What’s in a title? A Much Winchmoor update – and the Covid ‘culture shock’

2020 has been what I’ve seen described as a ‘train wreck’ of a year and one in which, for the first time ever  in my writing career, my writing mojo completely deserted me and the fourth book in my Much Winchmoor series which had been galloping along at a cracking pace slithered to an ungainly halt.

I know I was not alone in this and there’s a brilliant explanation of why I, like so many suffered from what I think of as ‘pandemic brain fog’ on an excellent blog called The Killzone which I’ve enjoyed following for several years now.

The Killzone is described as ‘insider perspectives from top thriller and mystery writers’  and the article, published in September 2020 and entitled ‘why you don’t feel like writing’ is written by James Scott-Bell, author of some of my favourite how-to writing books, as well as an impressive number of first rate thrillers.

James explains that there is a understandable, biological reason for this brain fog. Your brain, according to  the article he quotes by Peter Olson, (the link is here. https://www.alifeoverseas.com/covid-and-culture-shock-feel-the-same-to-your-brain-and-heres-why/) is suffering ‘culture shock’ and goes on to explain:

“When someone moves to a completely new culture, many of the ‘autopilots’ your brain uses for thousands of small decisions every day become ineffective. In a similar way, your current environment has likely changed sufficiently enough that many of your own ‘autopilots’ are no longer working. When this happens, the next remaining option for your brain is to use a second decision-making process that requires far more effort and energy (glucose) to operate. Your body can only supply glucose to your brain at a certain rate – a rate far below what would be required to use this kind of thinking continually. Thus, additional thinking about routine matters has likely left you with a chronically depleted level of glucose in your brain. All to say: You are experiencing “culture shock”.

The link is https://killzoneblog.com/2020/09/why-you-dont-feel-like-writing.html

Anyway, I’m very happy to say that my brain fog has lifted and my book is now once more racing towards the finish line, thanks in part to a dog called Harvey and a cat called Max.

Some time during the middle of this brain fog I thought it might clarify things in my mind if I could come up with a title for my book which until then had been stuck with the unimaginative working title of Much Winchmoor 4 – which I didn’t think my lovely publisher, Darkstroke, would think a good look on the front cover. 

I don’t usually have a problem with titles – I already have one in mind for the fifth Much Winchmoor which I’m pretty sure is going to be Death of a Dame. (There’s a bit of a pantomime thing going on here)  But I was getting nowhere in my search for a title for MW4. (I blame my culture shocked brain!) 

So I turned to my lovely readers and put out a plea on Facebook, Twitter and this blog (link here) and turned the problem over to them.

I had a brilliant response and was spoilt for choice.  In the end I settled for Murder on High and my thanks go to Jane Odriozola and Robert Crouch who both came up with the same title.  I felt it fitted the theme of my story perfectly which starts off in the village church.  What do you think?  Here are the opening lines of Murder on High plus a picture of the church in my village to set the scene.

Murder on High

The top of the tower of the church of St Oswald in the small Somerset village of  Much Winchmoor was the perfect spot from which to get a bird’s eye view of the place, spread out like a relief map some hundred feet below, where it nestled between the  curve of the Mendip Hills to one side and low lying willow-fringed pastureland and  Glastonbury Tor on the other.

According to the poster on the church noticeboard, it was the perfect spot, too,  from which to launch 35 teddy bears in a week’s time. The proud owners (or, as was more likely, their parents) had each paid £3 to watch their precious bears abseil down off the tower, thereby boosting the fund for the restoration of the children’s play area by £105. According to the poster, it promised to be a fun day out for all the family with refreshments and bric a brac stalls in the church grounds and village hall.

Realisation came in a flash.  Because it was also, without doubt, the perfect spot to commit a murder. 

After all, abseiling is only the second fastest way down a church tower.

The ‘prize’ for coming up with this title was to have a pet of their choice featured in this or an upcoming Much Winchmoor title and I was very relieved when I saw that Jane and Robert had a cat and dog respectively.  If it had been Bearded Dragons or exotic fish, that would have called for a bit of hasty research.

But, after a week of working on these two newest recruits to my Much Winchmoor character list, I feel I’m definitely the winner here because they have both fitted in perfectly and given me some great ideas for moving the story along.  Let me introduce you to them.

This is Max and he belongs to Jane Odriozola.  I asked Jane for a few details of Max’s character – although I think you can see what sort of a character he is, don’t you? This is a cat with attitude.

