Write about what you would see in a photograph of one of your characters. A small snapshot of their life. Was the photograph taken in a studio or on location? Was it taken by a professional photographer, a friend, or did they take their own photograph?

It will be interesting to see how characters from different writers will get their photos taken.

He knew he was being watched.

It wasn't the passersby. He was used to the gazes that lingered a fraction of a second too long. After all, he was in a neighbourhood that would make his mother clutch her handbag to herself – a neighbourhood where he did not belong.

Fortunately he was skilled in deflecting unwanted attention. That was why he had chosen this spot in which to tarry. He was sitting on a flight of steps leading to the front door of an apartment which he had already established was vacant. The chest-high walls on either side of the stairway would make him invisible to passersby on the street.

Yet, somehow, he was still being watched.

He tightened his grip on his sweating frappuccino. The crowded Starbucks had convinced him it would be a good idea to find a quieter spot to drink it. He'd congratulated himself on finding this space, where he'd been unhassled for the past quarter-hour. Now he was not so sure. How long had the watcher been there?

He stood up. There was a gasp audible even from where he sat.

Two things were certain. One, he was definitely being watched. And two, he knew where – and who – his watcher was likely to be.

As he approached the tall recycling bin across the street, the shadow of the figures crouched behind it became clear. He had been wrong on one count – his watcher was not singular, but plural.

"May I be of assistance?"

A stifled scream. "Is he talking to us?"

"Of course he's talking to us, idiot!"

"But he can't, he doesn't know we're here –"

"I told you to keep your big mouth shut just now –"

Philip smiled. "I can hear every word you're saying, so why don't you come out and say hello?"

Sheepishly, two boys no older than his youngest brother emerged from behind the bin. One looked defiant. The other was clearly terrified, yet somehow managed to speak.

"Are you – are you really –"

He extended his hand. "Prince Philip the Third of Zandar. Pleased to meet you."

"I told you it's him!" The terrified one elbowed the other, triumphant now. "I thought you'd have bodyguards, I didn't think it was really you!"

Clearly his efforts to pass undercover had failed. "I must commend your powers of observation, young man. I did not expect a youngster to be familiar with Zandarian royalty."

"Can we take a photo with you? Our parents, they'll never believe me, I have to prove I met you!"

For years after, when he posed for portraits with visiting politicians and dignitaries, he would think back to his favourite photo of himself: a wefie with two boys on a street in Amber Beach.