It’s on my morning walk with the dogs. It’s in the sharp autumn air as it cuts into my lungs. It’s in the sunlight as it wavers through the branches and marbleizes the grass with splashes of gold. Inspiration flies from the wings of the birds against the blue sky, and seals an image in my mind of the sight.
Remember this, I tell myself. Which words will I choose to describe it?
Inspiration approaches as a man walking home from work. His back is hunched, and his tattered, deflated backpack hangs from one shoulder, seemingly empty. What’s his story? It comes to me.
The woman behind the counter rolls her eyes back while she speaks, and her eyelids spasm under the weight of her thick black mascara. Perhaps in fictional world, she will be visited by the man with the tattered backpack. A love story? A tragedy? My imagination decides.
Inspiration looms behind a curtain of darkness in the PTA closet. My pulse intensifies as I struggle to find the light switch. What is there? A ghost? A rodent? Perhaps a deranged PTA board member out for revenge? A story idea is born.
Every day. Everyone. Everything. It’s all inspiration, stored in my brain as stock photos and video clips. That memory of the orange cream sunset—the one from ten years ago, with the white clouds sitting on top like a dollop of whipped cream—is filed away under “sunsets” for future use.
Seeking inspiration? There’s no need to search. Simply pay attention to the world around you and allow your imagination to run amuck.
Red Lagoe 
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