Ideas are strange things, fluttering in with a whisper and sometimes vanishing into a fog of dreams before they can be properly seized. Others develop over time, a swirl of water obscuring as the image moves from transparent to crisp and clear, a burst of life on paper.
And then there are the idea clouds. Like walking into a swarm of gnats, too many to grasp, escaping with a taunting buzz until you swallow one with a cough, swirling into an ever-moving story. The most frustrating, and yet rewarding, as an unexpected delight comes from the merger of parts into a coherent whole.
That, ladies and gentlemen, dragons and sentient swords, artists and artistes, is why we prompt.
|Cedar Sanderson||Just below Doan’s Crossing…||AC Young|
|Padre||The monkey pounded away at the keyboard.||nother Mike|
|Becky Jones||The shadows curved lazily around the tree.||Padre|
|nother Mike||The temple bell rang, loud and long.||Leigh Kimmel|
|Leigh Kimmel||Photo prompt||Fiona Grey|
|Fiona Grey||The roses were made of antique paper, letters spidering across the petals with faded ink.||Becky Jones|
|AC Young||A red-brick building appeared through the trees.||Cedar Sanderson|
Juggling too much and a prompt escaped you? Squirmy things, those prompts. We’ve captured a few here for you to try. Open the cage and let them out into the wild.
|Spare||The guinea hens shrieked in warning|
|Spare||What’s that sound? Everybody look…|
|Spare||When the chrysalis opened, the enormous space butterfly spread its wings and ignited the rockets…|
|Spare||The spaceship’s engine worked by consuming itself, which was fine until someone realized the trajectory math had been completed by gerbils.|
|Spare||The resume service was run by aliens. Actual, not-from-this-planet aliens.|
|Spare||“Why do banks need a holiday, Mommy?”|
That’s all for this week – post your creations, or a link to them, in the comments, for commenting purposes. We’re a friendly bunch, I promise!
Header image by Fiona Grey, Old Fort Niagara