Treasure Hunts

The snow is falling gorgeously, the birds are busy at the feeder. It’s a perfect day for writing, but maybe it’s the way weather limits choice that make me itchy. Sometimes sitting down and dedicating the day to words feels hard. When that happens, I often think of writers behind me and beside me. I know the task wasn’t easy for writers whose work I love, and I feel strengthened by writers who report on their blogs ambitions to rough out a chapter a day through the month or turn off the internet and stride toward a deadline. Other times it’s sheer willfulness that gets me back to work. I tell myself I’m going to finish whether or not anyone else in the world cares.

But fluffy white flakes fall outside and I’m cozy in here, and not in the mood for lectures. So, always grateful for company, what’s getting me to stay in my chair is the thought of writing as a treasure hunt.

I remember long games of peek-a-boo with babies who seemed astonished every time they dropped their small hands to see your face. Those babies got a little older, and could be entertained with treasure hunts. It didn’t matter what the treasures were. The looking in dim corners and under beds and boxes was the fun. With just a bit of mixing things up, old toys or folded paper clues could look astonishing.

That’s what I’m hoping to have here today at my computer. I’ve got a lot of images and lines to work with. I’ll scramble and unscramble, hide and seek. And if the day goes well, I hope to surprise myself and grin like a kid at something old yet new. I didn’t realize how shiny it always was.