Posts to get you thinking | writing prompt

Writing Prompt Challenge No. 2


After the success of my first Writing Prompt Challenge I’m thrilled to bring you another one.

I’ve been a fan of writing prompts for a while. They are a great way to start the day, or at any time to get those creative juices flowing.

In case it’s your first time playing along, here’s how it works.

  1. Open a new document, blog post, or wherever you intend to write.
  2. Set a timer for 10 minutes.
  3. Scroll down on this post to see the writing prompt
  4. Press ‘start’ and get writing!
  5. You have ten minutes to write whatever comes to into your head!
  6. When the timer goes off you must stop writing (you may finish the sentence).
  7. Minor grammar and spelling fixes may be made, but no other editing permitted.
  8. Post your story in the comments section below, or alternatively post a link to where others can read your story.
  9. Read, comment, support others.

As we are all busy, the comments on this post will be open from 6am (AEDST) Thursday 6th April 2017, until 11:59pm that evening.

If you are joining in but don’t feel confident to share your work, that’s perfectly okay. But, I’d love you to let me know that you’ve taken part, so tweet me, FB me or send me a quick email.

If you’re reading this post after the challenge is completed, stay tuned as I’ll be running more in the future. And of course you can use the prompt any time, any day in your own time to practice your writing.

Good luck, and happy writing!

Scroll down for the prompt:










Your writing prompt is:



Here’s what I came up with in my 10 minutes.


The plane shuddered waking Joseph with a start. His heart was racing and beads of sweat began to gather on his forehead.

“It’s alright mate, just a bit of turbulence,” said the bearded man sitting next to him. Joseph forced a smile and shifted in his seat, the photograph still gripped tightly in his hand.

“Not a fan of flying?” said the man pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Nah, not really. It’s my first time actually,” Joseph replied. He really wasn’t in the mood for chatter, but his mother had always taught him to be polite.

“Really? Wow!” pondered the man. “Me, I fly a couple of times a month. Business mainly. But not this time. That’s why I’m stuck back here in cattle class,” he roared with laughter.

Joseph could smell the whiskey on the man’s breath and it made his stomach churn.

“Can I interest you in a drink Sir?” said the flight attendant pulling up the cart next to Joseph’s aisle seat. The attendant was stunning – bright white teeth against flawless dark skin. Her jet black hair was tied tightly into a bun, not a hair out-of-place. Her eyes dark and alive. Joseph almost blushing in her presence, cleared his throat and replied, “Just a water thanks,” he smiled trying to avoid eye contact. He was never confident around beautiful women, which would explain his lack of a female companion for most of his adulthood. Partly explain at least.

“Thank you,” said Joseph as the attendant passed him a plastic bottle of spring water.

“And you Sir?”

“Actually, I need to empty the bladder before I have another one,” the bearded man chuckled rising from his seat and pushing past Joseph. “Maybe I can buy you a drink later love?” he whispered to the woman as he squeezed past. Joseph’s face blazed with embarrassment, as the attendant ignored the comment and continued on down the aisle.

Joseph looked down at the photograph with its softened edges and worn crease cutting diagonally through the middle of the faded Polaroid. He traced his fingers along the smiling face of the young girl. Her blonde hair almost hung down to her waist, twisted and wet, and she leaned against the trunk of a huge gum tree, the dirty river snaking behind her.

Naomi. His sister.

She was only 12 years old, three years younger than himself in that photo. He couldn’t be sure, they swam at that river every single day in summer when they were kids, but he clung to the memory that the photo was taken that fateful day. The last time he saw her. The day he’d tried to block from his memory, the pain too much to bear. The blame, the shame, the feeling that he should have, could have done something more. He squeezed his eyes tight.

Now the ache had returned, that empty ache that pierced like a dagger through his chest. Could it be her? He had to know. They weren’t certain. After all, it had been fifteen years.