Going Hunting

Golden nuggets, that’s the metaphor that stuck with me. Stories are nuggets and we, the ambitious journalists, are the miners spending hours, days, weeks even, in the dirt and dust looking for that elusive speck of gold. It’s that tiny sparkle of a story idea – still rough and in need of much processing – that makes all that the trauma worth it. That moment when inspiration hits me it’s like an arrow through the heart. I fall in love with my ideas and I have to write – it’s an obsession, a compulsion. I no longer have a choice but I MUST express it. Sometimes the words just flow and I wonder where they come from. I’m the one who refines them, shapes them, moulds them. But I’m no alchemist and the gold comes from outside of me. Maybe it’s life that sends me subliminal signals, some strange higher power whispering thoughts in my ear, or possibly it’s just a schizophrenic quirk.

It’s that single idea that keeps me going though, when I’m in the dark tunnels of information overload. I trudge on because I know there’s something there, just beyond my sight. And if I dig long enough, if I can just hold out, I’ll be rewarded.