I know that sometimes it’s hard to get inspiration for a new story or even for one in progress. Thankfully, we have fiction prompts to turn to! I’ve compiled a list of 50 of my favourite fiction prompts from my good friends on the Young Writers Workshop. The ones you find may be dialogue, a concept, or a scene. Go get inspired!
Content warnings: There may be blood, murder, death, etc. discussed in these. What can I say? We’re writers.
“I’m not very fond of this idea.”
“Well, I’m not very fond of you right now. Just put it on and get in the car!”
“And they rode away into the sunset…”
“What’s a sunset?”
“Well, I don’t know, but my granddad saw one once.”
“Look, there’s even a statue dedicated to you!”
“Yes, but I’ve never been here before.”
When he produced two syringes of clear fluid, she knew what lay ahead. Pulling up her sleeve, she could only hope everything would turn out as it should.
“You did what?”
“It was an accident!”
“How do you blow up an entire building on accident!?”
“Stop glaring at my mark.”
“I’ve lived too long under that symbol to ignore it.”
“And I’ve lived over you for too long to enjoy you disobeying me. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”
“My heart is made of stone and covered in a pretty layer of ice.”
The antagonist has kidnapped two of the protagonist’s loved ones and is holding them hostage. Could be a sibling, a boyfriend/girlfriend, a parent, a best friend. The protagonist has to choose which one dies and which one lives. Who dies? Who lives? Does the protagonist save them? Does the protagonist sacrifice one of them? What are the outcomes?
The traffic was painfully slow as the cab reached the airport. She couldn’t leave, not without me telling her that I love her.
When I finally reached the airport, I knew I had missed my shot–but something else was wrong. Emergency services were everywhere. A plane had crashed.
Her plane.
“You didn’t have to throw it!”
“It was a cat. Why wouldn’t I throw it?”
There is nothing quite like an unfamiliar place in the dark. Especially when you can’t see the blood, just smell it.
“This is your prophecy, young one. You must use the map to–”
“I, uh, may have lost the map. Is there a backup?”
“There’s something about you I can’t quite replace…”
“Don’t you mean explain?”
“No, I mean replace.”
“Is he…?”
“He is.”
“She has built an empire of driftwood. All I’ll need is a little spark…”
“Oh, is that true? Too bad I’ll have to kill you now…”
A character is a woman with the power to draw magic from the night sky, one star at the time. When her significant other/a family member/a friend gets sick, she has to drain the Milky Way to cure them. She is now known as “The Sky Thief”.
“You have the heart of a rebel.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Gotta love skylights. No one ever thinks to guard them.”
The villain shook their head. “What a pity…”
“Let me go!” begged the protagonist again. “Please,” she sobbed. “Please.”
“You could have been Queen. It’s a pity you chose this path instead.”
The villain lifted their dagger.
Lindsay first saw the ghost at the bus stop.
Once upon a time, I died. And that’s what started this whole mess.
“You’re brave, but you don’t have a conscience. Therefore, you act like an idiot.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“Dude, then why did you do the trust fall with me?”
“Because I knew that if you dropped me, I would have an excuse for missing my chemistry class. Plus, they always give me suckers at the doctor’s office.”
“You know we’re not all born with the ability to throw fireballs, right?”
Person 1: “What is your current mental state?”
Person 2: spins around in an office chair while staring off into space
Person 1: “That isn’t a–“
Person 3: “No, no, he’s got a point.”
He showed up at my cell in a purple robe. Leaning on the bars, he sighed. “Hey Emily, would you sing?”
“You want your hostage to sing to you? Are you threatening me?”
He rubbed his fluffy hair. “No. It’s late. I can’t sleep. I like your singing voice. That’s it.”
I snorted. “Well, I’m so sorry, but you’re not going to hear it.”
“I’ll get you a pastry or something in the morning.” He shrugged.
I crossed my arms. “Okay, fine.”
