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"What＇s a seven-letter wor to escribe a specialist in equine hoof care?"
After I type "farrier" into the answer key, I sat back an surveye my work. As the final clue in the custom crosswor puzzle that I create for my state＇s equestrian association, it took a bit of coorination to get everything right, but I was able to create enough clues to make a puzzle of intermeiate complexity, just as the client ha requeste.
Having a job creating custom crosswor puzzles is one part trivia an one part strategy. Sometimes I get so into the client＇s request that I＇ll research a topic for hours, coming up with hunres of possible clues on the specific subject I＇ve been assigne to cover. But then when the time comes to esign the "Across" an "Down" gris, I struggle to line everything up perfectly an have to scrap my well-establishe intentions an start over.
But that＇s part of the fun of being a crosswor puzzle esigner, which is how I escribe myself on the business car that I han out to pretty much everyone I meet. I starte out making puzzles for fun, then I offere to make one for my brother＇s robotics team when I was 14. After that, his teacher aske if I coul make one for his bowling league＇s Christmas party, an wor began to sprea from there. Before long, I ha requests coming in not only from people in my local community, but from those in other states, regaring topics I in＇t know existe.
For example, although I＇ never consiere how asphalt was mae in the past, I learne phrases like "hot mix" an "aggregate" after making a crosswor for a local paving firm. While pickleball ha never been on my raar screen before, I picke up terms like "chop" an "backspin" while esigning a crosswor for the local seniors＇ community pickleball team. As my business grew, so i the skepticism from those who seeme to think I was pursuing an o metho of making money. Not only that, but people began offering opinions about how my self-employment woul affect my free time.
"If you keep making crosswors for other people, you won＇t enjoy solving them anymore," my uncle warne me one Sunay as I complete the New York Times＇ crosswor puzzle. But as I entere the phrase "Pick up the Pacer" in response to the clue "Give a rie to an Iniana hoopster," I knew he was incorrect.
For me, creating crosswors is just as fun as solving them – maybe even more so. When I look at an empty crosswor gri, it must be the same way a farmer feels when viewing an open fiel. I see all of the possibilities an potential before me as a challenge an a gift. The worl is mine to create, an each wor that I put on the page is like a see plante in the irt. It oesn＇t have just one sole purpose. It fees into the rest of the clues, proviing much-neee vowels an consonants to the wors that will intersect it.
Although I haven＇t yet foun a way to work "cruciverbalist" into a crosswor, I hope to make it happen someay, because that＇s the wor that escribes me. I＇ like the clue for it to be liste first when I get to esign the ultimate puzzle — one for a crosswor enthusiast＇s association. I can see it now: "1 Across: A person who is skille at solving or creating crosswor puzzles."
Certainly the crosswor enthusiasts will smile as they complete that clue, content in the fact that someone "gets" them. I＇m smiling just thinking about it.
"It＇s a mammoth tusk," my frien sai.
I hel up the item that I＇ just ug out of the groun an examine it against the light. It was only a few inches long, beige in color, an har as a rock. "Mammoth tusks woul be huge," I tol him, stuffing it into my pocket to examine later.
When I got home that ay, I set the item on a shelf in my room where I store all of my artifacts. Even then, in secon grae, I ha at least 25 ifferent things in my collection. Some of them were simple to ientify: A marble, a plastic comb, some fake coins from Chuck E. Cheese. But all of them were mine – ug from the groun in the woos aroun my neighborhoo an cleane off by me for later inspection.
My tools weren＇t fancy. I ha a small metal garen shovel that my parents no longer neee, an ol paintbrush, an a metal tool that I assume was a stainless steel chopstick ﹙foun previously in the irt at a playgroun﹚. My metho was pretty simple: Use the shovel to ig a hole, an if it hit anything, I＇ use the chopstick to pry it out. After that, I＇ ust it off with the paintbrush an take it home.
My best fins were the things I couln＇t ientify. Di I ig up a piece of an ol parachute? Or was it just someone＇s sock that fell out of a backpack uring a hike? Is someone looking for this item, or was it purposely iscare? I woul go over these unientifiable objects repeately, touching an polishing them to try an get their history to flow into my boy. Sometimes I＇ have a ream where I efinitively iagnose my items. I＇ wake up an say "Oh that＇s right, the ruste metal I foun on Tuesay wasn＇t an ol beer can – it was iscare war ammunition." Then I＇ realize that this insight came from my ream, not from real life, an I＇ be back to square one.
