link below (yes they all go somewhere different) and try to write 250 words inspired by the image in that link.
Oh, wait! Shiny new idea!! Let’s make this a CONTEST! Really! I’ve never done one. 
Rules: You have a choice. Use Cole’s pic, which is already displayed, or take your chances on one of my many links. If you don’t use his picture, the link you choose is the one you have to write about. Use it to inspire you. Max 250 words. No minimum. Then, post your writing in a comment here. Deadline is one week, so get it in by midnight on March 6th!
And who will judge? I’ll have a couple of writer friends refrain from entering so they can help! That way the decision won’t be biased! 
What do you win? I’m willing to buy and ship you one of my favorite books for inspiration and prompts.
The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley
*And now I’m scared no one will enter. Heck, I’ve never done a contest and never entered many blog contests myself. I REALLY hope SOMEONE does this. (Whimpers while hitting publish.)
Remember to post your entry here and tell us which photo you used!!
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Sounds fun! Will be back to post ;o)
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*edit by Regan to put pic link up: http://phantasmaphile.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/08/30/key_1.jpg *
(I chose the first link you posted, with the man and woman standing outside what I thought was a graveyard.)
“Really, John,” she huffed. “I don’t see what could be so important in this graveyard that we just have to go right this second.”
The keys jangled on the ring as he flipped them around, examining each one. “I told you. I heard something out here. Something I’ve never heard in the twenty years we’ve lived next door to our quiet neighbors.”
He hoped their inside joke would crack her icy countenance, but she did not so much as blink. Instead, she gestured at the white satin gown she wore. “I suppose you expect me to go tromping around in there like this, when we’re already half an hour late, so that your curiosity can be satisfied?”
But he didn’t hear her. “This is it! This is the one!” He held the key triumphantly in the air, then slid it into the lock. The rusty key groaned against the metal lock and strained to turn. Finally, something inside the gates popped open.
“I did it!” he cried, pulling on the ancient gate until it stood open. His wife continued to glare at him. “I knew that key would come in handy someday! Huh? What did I tell y-”
But John’s “I told you so” was cut short. The zombies didn’t want to hear it, either.
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Question: Can you look through all the links or do you have to pick the first one? (I’ve already looked through all of them and I really want to write about the barbed wire picture… I can go back to the first, though, if I have to.)
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*edit by Regan to add link for pic: http://www.flickr.com/photos/to_by/3059713402/ *
Well, I went with the barbed wire anyway. ( : I’m not very proud of this, but here goes:
I jumped when the fence shook, the chain link blurring. The clanging of the metal pierced the silent midnight, like a rock band playing in a church. I turned. “Shut up, will you? Wanna get caught before we’re even inside?”
By the light of my flashlight, I saw his hands leap off the fence, as though they’d been burned, and his cheeks flush. “Sorry,” he said and looked at his feet. I didn’t reply. All the new recruits were the same. The first go ‘round was an experiment. My gut told me this one would learn the hard way. I looked back at the fence, still blurred, and then at the barbed wire that crowned the top, steady despite the shaking.
“See here? Barbed wire. The king of obstacles. You gotta get over it without hurting your tenders.” He cocked his head questioningly, like a dog. I looked down and comprehension dawned on his face. Eyes wide, he took a step backwards.
“What, you chickening out? I told you that once we met up at the hub you couldn’t leave. Kid,” I began, in my congratulatory voice, “you’re in. You gotta stick to the program.” I was already halfway up the fence. He shook his head and mumbled something under his breath. I’d heard enough “I can’t do this, I’m a good person” speeches. I growled and grabbed his lanky hair, making him look up. “You gonna help me get what we came for?”
He stared at my nose. “Yessir.”
Great idea, Regan!
-Madeleine
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Yay! One entry already!
Thank you, Anne! (Keeping my comments on entries til after the contest.)
Madeleine- I won’t be hardcore about it.
If you don’t like the link you picked, but another really catches your interest… up to you. 
More of a challenge to use one that you didn’t pick out, though. 
