Instructions

As a new year unfolds around me, I find myself pausing to look backwards, and to lean forwards to examine what the road ahead might hold. 

In the light of a bright new day, I take stock of my surroundings, and examine the dusty path behind me, to see what type of creatures have slunk hungrily after me in the night. I check my boots for holes, fill my water canteen, and I reach for my map. I unroll the carefully worked parchment… only to find that I have reached the borderlands, the place where the cartographer’s precision has given way to their imagination, embellished with merfolk and dragons that may or may not be totally fanciful.

Not for the first time, I wish that the rest of the map was already drawn. I find myself wondering if there is an arcane Set of Instructions for proceeding, for knowing the way the first time I pass by, for succeeding when I’m not entirely sure what the task is. (#instructionsplease)

In a world ruled by story, myth or fable, I would know exactly what to do.  It is not enough just to set out on the road.  I keep an apple in my pocket and a silver coin hidden in my sock. I think carefully before answering the oracle’s question, but stay my tongue when the wild creatures befriend me. I am ready to meet neediness with kindness, and to outwit cunning with preparedness. I search for hidden things in obvious places and for obvious things in hidden places. But for all of my pre-reading and planning, I also know there will be a plot twist. You can count on it. Without uncertainty, there is no story.

My dear denouementees, in the world of story, uncertainty is the secret.

Uncertainty creates the tensions that drive us forward. It triggers the questions that evolve into our personal quests, our adventures, our victories. And when we write, its constant irritation keeps us writing -- and if we’re doing it well, it keeps our readers reading. It keeps them hooked into the plot, hoping, searching, seeking resolution.

A bit like life, really.

So as I set out into the uncharted territories of a new year, I pick up my uncertainty and bring it with me. I keep walking. I keep writing. I keep asking questions, and I challenge the uncomfortable space where The Instructions should be, but are not.