I always thought the phrase “My mind is elsewhere” was an expression.
Well, I was dead wrong.
I was dead.
My life flashed before my eyes.
Everything leading up to this event replayed itself in my mind.
All of it slowly leading up to this moment.
I was so dead.
“Please turn in your Algebra homework.“
My body screamed in pain.
Unfortunately for it, I only speak English and sarcasm.
“Well, one good thing came out of that.”
“What is it?”
“I can cross it off my bucket list!”
“That’s a terrible idea. What time?”
The phone rings. The voice on the other end says “We need you again,” then hangs up.
The evil queen keeps a diary. Write her first entry, then her 12th, then her last.
Suddenly, all over the world, all children start drawing the same thing over and over again.
Your antagonist has died. Who leaves flowers on their grave?
He shook his head. “That’s like trying to stop a volcano with a cork.”
My sister inherited my mother’s high cheekbones and wavy flaxen hair. My brother inherited my father’s tall frame and smiling periwinkle eyes.
And me?
I inherited the family’s guilt.
Or that may have been acquired.
For the longest time, I have loved the stars.
“Sorry about that,” he says apologetically, reaching down a hand to help me up.
“That’s okay,” I reply, taking his hand and hoisting myself up. I dust myself off. “I’m used to it.”
You stand on the stage, your stomach fluttering and your knees knocking. Any moment now your form will be announced, the form you will get to shape-shift into.
The announcer turns towards you and booms into his microphone, “This young student is diligent, smart and hardworking! Their form will be one in the mollusk family…!”
You tune out. What could be worse…
The year is a 3021. Writers now struggle to make a living. They are esteemed but almost all of the ideas have been hashed. In order to keep books from dying, the government picks the most elite writers and sets out recycling bin for ideas. Most people don’t write anymore and are paid for their ideas.
Your job as the janitor is to empty the ideas into the vault, where they are sorted. The ideas in bright yellow are fresh and valuable, the dark green less valuable and the burnt crimson unusable. The writers then pick the best ones and write them. You are a little figure behind the scenes, but you don’t mind. You don’t get noticed either.
Until one day when the brightest yellow idea you have ever seen escapes from the vault and runs away. You chase it, expecting to lose your job if you don’t catch it. Little did you realize how much more you risked–and how much you could gain.
I opened my eyes. A breathtakingly beautiful woman was leaning over me, anxiously scrutinizing my face.
“Who are you?” My throat felt scratchy.
Her eyes widened.
You go over the list of things you need to do while you pet sit.
- Dust two times a week
- Bring any mail or packages in
- Water the cat
- Feed the plants
“That’s got to be a typo, right?” you ask the cat. Suddenly, the cat bursts into flames.
“So what are you in for?”
She looks up at me with glowing amber eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
Boy:
She screws up her eyes, wrinkles her nose, and presses a hand to her already bruising temple. She could cry. I wouldn’t mind. It hurts more to try not to. I can tell she’s in pain. She bites her bottom lip and clenches her fists, but she doesn’t cry. I admire her for it.
Girl:
He watches as I try not to cry out in pain. I’m afraid that if I cry, he will laugh. I can feel his eyes on me and I want to shrink away. I meet his gaze and he smiles at me. One tear drips down my cheek. He doesn’t look away or laugh. I admire him for it.
As much as I told myself I hated her completely, I couldn’t believe it. I knew I would love her as much as I hated her. No matter how much she annoyed the crap out of me, I was overcome with the desire to stay by her side.
Forever.
Everyone in the world has the ability to read thoughts. Except for one person.
You are one of the mechanics on the first-ever self-flying airplane.
Your pen pal lives on the opposite side of the universe.
I laughed in the face of death.
And Death laughed right back at me.
She had been called many things in her life.
Thief, vagabond, exile, outcast.
Now she would be called empress.
I hope you enjoyed those prompts! Which one was your favorite? Did one spark an idea for you?
Quote, Unquote 