But I honestly am just interested in seeing what writing comes from an image alone.
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Regan Leigh Reply:
February 28th, 2010 at 1:33 am
Just testing out my new plugin that allows you to comment on specific comments!
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There was a pink link. I clicked it. It led to a very un-pink photo. http://www.chromasia.com/iblog/archives/0910221624.php
Which led to an entry with a splash of strawberry (to make up for the lack of pink)
The Bet
His hands shook. They always shook, now. Shaking wasn’t good. Shaking made the images blur at the edges, made streaks of color bleed into each other. He tried to ignore the ache in his elbows as he steadied his arms.
In the first thirty years, he had been a perfectionist. But there wasn’t time for that now.
Click.
The old man slowly lowered his arms. He couldn’t move too quickly, couldn’t drop the camera. Dropped cameras meant delays. Two dropped cameras this month and a hundred missed opportunities.
He shuffled to the waiting bench. This was a job for a younger man. He slipped the camera in its case and took out the book. #450,034: girl eating strawberry ice-cream. Check.
“You’ll never get them all—not in the time you have left.” The angel hopped over the back of the bench and perched next to him, elbows on knees, head tilted to the side. “Why not just let it go?”
“You know what happens if I do.”
“He’ll decide to scratch it all and start again. It’s nothing He hasn’t done before. It’s nothing to you. You’ve only got a few months left.”
It was an old argument. His job was to take the pictures and the angel’s to talk him out of it.
The old man stared across the street, at the girl wiping sticky fingers on her dress. The longer the job went on, the more he loved the world. He’d save it, if he could.
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Madeleine Reply:
March 2nd, 2010 at 11:34 pm
Wow. I’m fascinated by stories that involve photographers at this point in time (after having read “The Lotus Eaters”), so this was awesome, as it appealed to my new taste. ( ;
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Okay – love all the pics by the way I chose this one ;o) http://h.imagehost.org/0214/D9QEnuQFopyz355exLoFczlco1_500.jpg
Here we go!
I let out a deep sigh, “No, we don’t fix tractors, can’t ya read the sign?”
Aaron had summer teeth, some’re there and some’re not. He’d walked in with his clothes smellin’ like gas and cigarettes, disruptin’ the ladies getting their perms and what not.
His eyes bulged. “Jeepers, you coulda said it nicer than that?”
“I got no time for you today, I got three cuts to do yet, and it’s puttin’re five a clock.”
He huffed, stomping out of the salon. I turned to Gladys and rolled my eyes. “I don’t know why folks think they can bring everything and their brother in here.”
Gladys pulled a pencil out of her bun, licked the end of the pencil and leafed through the appointment book. “Mable you understand why people would assume we fix other stuff.”
I clicked my heels down to Judy Pescotti, picked up the scissors and trimmed her bangs. “No I don’t. Buddy wanted it to be chainsaws.”
Gladys stuck the pencil back in the red bun, shaking her head. “Buddy’s been gone for two years. Don’t you think it’s time to remove the sign?”
She was right, maybe it was time. Buddy was the only one that knew how to fix the chainsaws anyway. I put the scissors down and went outside to remove the sign.
Clanking footsteps echoed behind me. “Whatcha takin’ that down fer.”
I grabbed on to the side of the building, barely able to breathe. “Buddy where the hell ya been.”
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Heidi Reply:
March 7th, 2010 at 2:46 am
I love the “summer teeth”.
I swear you nailed my relatives in this one.
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Hi!! I’ll enter. I may suck at this length, but I’ll enter
I’m holding off on reading anybody’s till I do mine.
Thanks for the contest, and awesome blog
This is backslashbaby, btw 
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This is a great contest! I picked the barbed wire photo.
Old Words, Old Rust
She walks up to the fence and holds her hands inches above the tangle of metal. “I hate fences,” she says. “You know that, right?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She turns around. “I know I’ve told you before.”
“If you have, it was a long time ago. I don’t remember, sorry.”