As soon as I saw his picture and read what Jane had to say about him, I knew immediately where Max was going to fit in the story.  Gran Kingham is a reasonably new character introduced in Murder on High (although she does get a mention in previous books.). She is Cheryl’s mother (Kat’s grandmother) and is, to quote Kat, a ‘total pain’.

A couple of weeks before the start of Murder on High she arrives in a taxi, unannounced, at Cheryl’s house, with her arm in plaster, a towering pile of Louis Vuitton suitcases and an extremely cross cat in a basket.  Gran K has broken her wrist and announces that she will be staying with Cheryl while her arm heals.

I’d been worried that Gran K was in danger of becoming a stereotype.  She is a thoroughly unpleasant, self centred person with no redeeming features and I felt she needed something to soften those hard edges.  After all, no one is all good… or even all bad, come to that, are they?

And then, along comes Max!  A gorgeous, sleek black cat who turned up on her doorstep one morning five years ago and refused to go away.  And while Gran K may not be very fond of her daughter (or if she is, she’s unable to show it), has no time for her son in law, Terry and is constantly disappointed by her granddaughter, (who she insists on calling Kathryn, as she feels Katie – Kat’s real name- is not ‘posh’ enough for her only grandchild), she absolutely adores Max. And the feeling is reciprocated.  She shows Max the sort of affection she is unable to show any of her family, which is quite sad, don’t you think?

The next new character to arrive in Much Winchmoor is Harvey, a little West Highland  white terrier who belongs in real life to fellow crime writer Robert Crouch.  Harvey is no stranger to the crime fiction scene though as he appears regularly in Robert’s excellent Kent Fisher Murder Mysteries (his fictional name is Columbo). 

. Where does crime writer Robert Crouch get his ideas?

http://www.robertcrouch.co.uk

To start with I had a little trouble placing Harvey.  Robert says he’s feisty,  independent and will ‘rebel against the pack leader when he choses’. So how, I wondered, was he going to get on with Prescott, the feisty and independent Jack Russell terrier who definitely sees himself as leader of the pack!  I couldn’t see him fitting in with Kat’s dog walking group.

Trying to find a suitable owner for Harvey actually helped me out of a bit of a plot hole.  As I was working my way through a long list of characters who’d be a good fit for him I came across Fiona Crabshaw, who’s also  appeared in previous Much Winchmoor books.  

Kat’s keen to talk to Fiona about something but Fiona doesn’t trust Kat (they have a bit of previous history!) and is not going to sit down for a girly chat with her anytime soon.  However, Kat knows where and when Fiona walks Harvey every morning and I was thus able to engineer a meeting between Kat and Fiona and finally move the story along.  And I gained a whole new scene and a slight change of direction in the process.

So a big thank you to Max and Harvey and to Jane and Robert for allowing me to ‘borrow’ them.  And rest assured, they will be well looked after.  No animal ever comes to harm in my books.  Humans, yes.  Animals (and children), never!

My short story. The Kindness of Strangers (and where I got the idea from)

Before I was married I used to work in Bristol city centre and would catch the bus (it was, if I remember, the #18 for Clifton) to and from work.  And the buses were, at times, erratic.  No electronic thingy in the bus shelter showing when the next one was due.  You just waited and waited – and then three would come along all at once.

All that is a very long winded way of saying that I haven’t posted to my blog for several weeks and now I’m posting twice in one week.  I could tell you it’s because I’ve been poorly, but you don’t want to know that and I’ve waffled on quite enough.

So the reason for this, the second post of the week is the fact that issue 216 of Writers’ Forum is out this week and in my Ideas Store column, I said (among other things)….”and you can read the whole story on my blog.”  But, of course, it wasn’t there.

So apologies if you went to my blog hoping to find it.  But it’s here now.  (Although chances are, you have voted with your feet and decided not to bother, in which case I am talking to myself again.) 

IMG_9437
One of my earliest entries

In my column I was writing about notebooks and how I’ve kept one, on and off, for the last 15 years.  My first notebook was an old A4 hardback that I’d liberated from the day job but once I’d filled that, (it took my four years) I started using Moleskine notebooks because I was earning some money from my writing by then and could afford the luxury.

When I was writing short stories, I needed a steady influx of ideas to keep the stories coming.  (Wendy Clarke, who also started her writing career as a short story writer, touches on this in my interview with her). 

