Bad as I hate to admit it, I have a confession to make. I’m a snoopy person. There, my secret is out. Everyone in my family knows it. I’m not exactly proud of it, but I can’t seem to stop. I just have an insatiable curiosity. Especially when it comes to brightly wrapped gifts with my name on them.
It all started when I was big enough to read and recognize my name. The minute those wrapped gifts came out I’d wait until everyone was busy and not looking. Then, I’d sneak the gift into a safe place where I wouldn’t be disturbed. Sometimes it was the bathroom; that was a place where no one would question a locked door. I got very good at lifting up the tape without tearing or messing up the paper. I’d quickly see what was inside and put everything back exactly like I’d found it. I never got caught back then. If I had, I would’ve gotten my sneaky little fanny tanned. No, I was very careful. And I became so accomplished at the art that my little sister would beg me to do the same with hers.
Somewhere along the line, I figured out that it was easier to spy at them before they’d reached the wrapped stage. Duh! I’d climb onto a chair so I could reach the top of my mom’s closet. That was generally her hiding place for the Santa stuff and presents she hadn’t had time to seal up with paper and tape. Another good spot was in her dresser drawers. No place was safe from my inquiring mind. It never occurred to me to that it was more fun to wait for the surprise. I needed instant gratification I guess. But what’s bad is that I’m still that way. I’m hopelessly beyond redemption. My husband and kids got wise to me though and either put my gifts under lock and key or they waited until the very last possible minute to buy them. Used to frustrate me to no end.
I think being snoopy has had its advantages though. It’s come in mighty handy in writing my stories. That early training has helped me dig for those illusive facts and little hidden details that add depth. My snoopiness has worked in chipping away the ore in the mine for those sparkling golden nuggets. It’s also been helpful in finding ways to craft satisfying story endings. Searching for, digging, and unearthing the gifts that have my name on them.
Oh, and I reckon this is a good time to confess that I always have to read the last page of a book before I buy it. For some odd reason, I have to know that everything is going to end well before I invest time in reading a story.
Don’t know if it’s true about confession being good for the soul or not, but I feel better. I imagine this pretty well seals my fate at a time when Santa’s making his list and checking it twice. I’m reasonably sure I’ll find Linda Broday on the naughty side of the ledger.
How about you? The confessional’s open. Do you have something you need to get off your chest? But are you brave enough?