Her mouth curls up into a smile, but the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes don’t budge. I’ve pissed her off again. She doesn’t realize that when she starts talking, really talking, her words push out faster than my brain can process. I don’t tune her out; I just can’t keep up.
“Why do you hate them?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not important.”
This is a game now. I have to pull the words from her mouth like taffy. She won’t give them up.
“I really don’t remember,” I say.
“Honestly?”
“Yes. Honestly.”
The sigh comes from deep within. I hide my smile. She’s not going to make me work any harder. Not this time.
“Do they keep us in? Or do they keep something out?”
The wind rises and carries her voice away.
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Here’s mine, which I may hate tomorrow so it’s going up NOW
http://www.geh.org/parkeharrison/images/RPH46_jpg.jpg
[The man working gears in the earth photo]
When I lay down with my head to his heart, the sound of a Grandfather clock answered back. The ticking was rhythmic and mechanical, and I always waited for the sound of the big spring before the chime. Daddy never chimed. He was all tension and spring, but you’d never get a chime. He told us Mom had to remember to wind him at midnight.
We used to chase him around the armillary with branches from the rosebushes, to see if he really could bleed. His silver leg and arm threw the sun back in our eyes. –He sure knew how to use them– I could hear my mother saying those words to the ladies at church. –He gets on so well–
He made little clockmen like himself and hung them all over our secret garden. Mine was copper with a real silver key. Toby’s was silver with a black key. Toby never played with his because big kids play with cars instead. I could see why when I saw the gears inside. Black, greasy giant gears that could eat trees. Toby was on his fourth car.
Daddy and I have a secret spot where we hide gears and metal pieces for Toby. Tiny shiny new ones and old ones I found by the river. Sometimes Daddy cries when I ask him how to make an arm or leg. They should’ve taken the tears away with his blood. The only sounds we should make are tick-tocks and chimes.
(Italics are shown by — )
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Madeleine Reply:
March 2nd, 2010 at 11:39 pm
Fascinating. I certainly didn’t expect to read what I did! ( ; I especially loved the last sentence and the er… 3rd and 4th sentences in the first paragraph.
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Here’s mine, using this picture:
http://h.imagehost.org/0214/D9QEnuQFopyz355exLoFczlco1_500.jpg
Hope I don’t have any typos.
***************************
“So what’d the judge say, Mable?” Estelle asked after she dropped her sizable derriere onto the stool next to mine and stirred five packets of sugar into her triple espresso.
My sister had opinions as strong as the coffee she drank, especially about topics that were none of her business. She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head, always the impatient older sister.
“He said we’d have to split the building, the signage, furniture, everything, even the appointment book.”
Elmer and I had been fighting for months over our divorce settlement. We’d sold my building but we’d given up on selling his and had begun a spitting contest over who’d occupy it.
“So what does that mean, exactly? Is one of you going to rent your half to the other?” She leaned over the counter and grabbed a fistful of NutraSweet packets then dropped them in her purse.
“Elmer refuses to move his business but I’ve got nowhere else to go so it looks like we’re going to be splitting his shop right down the middle.”
She grimaced. “That’s stupid. You can’t fix hair and chainsaws side by side.”
“We can and will. The good news is my name goes on the new sign, not his. Ha!”
“Leene or Peabody?”
“Peabody, of course. Always hated Mable Leene. The bad news is the judge made me list Elmer’s business first.”
“Mable Peabody’s Beauty Parlor and Chainsaw Repair,” she said testing it. “Eh, it could work.”
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Lorena Reply:
March 3rd, 2010 at 8:07 pm
I love this. I hope you win. I know I entered too, but I hope you win. What a fun twist at the end. Virtual high five.
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Claire Gillian Reply:
March 3rd, 2010 at 10:00 pm
Wow, thanks so much! You made my day.
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Sylvie - Regan's Beta Reader #1 Reply:
March 7th, 2010 at 5:09 pm
Love this! (from purely a reader perspective, not a writer one) These are comfortable characters… ones I want to know.
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http://www.chromasia.com/iblog/archives/0910221624.php
Too much going on to write a whole lot but here’s the first thing I thought of with this picture. Total man thought, I know.
