How Photography Inspires Writing

  • How Photography Inspires Writing

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    How Photography Inspires My Writing

    By Simona Carini

    On January 18, 2016, walking around North Berkeley, I was brought to a halt by the look of a house: the right and left side were painted in different colors and the overall effect was that of a line bisecting the façade. I took a photo and resumed my walk but kept thinking about the house. At home, I wrote down what I had seen and the musings the sight had stirred, then distilled the material into my first poem “The Divorced House” which was published in the journal, Star 82 Review, together with the photo.

    At the time, I had been writing for almost 10 years, mostly about food and more recently memoir. Poetry was a new endeavor. As I developed my style and voice, I continued using my photos as writing prompts. I still do.

    I start by describing the image, not only the visual details, but smells, sounds, things I touched or that touched me, and/or the situation that led to the photo being taken. While I free-write I may remember something I felt or thought when the image was taken, or a story may emerge. Ultimately, the poem needs to transcend the description to a deeper theme, a shared emotion. What is the story? Why am I telling it? The process may remain a writing exercise, still useful as it helps me focus on sensory details.  

    I usually don’t know where writing about an image will lead me. The bisected house in Berkeley made me think about my parents’ divisions which affected my early life.

    Taking photographs for me is a way of taking notes. A photo helps me remember what I saw and what I felt. As writer I am a hoarder: of sights, sounds, smells, flavors, textures. I gather sensory details and musings and store them for immediate or future use.

    A bench overlooking the Pacific Ocean photographed on a foggy day (so that it appears to overlook nothingness) led me to think about refugees crossing the Mediterranean Sea not being allowed to rest when they arrive wherever the waves pushed them. “The Bench” was published with the inspiring photo in Star 82 Review.

    The cover of my recently published poetry collection, Survival Time, features the photo that inspired the opening poem: It shows the inside of Lærdal Tunnel, in Norway. The poem references the experience of driving through that tunnel and weaves into it the experience of my husband’s cancer diagnosis. At some point the poem describes what the photo shows but in the broader context of the life event for which it is a metaphor.

    “December 31” (originally published in Italian Americana) is about the time I spent the last afternoon of 2018 on the beach of Pismo Beach, CA, bathed in glorious sunset colors, watching surfers ride the last waves of the year, and observing shorebirds. The poem describes them and meditates on breathing and death, as the year is about to die:

    The end

    arrives with our last breath. A long sigh the last

    sound we make. We carry nothing with us,

    not even a gulp of air. Will I, on the final

    exhale, remember kindness in your gaze?

    Simona Carini was born in Perugia, Italy. She writes poetry and nonfiction and has been published in various venues, in print and online.

    Her first poetry collection, Survival Time ,  was published in 2022 by Sheila-Na-Gig Editions. She lives in Northern California with her husband, loves to spend time outdoors, and works as an academic researcher.

  • Grasping . . . Prompt #715

    Writing Prompt: I keep grasping for . . .

    #justwrite #amwriting #iamawriter

  • Totally Awesome

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Totally Awesome

    By Caitlin Cunningham

    I was an eighties girl. I embraced the radical change away from the disco and traditional rock music that I did not really care for when I was young.

    The eighties brought an entirely new sound that I loved. It was fresh and energetic.

    After I turned twenty-one, I went to nightclubs frequently in the eighties,

    I would dance to every song, not caring who asked me. I just wanted to dance all night long.

    And the outfits we all wore—so much black and neon. Most clubs had black lights that made our colored accessories glow… as well as the lint on our black garments.

    There were a few clubs I frequented regularly, both at home and at college. I remember one place that was a former Safeway grocery store converted to a dance club. There was day-glow paint splattered on black walls. They had giant lighted cubes we could hop up on to dance (for the very confident). The place was huge but always had a line of people outside waiting to get in. 

    Another place I liked had a small interior courtyard with a swimming pool. At night the pool was covered by a Lucite dance floor that lit up. It seemed so extraordinary, and slightly dangerous, to be dancing on top of a pool. There was also an indoor dance floor but being out in the cool air, within a crush of sweaty bodies was always preferable to me. Young men and women in cutting edge outfits and over-gelled, gender-neutral hairstyles, stood about trying to look cool and severe.