My hobby continue for years, an eventually my granparents bought me a metal etector. I took it out on a ig in sixth grae, eager to bring up a tub fille with gol an silver coins, but the only things I etecte with it were a belt buckle an an ol crucifix penant, which my brother assure me was curse, so I put it back where I＇ foun it.
Even though those were ecent fins, I felt like the metal etector was taking part of the fun out of my igs. After a few weeks, I put it in the garage an grabbe my previous tool bag. Arme with my shovel an other materials, I coul once again ig holes throughout the woos, with or without my friens, an make iscoveries.
My collection of archeological items is smaller now. When we move, I ha to part with a few things, but I was sure to keep the ones I couln＇t ientify. Into the trash went the marbles an belt buckles. Onto the shelf in my new house went the tusk, the parachute, the ammunition an other items that ha been ambiguously ID＇ by me.
Last year, while cutting through the woos to my frien＇s house, I lost a soapstone keychain. I looke for ays, but never locate it. Sometimes I woner if a secon graer out igging may have foun it.
"Is it a tusk?" he aske his frien.
Then, in my ream, he prouly put it on a shelf to fuel his own sense of woner, never knowing who left it there or why, only to create his own stories about it.
When my parents met, my mom was a 16-year-ol, straight-A stuent from Iniana an my father was a 26-year-ol convenience store employee. "Don＇t ate him," they tol her. "He＇s too ol for you, an it will be nothing but trouble." My mom in＇t listen.
But those people were right. He was nothing but trouble. He isolate my mother from her family an convince her that things woul be better if she move in with him. Before long, she was pregnant with me. "Don＇t have the baby," they tol her. "He＇ll just leave an you＇ll be raising the baby on your own." My mom in＇t listen.
But those people were right. My father left shortly after I was born, an she was alone with me at 17 years ol. "Don＇t rop out of school to raise the baby," they tol her. "It will be too har an you won＇t be able to make to make it work without an eucation." My mom in＇t listen.
But those people were right. By the time I was in mile school, my mother was selling rugs to pay the bills, an she use them as well. She thought I in＇t know, but she wasn＇t very goo at hiing it. "The aughter is going to en up just like the mother," they sai. "Her father＇s gone an her mom＇s a rug ealer, she＇ll never amount to anything."
But those people were wrong.
I may not have ha parents to guie me, but I ha books that showe me a better way. I coul see myself in the characters an experience the same range of emotions that I rea on each page. I learne about things that were possible with har work, an envisione worls that existe only in fantasy. But in every book, I got inspiration.
Whereas some people saw tragey when they rea about Anne Shirley being sent to Green Gables, I saw a young woman who put in the work to achieve her goals an isprove everyone who mae assumptions about her. An when I rea about Mary Lennox＇s quest to fin the Secret Garen, I in＇t see a spoile rich girl. Instea, I saw a young woman who use imagination an inspiration to create her own happy enings.
Reaing was the one thing I coul o without having to ask for money, or a rie to the bookstore. I coul check out an eBook from my library an ownloa it right to my phone as I sat on my front porch. I was able to tune out everything else going on in my life an focus on what was possible. An it wasn＇t just the characters who inspire me, but the writers as well. I ecie that if these strangers coul create stories that captivate an motivate reaers, then I coul o it too.
Instea of reaing every ay, I starte writing. Paragraphs became pages, which became chapters. By the time summer arrive, I ha written an entire book with 36 chapters an an array of aventures. I hope to share the book with young aults in the future so they can be as inspire by my wors as I have been by the writing of others.
But my book isn＇t reay for its ebut yet. It sits in a file on my computer, waiting for the right time to bring it to light. What＇s important is that it＇s there, telling the story of a young girl who overcame her challenges an went on to life of strength. Her family＇s situation in＇t pre-efine her, an the opinions of others in＇t shape who she became.
It＇s a story that I＇m prou to have written, an I＇m not worrie about whether anyone ever reas it. What matters is that it＇s possible for a girl like me to create my own ening.
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