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Very often, I would use a prompt, many of which came from Judy Reeves’ A Writers Book of Days.  I hope you can see from the illustration how well used my copy is.  One of these days I am going to add up all the stories that I’ve sold as a result of this book!

But the story I feature in this month’s Ideas Store, The Kindness of Strangers, does not come from a prompt but from my Fiction Square.  In Judy’s book, there is a prompt for every day of the year and I’d already used that day’s prompt in a previous year and had sold a story as a result of it.  So I didn’t want to use that again as I couldn’t get the original story out of my mind.  Instead, I used the Fiction Square from my column.

If you’re not familiar with the magazine, there is a 5 x 6 grid printed each month, showing 6 characters, traits, conflicts, locations and objects.  The idea is you roll a dice to find all the ingredients of your next story. On this particular day my dice rolls came up with:

Character 1. a sullen child

Character 2. an heroic climber

Conflict: Dispossessed

Location: charity shop

Object: a book.

IMG_1639I began writing in my notebook: Ok, I see a boy. Sullen, defensive.  He’s shoplifting.  Been dared to do so by so-called mates.  But, like everything else he tries, he’s not very good at it. He’s Billie-No-Mates.

Caught in the act by the climber, Rob.  (Something more valuable than a book) Rob is broken.  On crutches? Certainly doesn’t climb any more.  Why?  An accident.  What’s he doing in a charity shop?  Helping someone – his mother? No, he’s a customer. He’s a hero because he got a party of children to safety.  Doesn’t feel like it because one of them died. 

Since the accident, he’s been numb.  Blames himself even though the enquiry exonerated him. Praised him for his courage. He’s walked away from everyone who cares about him. Drifting from one dead end job to another. One dead end town to the next.  Sleeping rough. Shopping in charity shops for warm clothes. 

My notes went on for another two pages and at the end of it I had almost outlined  a complete story. I’d like to tell you it always worked like that but, sadly, that is not the case.  In fact, at one time I thought it had the makings of a serial.  Which it may well do one day.  Who knows?

So, as promised, here is the final version of that story, which was published in the UK magazine, My Weekly and has had subsequent overseas sales as well. 

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

As shoplifters went, the kid wasn’t even very good. Drawing attention to himself with each furtive glance. The idiot might as well be wearing a striped jumper, black mask and carrying a bag marked ‘swag’ over his shoulder.

Mac took a jumper off the hanger. It was a horrible mustard yellow, hand knitted thing, which was probably why it ended up in a charity shop. Not that he gave a toss what it looked like. The people he mixed with didn’t set too much store on sartorial elegance any more than he did. It was warm. It was cheap. Job done.

 He turned to take it to the till. The kid was still by the CDs. Probably just browsing after all. Whatever. None of his business.

The kid’s head suddenly shot up as three lads of about the same age as him came up to the window. One signalled him to hurry up. Mac watched as the boy slipped the CD into his pocket and hurried out to his giggling mates. He saw him show them what he’d got, heard the shrieks of derisive laughter. He saw, too, the kid’s head go down, shoulders hunched, as he shoved the CD back in his pocket.

Mac shrugged. No need to get involved. He’d be moving on tomorrow. To another dead end job in another dead end town. But at least this time accommodation of a sort went with the job. That would be good. The nights were getting too cold to spend many more on the streets and the pain in his leg was getting worse, the colder it got. Sleeping rough was not one of his better ideas.

The girl at the till looked ridiculously young to be alone in charge of a shop. No wonder the kids were stealing off her. Mind you, if she kept the more valuable items, like that little egg cup he was pretty sure was silver,  nearer the till, that would be a start. 

“I’m so glad someone’s bought this,” she smiled as she folded the jumper. “My gran knitted it for my brother and he refuses to wear it.”

“Lucky for him he can afford to be choosy,” Mac growled – and instantly regretted it. It came across as whingey, and self pitying and he was neither. 

“Oh Lord, I’m so sorry.” A flush stained the girl’s pale cheeks. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t,” he said tersely. Why didn’t she just bag the thing and let him go? He didn’t come in here to get her life history. Didn’t want to know about knitting grannies. Certainly didn’t want to think about his own, who didn’t knit. But worried. Even though he was thirty two next birthday, she still worried about him. Probably a little less now he’d given up climbing.