    It was a new era, a time of changing viewpoints and the tumbling of the Berlin Wall, the explosion of Mt. St Helens, Reaganomics, and Glasnost. There were battles against communism, against human rights atrocities in China, against AIDS, against the status quo. It was the generation of MTV.  Musicians now competed for prime spots on the network through elaborate video productions of their songs that visually brought the music to life, even using the platform to raise money and awareness for world causes.

    Appearance was everything, both politically and literally. Copying the attire of the top performers was common. Everyone wanted to look like Madonna with her sexy tousled blonde curls, heavy eyeliner and controversial crosses dangling about her neck or Duran Duran with their tight pants, heavily padded shoulders and spiky bleached hair or Michael Jackson all decked out in skin-hugging, bright red leather. 

    It was a dynamic time, a changing of the guard. Everything was extreme. The music, the clothes, the hair and the attitudes. It was a sort of rebellion against the laid back, free thinking 60s and 70s, a generation seeking its own identity.

    It was a totally awesome era.

    Caitlin Cunningham lives and works in Petaluma, CA. She is an educator working with high school students who have mild learning disabilities. She especially loves helping students with math and writing.

    She has two adult children, a son who graduated from Iowa State with a history major and a daughter who is currently a pilot studying aviation and aeronautics at the University of North Dakota.

    She started writing with Jumpstart years ago but stopped when her husband became ill. After his death in 2020, she returned at Marlene Cullen’s urging.

    Returning to the Jumpstart group has been a supportive and therapeutic environment for resuming her writing and escaping her grief.

  • Who makes you laugh? Prompt #714

    Write about someone who touches you, someone you open yourself up to, allowing you to be you.

    Perhaps this is someone who makes you laugh.

    Just Write~!

  • Bacharach, Song Titles . . . Prompt #713

    Burt Bacharach

    Song Titles – In Memory of Burt Bacharach

    Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head

    What’s New, Pussycat?

    Do You Know The Way to San Jose?

    What The World Needs Now Is Love

    Just Write!

  • Suitcase . . . Prompt #712

    Write about any suitcase or a particular suitcase.

    Or a satchel, or a carryall.

    Where has it been?
    Where would it like to go?
    Who, or what, does it want for a companion?

    #justwrite #iamwriting #iamawriter

  • Mornings . . . Prompt #711

    What were your mornings like as a child?

    Did you wake up with an alarm clock?

    Did Mom or Dad or someone else wake you?

    Then what happened?

  • Running . . . Prompt #710

    Running away or running to?

    Have you ever wanted to run away?

    Did you run away? Why? Where did you go?

    Or:

    Did you have an ancestor who “rode the rails?”

    If you were to be a hobo, carrying all your belongings in a kerchief tied to a stick, what would you have in the sack?

    Or maybe you would have a knapsack.

    Research shows:

    A female hobo is a boette.

    A hobo is a migrant worker in the United States. 

    Hoboes, tramps and bums are generally regarded as related, but distinct:

    A hobo travels and is willing to work; a tramp travels, but avoids work if possible; and a bum neither travels nor works.

    Be careful when you call a vagrant or homeless person a hobo — although this is exactly what the word means, it is a somewhat offensive term.

    Why yes, perhaps I went down the rabbit hole with researching!

    Thanks to Rebecca Evans for this “hobo with a kerchief on a stick” prompt idea. When she mentioned that in a conversation, I immediately saw the image of someone carrying a sack on a stick and thought “Great prompt!”

  • One of those times . . . Prompt #708

    Remember back to your teenage years. Full of promise and full of hope for fun.

    Hope that special someone notices you.

    Looking forward to fun times.

    Hope you won’t get caught doing whatever you weren’t supposed to be doing.

    Because this was a time to take risks, to sneak past authority, to try new behavior.

    Prompt: Write about one of those times . . . that you got away with something you shouldn’t have been doing.

  • Adjusted your sails . . . Prompt #705

    “We cannot always direct the wind, but we can adjust our sails.”

    It isn’t known who originally said this.

    No matter, it’s today’s prompt.

    Prompt: How have you adjusted your sails?