The dragons in my stories don’t have “hoards.” They insist what they have are “collections.” The baby dragon has an instinctive desire to collect something, but I couldn’t think of what. The only source of collectables is the piles of refuse in the alley. What could he possibly find there?

Researching the subject of collecting, I created a list of 240 items, but none of them were appropriate in this context. Flagging the scene for updating later, I pushed on.

Then, as I wrote, the main character hid behind an abandoned, busted crate in the alley behind an old warehouse where many busted crates had been dumped. That’s it! My mind minions had finally come through with a solution.

Rusty nails.

When I searched the internet for “rusty nail,” I learned it’s a cocktail made by mixing Scotch whisky with Drambuie. That was all I could find about rusty nails, although I did eventually find a picture of actual rusty nails for visualizing.

I am happy the baby dragon now has something to collect.

Writing is magic.