This next picture is from The Writer's Collection by Jenna Avery at unsplash.
Unsplash, by the way, is a fabulous place for free photos- see their Creative Commons Zero license here). Since we're artists with a growing appreciation for copyrights that protect our art, using pictures fairly should always be a must. Using a licensed, free site such as Unsplash is one very viable option, though working with artists for mutual benefit is great too. You will see both pictures with their original artists directly linked, and pictures from sites like unsplash throughout my challenges.
Don't worry, I don't know yet what I'm going to write based on this picture either. And remember, the relation to the picture doesn't have to be close- pieces that are third cousins at best will be more than fine. The picture is only to serve as a launching point, a spark for inspiration that you can use however you want. The important thing is for you to write. You're a writer- or you will at least admit you want to be one. The only way for you to have any backup behind such a declaration is to write, and write, and write- regularly.
Come back tomorrow to make sure I followed up on the second day of the challenge (and if you would be interested in seeing what could possibly be derived from this picture).
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Another morning, another story... (much shorter this time)
The distinct smell of latex covers my hands like
gloves. Well, my digits were protected with a layer of the stuff
until an hour ago. Blood and
fingerprints don’t matter as much with those nifty little gloves on, do they? If only other things were as easy to shed as
that disposable skin...
“Extra shift, honey?”
Marie greets me in the kitchen, where I’m still trying to wash away the
latex smell.
“Yeah,” I sigh. A type of extra shift, in a way.
“Well, at least you’re home now,” she murmurs gently, her
kiss gentle on my stubbled cheek. Well,
maybe more ginger than gentle.
“My tired doctor,” she says, retreating to the bedroom.
She isn’t exactly incorrect in making that statement. I am exhausted- and a doctor. But, I would never have thought I’d be getting
blood on my hands like that. I shudder.
“Don’t stay up too late,” she calls.
She’s right, I can’t try to sort it all out tired like this. But I’m afraid…
That’s it! Afraid…
wary, weighted? By the guilt? Or merely the situation?
The police will be coming in the morning. Yes, I’m sure of it. But what do you do with that sort of
knowledge? Panic? Plan?
Both?
Yes, both. That’s
it.
Well, then what?
See it, see it, I
tell myself, bringing the dim lamp-lit room across town back into my memory’s
focus. Did I miss anything? Yes, it had been a fairly dark room, besides
the old-fashioned lamp. I couldn’t read
the titles on the books, I remember. But
there was something else…
The steam of the shower helps a little to untangle my
mind. Contingencies and emergencies are
so much easier to sort through when you can actually think- not just panic-plan. Another thing to consider.
A few more minutes of sorting, and I stop, like a watch that
needs winding up. No, that’s not
right. Whatever, I never did make
analogies very well. But I’m done. It's all thought through now...
The phone rings as I’m pulling out of the driveway, the
morning sun streaming across the rooftops, shining equally on the just and the-
well, not so just. I think we mostly
fall into that latter category, more or less.
Some more than less. I pick up
the phone.
“You were right- not a break-in.”
Of course it wasn’t, the silver ewer was still there, along
with the valuable collector’s books. No
thief could pass those up.
“How did you know how to find him? We have the murderer behind bars now, thanks
to you.” The sigh that’s been building
up inside finally escapes me. I didn’t
realize how relieved I would be to hear Officer Harcort say that.
“Psychology, officer,
psychology. Got inside his head."
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