“I don’t usually work in the shop,” the girl was saying. “I’m happier looking after the animals. But the rescue centre needs the money desperately and when we had the chance of this empty shop for a few months, we jumped at it. But I’m not very good at it, as you can probably tell. Take these biscuits, for example. There were eight of them but now there are only six and I know I haven’t sold any. Look, I’m going to have a cup of tea and a biscuit while they’re still here. Would you like one? I made them, so it’s ok.” 

“No thanks.” Mac grabbed the bag and headed for the door. What? Did she think he was a bloody charity case? Or, maybe she thought he was the one who’d been nicking her precious biscuits? He might look a down and out. He might shop in charity shops. But that didn’t mean –

He stopped. He was angry. Hell, yes, he was angry. It was the first time he’d felt anything, except an icy numbness, since The Accident. Correction. Since the day after, when Mrs Pearce had screamed at him, called him a murderer. Said she hoped the knowledge that he’d killed her daughter would haunt him for the rest of his life. Well, she wasn’t wrong there.

He’d coped by training himself to feel nothing. No pleasure. No joy at the sight of a sunrise, no warmth in the company of friends, nor even the comfort of a soft bed. It was, he reckoned, a price worth paying. To be where no one knew him. Or tried to make him feel better by saying the accident wasn’t his fault. That he’d done all he could. 

When he knew, just as Mrs Pearce did, that he hadn’t.

Why then, had he got so angry, because a young woman with a big soft eyes and a sweet smile had offered him kindness? Was it because she’d seen him as an object of pity? Someone who couldn’t even afford the price of a cup of tea and a biscuit? Who relied on the kindness of strangers?

Much better save her pity for the downtrodden donkeys and abandoned dogs.

As he reached the door, he was surprised to see the young shoplifter approaching and stood back to let him in. Then, on an impulse, he turned and followed him back into the shop. Outside, the others were urging the kid on. Obviously, the CD was not to their taste and they’d sent him back for bigger fry.

The kid reached into his pocket, took out the CD and put it back on the shelf. Mac watched as he edged up to the shelf where the silver egg cup was. Saw the furtive look as he picked it up, the relief when he saw the girl was busy on the other side of the shop.

Without realising he was going to do it, Mac walked across, put his hand over the boy’s stick thin wrist. Waited until the hand opened and the boy let the egg cup go. He looked up at Mac, his eyes wide with fear.

“Look, I’m sorry, mate,” Mac said loudly. “It’s no good asking me about volunteering. You should ask the lady over there. It’s her shop. I’m sure she can do with some extra help. Isn’t that right?” he said as the smiley girl came across to them. “Who knows? She may even offer you a cup of tea and a biscuit while she tells you all about the rescue centre.”

She looked surprised. Saw, too, the egg cup, upside down on the shelf. He could see she understood what had happened here. Would she call the Police? Up to her. It was stupid of him to have got involved anyway. It was just there was something about the kid. He’d seen it many times before. 

Back in the day, before The Accident, he’d worked with kids just like him. Not bad kids, most of them. They came to the Outdoor Pursuits Centre where he’d worked, full of bluster and bravado when they first got there. Scared witless at their first sight of a mountain close up. Trying desperately not to show it. Hell, but he used to get such a kick out of the ones who ‘got it’, the ones who scraped their knuckles, cramped their legs muscles, forced themselves so far out of their comfort zones they’d never be the same again. The ones who stood with him on the top of the mountain, their eyes full of awe, their faces full of wonder.

This boy wasn’t a bad kid. Just had some bad mates. Not that Mac gave a toss what happened to him, of course. 

“Here,” the girl gave the boy a beaming smile and handed him a leaflet. “It’s really good of you to enquire about volunteering. We run the rescue centre on a shoestring, you know, and need all the help we can get. Why don’t you read that and, if you’re still interested, come up to the centre, meet the animals and we’ll talk about it?”

The boy mumbled something barely audible and scuttled out of the shop.

“Thank you, Mac” the girl said quietly. “You handled that really well.”

He spun round, his mouth dry. “You know me?” he whispered, rubbing his hand through his straggling beard, his long lank hair.

“I do now. You are Rob McKinley, aren’t you? I wasn’t sure when you first came in. But my brother – the one who hasn’t the wit to recognise a good jumper when he sees one – he has a poster of you on his wall. Climbing’s his passion. You’re one of his heroes.”

