Thread: Photo Challenge

Wanted to get some more activity on my blog so I came up with a series of writing exercises. Here's the first one for anyone wanting to take part.

Write a story or poem using the photo below and send it to illogicalmuse@yahoo.com with "Writing Exercise #1" in the subject line. Length is open but in order to be posted in the blog I must receive it by July 12th. Of course you can just post your creations here, that's all good too. This is just a little project I started I thought I would share with everyone and anyone who might be interested.

She said "we're not so different at all, little boy"
and he stared up at her and inside he laughed.
"We're not so different at all, baby" she whispered,
but he turned and looked away, ran away.
She followed him all while whispering ---
"we're just not so different."
And he stopped at her and looked at her ---
"You're right, but Mummy said I can't play with you,
Mummy said I can be seen with you.
You're a girl, a different coloured girl,
and I'm just a little black boy."
She crouched down on her knees and smiled,
and then rose with him to face the world.
They proudly matched forwards, whispering:
"We're not so different at all."

-----------------------------
a/n: Urk. That was rather crappy, wasn't it? *shivers*

She said "we're not so different at all, little boy"
and he stared up at her and inside he laughed.
"We're not so different at all, baby" she whispered, omit this word
but he turned and looked away, ran away. the repition of "away" doesn't sound right
She followed him all the while whispering ---
"we're just not so different."
And he stopped at her and looked at her --- omit these words
"You're right, but Mummy said I can't play with you, Mama would probably sound better
Mummy said I can be seen with you. same here
You're a girl, a different coloured girl,
and I'm just a little black boy."
She crouched down on her knees and smiled,
and then rose with him to face the world.
They proudly matched forwards, whispering: you mean 'marched?'
"We're not so different at all."

The poem really wasn't that bad, just needs a little work. I like the way you used dialogue.

My name is Isabella, my mother died when I was very young. I lived with my grandma until I was old enough to survive by myself, she was the only family I have left. Every year on the night that my mother had died, grandma would sit me on her lap, and tell me a story of when my mother was my age. Now however, I can only remember a single one.


My mothers name was Brittany, at the time of the story she was about eight. My mothered had loved to hang out with Manuel. Despite the scornful looks people gave her for playing with a coloured child, my mothered played with him everyday in the sand box outside. They were down at the creek behind my mothers house one day when Manuel threw a sharp stick into the water. My mother noticed that he had been agitated lately and asked her little friend what had been troubling him.
'I don't see why coloured people have to be treated different, can't we just all get along like us?' was all he could manage.


As my mother was pondering over the question she noticed the stick had gone straight through a fish, catching it. Mother waded into the water and picked up the branch, taking the fish with her. My grandma, who had secretly been trailing behind them, came out from behind the tree where she had been hiding and took this picture. When I reached this point I handed my granddaughter the picture, in the same manner my grandmother had handed it to me.


' Promise me Samantha, that when you have grandchildren, you will tell them the story of my mother and pass this picture onto them.'
'I promise' Samantha replied as she drifted off to sleep in my lap.

Interesting story. Amazing what one little photograph can inspire.

thank you?

Hey, I started this...