Max growled with frustration. He’d wasted hours trying to solve the stupid, cryptic letter because he couldn’t find any of his friends. Worst birthday ever. About to crumble the paper, he grinned, realizing each line started with an R or an L. A smile tugged at his lips as he plunged headfirst into the labyrinth. At each corner, he turned with unwavering resolve, his pace increasing as his heart raced. The scenery became a blur around him. He rounded the last corner to a chorus of “Happy Birthday” from his friends, and after a moment of surprise, broke into laughter.

This week’s story was a hard one to pull together. It wasn’t the genre as much as the distractions all around me. It’s bitterly cold here today, and I had windows open all the same. Weird, I know, but I like to open my windows in the writing nook for a short time every day. But, when someone pointed out it was snowing, I raced to close windows and accept that it really was time to turn the heat on.

Somehow writing a micro mystery involving the deciphering of a note and using the word labyrinth became more of a frustration with everything else unfolding around me. It happens some days, and that’s when writing becomes burdensome rather than something fun I get to indulge in. The easiest way through it, for me, is to set a timer and continue working until it goes off. Then I’ll move on to a project that is pure joy. Or, you know, go watch the snow fall while I drink some cocoa.