Hero? He was no bloody hero. He was the guy who hadn’t been able to stop a young girl fooling around on a mountain. Hadn’t insisted she stayed with the group and not forge on ahead. Hadn’t been able to get down to her quick enough. Hadn’t been able to stop his own out of control tumble down the treacherous scree covered slope as he tried to reach her, his leg snapping like a twig during the fall. Hadn’t been able to move her, nor force her to hang on to life as they’d waited for the rescue party. 

Had cradled her lifeless body, long after she’d gone. 

“I was so sorry to hear about your accident,” the girl said softly. “Sorry, too, about the girl. It wasn’t −”

Mac’s hands were shaking as he wrenched open the shop door. Time to move on. Fast. Before she had chance to tell him that the accident wasn’t his fault, that he was – what had they said at the enquiry that had exonerated him? – a hero. 

So he did what all ‘heroes’ do when they come up against something they can’t handle. He ran – as fast as his wreck of a leg would carry him.

………..

“Thank you,” Mac said as the man dropped money into the bowl. He felt a cold nose touch the back of his hand and reached to fondle the dog’s head. Archie was never far from his side.

“Well, how are we doing?” Beth asked.

“The money’s rolling in,” Mac said. “It’s typical of Tom to turn his leaving do into a fund raising bash, isn’t it?”

“He’s a great kid, isn’t he? And he’s going to be a great vet, too.”

“He’s got a long, hard slog ahead, though. Getting into vet school’s one thing. Staying there’s another.”

“He’ll be fine, Mac. Don’t be such a pessimist.”

He pulled her towards him and kissed the top of her head. “You always see the best in everyone. And I love you for it.”

He loved her for a whole load of other things as well and there wasn’t a day went by that he wasn’t thankful for the way she’d run after him that day. Taken him back to the shop, made him sit and listen and eat those damn awful biscuits she’d made.

“Of course I see the best in people,” she said. “And you don’t, I suppose? That day in the shop, you could have had Tom arrested for shoplifting.”

“And so could you. You knew as well as I did he wasn’t in the shop to volunteer.”

“Yet look where volunteering’s taken him,” she said. “I knew, from the first moment he turned up at the rescue centre that he was as nuts about animals as I am.”

“Nuts being the right word.” Mac ducked quickly. Beth could pack a hefty punch, a result, she claimed, of standing up for herself against her bully of a brother.  The same guy who was now Mac’s best friend, climbing partner and soon to be best man at their wedding.

“Well, get on with it,” Beth said. “There’s a load of people heading this way who haven’t bought raffle tickets yet. You’re slipping.”

Mac smiled as he watched her hurry away to talk yet more people into sponsoring donkeys or adopting ducks. 

Beth could never resist a stray. She treated the frightened, the abused and abandoned with the same quiet patience she’d dealt with him. Gently, but firmly, she’d chased away his demons and dragged him back to life. 

A life which, amazingly, she wanted to share. Along with four donkeys, a foul mouthed parrot and goodness knows how many dogs, cats, chickens and ducks.

 THE END

Where does romance writer Katie Ginger get her ideas from? Plus Daily Prompts for 16th – 31st January.

The Interview

Appearing in the hot seat this week is contemporary romance author Katie Ginger whose latest novel, The Little Theatre on the Seafront I read and enjoyed recently.

Me.

Hi, Katie and welcome to my blog.  So, the big question:  where did you get the idea for your book from?

Katie

unadjustednonraw_thumb_826My inspiration for The Little Theatre on the Seafront came partly from the lovely little seaside town I was born in and partly the slightly larger town I moved to about five years ago. Deal is  beautiful quiet town with a pier and a gorgeous seafront where a lot of actors and actresses moved to in the late sixties. Charles Hawtry of the Carry On films lived there in one of the lovely period houses in the conservation area, and I’ve even spotted the amazing Guy Henry having dinner in one of the restaurants before! Folkestone, where I moved to about five years ago, has a harbour full of small fishing boats that go out every morning and come back with the tide. Both places have quirky High Streets full of galleries, cute little cafes and fancy restaurants. Greenley-On-Sea, where my story based has elements of both because I love being by the sea.

The theatre itself is inspired by an old disused building on the seafront in Deal. From what I’ve heard it was a place where the Royal Marine’s used to play and in later years was used as a bingo hall! I think because I love theatre so much, in my mind it became a crumbling theatre that needed saving! 

Once I’d decided on a theatre and some crazy amateur dramatics, I needed an MC and my brain created Lottie – a quiet, subdued woman but with a strong determined core. When Lottie’s beloved Nan dies she leaves one last request; save Greenley Theatre. And when a reluctant Lottie takes up the task along the way she discovers love and friendship but the big question for her is, can she save the theatre and still follow her heart?

