Finding Magic in Ordinary Places

If you can't summon your own inspiration store bought is fine.

I think there's a misconception that we all fall into.  It's that inspiration arrives with fanfare.  We tend to imagine it descending from the heavens with a flash of lightning, announcing it with trumpets and certainty.  We like to imagine writers sitting at their desks when suddenly an entire story appears, fully formed and demanding to be written.

In my experience, it's rarely so dramatic.

More often I get ideas at 3 AM, when I'm in the shower, or when I'm doing the most mundane task imaginable.

I have found inspiration in antique stores.  There's something magical about walking among objects that have outlived their original owners.  A tarnished brooch.  A faded post card.  A well-worn book with someone else's name written inside the cover.  Each item carries questions that can't really be fully answered.  Who was the owner?  What became of them?  What stories could they tell?

Writers, I suspect, are especially vulnerable to such questions.

Then there are the crows.

I like crows.  I often find myself watching for them when I should be doing something more practical.  A crow perched on a fence can transform an everyday afternoon into something that feels pulled out of folklore.  Crows really do possess an intelligence and confidence that I admire.  Whenever I see one sitting quietly and observing the world, I always wonder what secrets does it have?

Perhaps none.

Perhaps all of them.

It may be sitting there thinking "I have solved all the world's problems.  Now get the hell off the planet."

Perhaps that is why I enjoy storytelling so much.

Stories teach us to pay attention.  They remind us that the ordinary is not always so ordinary.  Every object has a history to it.  Every stranger has a story.  Every crow on a fence post, ever forgotten photograph, every fog-covered road holds the potential for wonder.

The magic was never hidden.

It's quietly waiting for you to discover it.