I encountered these less-than half-sized chairs in a sort of storage room of a school that had given some of its spaces over to an art trail.

Something about all those little seats waiting to be set down and put to use got my imagination whirring.

Imagine a school of the future where a population boom makes space so valuable child must sit in tiered rows at school. Who chooses who sets where? Is there an advantage to the comfort of ground level, or are the children set above, with better views and potentially boosted courage due to their daily climb, more likely to thrive?

What might they see from their perch?

Or perhaps these small chairs bring something else to mind. What can you weave from this sight?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

I never expected to see a red admiral butterfly flapping around my neighbourhood on a chilly November day. This one is clearly aware of its naval namesake, as it’s perched on the boat motif that adorns Bristol wheelie bins.

And yes, it is the butterfly that’s upside-down, and not the photo or the bin.

It’s an odd image, though, isn’t it? There are so many directions you could take this prompt in, from a climate fiction tale on butterfly sightings in November, and what this bodes for our planet, or a fable about a red admiral butterfly meeting a naval admiral, or even, taking into account the butterfly’s topsy-turvy posture, a piece revelling in the natural world’s eccentrics. It’s up to you! Take this idea, and fly with it.

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

Rivers carry all traces of our lives, from rubbish to sewage. Looking down on the debris covering the mud, I can’t help wondering how those things ended up there? Were they thrown or did they wash up? Have they been lurking beneath the silt for years and only just emerged? Who did they belong to?

There’s nearly always a bike or a shopping trolley.

What will future generations make of this disarray?

Can you turn this into a fable that suggests a less wasteful future?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

A photographer’s lens can offer a precisely edited view of the world, and raise questions about why they chose to capture that particular scene rather than another, as well as what exists beyond that frame.

Look at any instagram feed and you’ll receive an artfully skewed impression of a life. What does the selection of shared images tell you about the photographer? Why is this the story they’ve chosen to tell? What might they have opted to leave out?

If you look at your own photos, what themes or preoccupations can you spot? What does this suggest?

Can you use this to inspire a tale?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

This statue in port of Kaleici, Antalya, is of a sea captain named Mustafa Ekizler, who lived here between 1905 and 2000. Mustafa is famed for having been present at “numerous events” including the 1919-21 Italian Occupation and Turkish-Greek exchange. He earned his living from the sea for 85 years, but is mostly renowned for bearing witness, and is regarded as an icon of the area’s tumultuous history.

My favourite thing about this statue, however, is the bronze dove on the captain’s shoulder. What better way to prevent pigeons crapping on your monument than by suggesting that job’s already taken? In fact, the dove is there to symbolise peace, and is so covetable that it’s been stolen twice previously.

If someone created a commemorative statue of you, what should be sitting on your shoulder? What could it symbolise?

Can you use this to inspire a tale?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

Growing up in the UK, I grew up with the idea of Hadrian’s Wall cutting through rolling green fields resembling something like a humble version of the Great Wall of China. I imagined Hadrian building it, or at the very least overseeing its production.

In Turkey, I came face-to-face with an artefact that puts that into some doubt – Hadrian’s Gate – a grand entry to the Old Town of Antalya, a foot-polished, tourist-magnet we passed through most days, and which Roman emperor Hadrian probably never laid eyes on.

Imagine if an edifice was named after you. What would you like it to be? How would you feel if it was something you found out about accidentally, without having been told about it, let alone had anything to do with its creation.

How would you feel on visiting it for the first time?

Can you turn this concept into a story?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.

While visiting Antalya, Turkey, in September, we explored the excellent Ethnographic Museum. One of the displays shows a series of ceramics, including the 17th century tile shown in my photo.

The reason this is remarkable is because of secrecy. An information plaque beside the tiles mentions that the craftsmen kept their ways of creating and obtaining colours a closely guarded secret, to the extent that the knowledge about how to make the lovely coral reds has now gone forever.

Imagine if a crucial piece of contemporary knowledge was lost in this way. What aspect of cultural or comfortable modern life would impact you most if it disappeared? Can you use this perturbing thought in a work of fiction?

If you write or create something prompted by this idea, please let me know by emailing judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’d love to know the creative direction you choose.