Of course Lottie would need a sidekick and someone to talk to, and as a result Sid came to be. Sid is Lottie’s best friend and has been since primary school. He’s geeky and clueless when it comes to women until Selena comes along that is! The rest of the cast started springing up as the plot grew in my mind, and before I knew it I had a novel all plotted out with some eccentric actors in the Greenley Players!

The Little Theatre on the Seafront explores why community and community spirit is so important, it also touches on why every town needs arts and culture, and of course there’s got to be a bit of love and romance! 

Me.

I really warmed to Sid!  And how would you describe your genre? And is the book a standalone or part of  a series?

Katie.

The genre is contemporary romance and I’d written originally as a standalone but in my reviews people have been asking for me to think about a sequel, so I am!

Me.

Great.  It’s always a good thing to listen to your readers, isn’t it?

The Book’s blurb.

When Lottie’s Gran dies she leaves one last request; save Greenley Theatre. 

Faced with a decaying building, a mayor who most definitely isn’t on board with the project and a group of actors who just can’t get along, Lottie has her hands full, but with best friend Sid by her side she knows she can do it somehow. 

But the arrival of Jeremy, a hotshot London developer who sweeps Lottie off her feet, complicates things. Suddenly Sid gets a new girlfriend, the Greenley Players fall apart, and that crumbling building? Well it crumbles a whole lot more. With no one to turn to, Lottie has to find the courage to save the day. 

Will Lottie be able to save the theatre and also follow her heart?

Me.

So what inspires you most? Characters?  Settings?

Katie.

My inspiration comes from anywhere and everywhere! It can be people, places, events…anything! Sometimes though you have to just sit down and think, ‘What would I like to write about?’ and build a plot and characters from there! I don’t believe in just sitting around waiting for inspiration to strike!

Me.

Wise words indeed!  And how did you writing journey start?  Have you always written? 

Katie.

unadjustednonraw_thumb_827I used to love writing stories when I was little but then I got a bit older, life took over and before long I’d convinced myself I couldn’t write creatively anymore. Then in 2014, I got made redundant from my job in the Heritage industry and it gave me an amazing opportunity. I decided to use some of my redundancy money to take a creative writing course and spend a summer doing something I used to love. I was lucky and had some success getting some cosy mystery short stories published and once I’d written The Little Theatre on the Seafront I decided to try and get a traditional publishing deal. I got some rejections of course, but it’s important to take the feedback and just keep trying. I eventually got my deal with HQ DigitalUK through their Twitter pitch they did in 2017 and it was actually for a different book but when they offered me a two book deal I sent them The Little Theatre on the Seafront and was lucky that they liked it too! 

Me.

What was your first published piece?

Katie

It was actually a cosy mystery short story called Murder Upstairs and was published by Zimbell House Publications in their Whodunnit anthology. 

Me.

And, finally, what are your future plans?

Katie.

I’m working on some new ideas now that I’ll be talking to my editor about soon and my second book with HQ DigitalUK comes out in October 2019. It’s got a lovely Christmas theme and as Christmas is my favourite time of the year I can’t wait to get it out into the world!

Me.

Thank you so much, Katie, for answering my questions so patiently and the very best of luck with your next novel.

Katie’s Social Media links

Website: www.keginger.com

Twitter: @KateGAuthor

Instagram @katie_ginger_author

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/KatieGAuthor

 

The link to buy Little Theatre of the Seafront: https://amzn.to/2QU7X8d

Daily Prompts   January 16th – 31st

I hope Katie’s story has inspired you to get writing.  If so, here are the latest set of writing prompts to further inspire you.  (For hints on how to use these, check out my earlier post, Writers’ Prompts

16. January brings the snow, makes the feet and fingers glow.

17. Picking up a hitchhiker.

18. Simple pleasures are the best.

19. In a silent moment.

20. Write about what you see from your nearest window.

21. Refusing an invitation.

22. Being misunderstood.

23. A remembered smell (good or bad!)

24. The longest mile is the last mile home.

25. A new pair of shoes.

26. Is there anybody there said the traveller/knocking on the moonlit door. (Walter de la Mare)

27. Once when I thought no one was watching.

28. The anniversary.

29. A good listener.

30, Sitting in front of a fire.

31. A childhood injustice remembered.