“Geezus…I’m old enough to be her great grandpa…”
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Based on this pic: http://tinyurl.com/ye367ty
They’re not going to take it. They’re going to hate it. Jen thought as she and her co-writer, Cory, sat in DreamWorks’ upstairs lobby. Cory put his hand on her shaking leg.
“You can’t fall apart now,” he joked, “You’re our golden ticket.”
Jen nodded and swallowed. Of course Cory would be cool as a cucumber, he’d pitched a million scripts and sold quite a few of them. This was Jen’s first pitch. Cory had insisted she do the pitch—“Your story, your pitch.”
“Jennifer and Cory?” A man in a charcoal suit said, emerging from one of the offices. He extended his hand to Cory. “James Hinson.”
“Henson?” Jen asked, finding her smile.
“With an ‘i’.” Mr. Hinson said, returning the smile. He obviously got that often.
Mr. Hinson ushered them into a conference room. There were two men sitting at the other end of the mahogany table—Citizen Kane style. They exchanged introductions and sat.
“Your elevator speech to Jeff piqued my interest.” Mr. Hinson said to Jen. Jeff meaning Katzenberg, the CEO, who she’d literally run into two days ago. Talk about luck.
Jen smiled. Cory nudged her to start pitching. Here were the precious fifteen minutes to sell their script. All eyes were on her. Say something! What are you doing! No words came. She felt the company’s famous crescent moon crash to the floor, as if she were Emmet Ray. She vaguely heard Cory’s voice take over.
Then magic.
“We’ll take it.” Mr. Hinson said.
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Hey!
I used this image: http://phantasmaphile.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/08/30/key_1.jpg
I never meant to get locked in a graveyard with Lily Reed on prom night. I never meant for things to go wrong, but they always did.
The silence was full of words unsaid. Heavy, it dripped from the air. Thick liquid, shoving itself down our throat. Forcing us to swallow the truth. We were stuck in a graveyard.
“Walton…”
The keys felt heavy in my hands. I ran my fingers over the rusting metal. It was then I realized I was shaking. What if we never go out?
“Walton…”
My grip on the keys tightened. Today, was meant to be perfect. The cancer was plucking life away from Lily. I didn’t have much time with her. She was withering away before my helpless sight. Today was meant to be perfect for her. But, reality and perfection couldn’t coexist.
“Its fine, Walton.”
“No, it’s not fine.”
Her blonde hair hung loosely around her face. My breath caught at the sight of her smiling. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to always make her smile. It was then I knew I loved her
“We are going to miss prom.” I whispered. My voice broke.
Love didn’t taste sweet.
Love didn’t smell great.
Love felt…Ordinary. Comfortable even.
“Its fine, Walton.”
It wasn’t fine. The sky was defeated, it sagged. Black and blue. It’s shocking, how long one takes to build up a dream and how quick it was for life to destroy it.
Thanks,
Amna
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Madeleine Reply:
March 5th, 2010 at 8:22 pm
I loved this part:
‘Love didn’t taste sweet.
Love didn’t smell great.
Love felt…Ordinary. Comfortable even.’
Brilliant! ( : The first sentence is also pretty darn hilarious. And “reality and perfection couldn’t coexist” was great, too!
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I chose the second link.
http://openphoto.net/gallery/image.html?image_id=6247&hints=
Summer in South Bend
It was officially summer in South Bend when the carnival came to town.
Trucks and trailers rumbled down the narrow streets all morning, dropping off equipment across from the shop where Jenny worked. And later, under a sunset deadline, sweaty men in dirty t-shirts and saggy jeans worked feverishly to erect booths and kiosks.
Kids loitered on the other side of the temporary chain link fence. Some were draped over the handlebars of their bicycles and others turned tricks on their skateboards; all of them waiting for the gates to open and the rides to come to life so they could spin themselves silly.
By the end of the day they’d transformed the normally wide open weedy meadow into a full blown traveling burlesque show.
