Writing prompts for poetry, fiction or short story

In Margate, my writing group reckoned that our senses are their favourite writing prompts and that visual prompts are particularly wonderful. The spirit of JMW Turner haunts the air and skies around here and the Turner Contemporary Gallery is just around the corner, so we’re not short of visual stimulus. In case you’re looking for images today, here are some photographs – happy writing.

In Cambridge yesterday though, the writers called for written prompts as well. These below are culled from the wonderful poetry anthology, The Rattle Bag edited by Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes:

The tree the tempest with a crash of wood

Throws down in front of us is not to bar

Our passage to our journey’s end for good

But just to ask us who we think we are.

‘On a Tree Fallen Across the Road’, 1921, by Robert Frost

Before the sixth day of the next new year,

Strange wonders in this kingdom shall appear.

From ‘On the Cards and Dice’ by Sir Walter Raleigh, c 1553-1618

My mother said to me not to be talking with you today,

or tomorrow, or on the Sunday;

it was a bad time she took for telling me that;

it was shutting the door after the house was robbed.

Translation from Irish anon by Lady Augusta Gregory, 1852-1932

One of the pumps has been shot away – it is generally thought we are sinking

From ‘Song of Myself’ by Walt Whitman, 1819-1892

It was the evening all afternoon

It was snowing

And it was going to snow.

The blackbird sat

In the cedar limbs.

From ‘Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird’ (any one of them could serve as a prompt) by Wallace Stevens, 1879-1955

The Angel that presided o’er my birth

Said, ‘Little creature, form’d of Joy and Mirth,

Go love without the help of any Thing on Earth.’

From ‘The Angel that presided o’er my birth’ by William Blake, 1757-1827

Whatever works for you is your best prompt. Happy writing!

Prompts from Churchill Writers last Saturday

Still, at least somebody had noticed. This whole time, I was calm. I was the picture of calm.

Invisible Monsters, Chuck Palahniuk

And they looked from one to another in sudden understanding.

The Hound of Ulster, Rosemary Sutcliff

‘He’s a lawyer in Atlanta, and he’s very active in his church,’ Mrs Bennet said. ‘If that’s not the description of a man looking for a wife, I don’t know what is.’

Eligible, Curtis Sittenfeld

Without stopping, without even turning his head, he passed the little blue house. But he looked at it out of the corner of his eye.

The Age of Reason, Sartre (tr. Eric Sutton)

He sat at the table, stood up, sat down again, stared gloomily at the wall for some minutes, lit his pipe, and then, laboriously, with a single first finger and his heart heavy with misgiving, he typed the first news story of his meteoric career.

Scoop, Evelyn Waugh

No more of my writing groups are scheduled now until September, to allow everyone to enjoy the so far chilly and rather wet UK summer. Wherever you are, happy writing.