No matter where I go, my imagination bristles and bucks at any attempt to quell the flood of visions and story. It’s really quite impossible.

Just yesterday, I went for a walk in the woods. It was a dreary and gray sort of day filled with mist and the threat of rain. The sort of day where every light twinkles and midday feels like a constant dusk.

In other words, it was wonderful.

Do you doubt me? Then here is a challenge…

Buried deep in this article is an except from a letter written in 1919. I dare you to read this clip and not think of a story.

I feel confident that you won’t be able to do it. In fact, I think that after your read this short letter you’ll go to the article itself and look at the photographs. You’ll see the faces of the men. You’ll see their equipment and the ruin that remains. Your writer brain will take all of this in and you’ll begin to find yourself deep inside a world that only exists in your head.

Depending on your proclivities, you might imagine some fantastic horror tale involving a creeping and ancient evil lurking in the forest. You may think of some realistic historical fiction piece centered around the life of John Snow (or even the reporter of the events in the camp). The possibilities are endless because we are all different writers with different ideas and tastes, but one thing is constant: we are all beholden to the will of story.

We cannot help but be drawn into the tangled web we weave. We are writers.

So go on, I dare you not to imagine a story… and when you fall for my trick, I hope you’ll take up your pen and write it all down. I can’t wait to read it.

•