The sweet and savory smell of elephant ears and corn dogs drifted through the open shop door, teasing Jenny to knock of early for some fun.
“God that smells good.” With closed eyes, she inhaled deeply. She hadn’t been since she was little girl.
“Go, Jenny. I’ll close up.”
“Really?”
“You got one more summer, kid, before you’re off to college. Go enjoy yourself. Work will still be here in the morning. Now get.”
Jenny was greeted by distorted calliope music at the entrance to the fairgrounds, where a middle aged woman, with a bad perm and a cigarette dangling from cracked lips grabbed her arm and forced a red stamp on the underside of her wrist.
“Enjoy the show,” she said.
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http://www.chromasia.com/iblog/archives/0910221624.php
Grandpa always said our eyes are on the world… so why not stick a camera to them and do something about it? Little did we know he had this habit called, er, voyeurism? I think that’s it. He’d pretend to use his video camera for the expected things such as family speeches, holiday present openings, and filming his cat sleeping on top of grandma’s head. But come twilight, grandpa would set out for his walk, searching for backlit windows with women in them, preferably with the blinds open.
Last October, when the time changed and it got darker earlier, grandpa stayed out past dinner time. Grandma had called us to help comb the hood for that gray-haired hooligan and his camera full of nasties. Turns out he’d used all the memory on the video card and couldn’t finish his latest flick of Mrs. Turner doing laundry in the nude. He pretended to have amnesia when grandma found him, grabbed his camera, and took away his livelihood for good.
Eventually, grandpa ended up in the home. Seems he lost his mind when the camera ceased to exist. His creative outlet had dried up, and even though most of his family members — me included — thought it was a poor excuse for perversion on his part, I knew he appreciated the art of making movies.
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http://2photo.ru/uploads/posts/4268/20070924/leonid_tishkov_i_boris_bendikov/24_09_2007_0159367001190637954_leonid_tishkov_i_boris_bendikov.jpg
It was exquisitely beautiful, this thing. Something that glistened and glimmered and filled the sky. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to lick it up and take tiny nibbles until light shone through his cheeks and out of his eyes. It was created to make mankind happy. Didn’t everybody deserve to be happy?
He reached up, pulled it down. It was cool and delightful. When he ran his fingers over it, it made a pleasant humming sound. Chimes under glass. Flowers in the snow.
The world is in need of hope. Everybody deserves to see something this lovely, yes?
He smiled, and felt the beautiful crescent smile as well. He began to row.
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Heidi Reply:
March 7th, 2010 at 2:45 am
Oooh. Pretty. I love the abstract and lovely.
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http://openphoto.net/gallery/image.html?image_id=6247&hints=
I was so happy.
I would remember that later. After. It would occur to me that I had never been happier than I was at that moment.
Later, I would feel.
Lights and music, sounds of laughter. Sickening and twisted, pooling inside my head, stopping up my throat.
It had been his idea to go to the carnival. Laughing at my striped pajamas he’d tossed me a purple sweater. I fell in love in that sweater. Like blueberries with fur, he’d said, and I’d laughed.
They’d warned me.
He’d tasted of lemons and smelled like my raspberry shampoo, smiling at me. Always smiling. The arms he’d wrapped me in had felt like my own. So connected.
I had been told. It was so easy to forget, so easy to believe that I was a part of the laughing, happy whole. My choice had seemed simple, and it was easily made. To stay, to love, was effortless. I could almost imagine that I belonged, that I was like them. Closing off the “other,” I was one of many.
The “other” always finds a way. I had been warned and my time had come.
Unfurling, past panic towards elation I welcomed it, and in my welcoming I damned myself to remember. Knowing I could never claim horror only relief, I reached for it, joining with it in the only way I knew how, completely and without hesitation.
I was so happy. I would remember that later.
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[...] an honorable mention yesterday in contest over here. We were given the challenge to write 250 words or less on a picture. I chose the one above. [...]
[...] find inspiration in photographs (check out Regan Leigh’s awesome contest… here.), some in their surroundings, some in quotes, some in colors. Inspiration is everywhere, but very [...]