By Margaret Lucke

One reason that English is so delightful, and so befuddling to people who are trying to learn it as a second or third language, is that the same word or phrase can mean so many different things. For example, take stock of some of the ways to take stock.

To a cowboy, stock is the herd of animals being raised on a ranch or farm. In the 1870s and 1880s taking stock meant a long dusty journey driving cattle from Texas to Kansas.

A shopkeeper’s stock is the goods on hand that are being offered for sale. Taking stock involves counting all of the items in the inventory.

A photographer who takes stock is shooting photos that others can use in ads, as book covers, as illustrations, and so on. Agencies handle the business end of licensing the rights. You can browse through millions stock photos on the Internet.

A cook thinks of stock as a rich broth made from bones and trimmings of meat and vegetables. Stock serves as the basis for soups, risottos, paellas, and many other delicious recipes. Take stock, put it on the stove, and get set to prepare a wonderful meal.

For an investor or a businessperson, stock is an ownership share, or many shares, of a publicly traded company. A corporate executive may take stock as part of a compensation package, hoping the value of the shares will go up.

When my husband and I owned a printing business, stock had to do with the paper required for a job. We would, for instance, take card stock for posters or 20-pound stock (about the lightest weight that would go smoothly through our press) for flyers.

To a gardener or a florist, stock is a flower of the species Matthiola incana, with a spicy scent and showy white, pink, or purple blooms. Take stock, and you have a beautiful addition to a garden or a bouquet.

When a genealogist or archeologist talks about stock, they are referring to an individual’s or group’s ancestral background, as in “they came from European stock” or “their forebears were of Asian stock.”

A firearms enthusiast knows that the stock is the part of a long gun, like rifle or shotgun, that is placed against the shoulder to hold the firearm steady when it is fired.

To a writer or reader, stock is something standard or conventional or unimaginative, such as a stock character or a stock phrase.

Stock can also refer to the opinion or regard with which something is assessed, as in “I take little stock in what that person claims” or “the candidate’s stock with voters is high.”

And around this time, as the year winds down, a lot of us are taking stock – by which we mean we’re reflecting on the events of the past twelve months, assessing our goals and achievements, and making our plans for 2026. We’re looking at where we are, how got here, and where we want to go.

I hope that your taking-stock process goes well, whatever that phrase means to you, and I wish abundant joy in this holiday season.

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If your plans for 2026 include making progress on your novel, you might be interested in the class I’ll be teaching this winter for University of California, Berkeley Extension: “Writing Genre Fiction: Science Fiction, Mystery, Romance and More.” 10 Thursday evenings, January 22–April 2, with February 26 off so we can attend the Left Coast Crime convention in San Francisco. Info about the class is here.

by Margaret Lucke

My Muse wanders into my office, tea mug in hand. As usual, she’s late.

“Finally!” I say. “Where have you been?”

She comes around behind and peers over my shoulder at the screen.

“That page is blank,” she announces.

Talk about stating the obvious.

“Well, duh,” I explain to her.

She leans forward to look closer. Tea splashes on my shoulder. “Why are there no words on it?”

“Because I haven’t started yet. I don’t know what to write.” Rubbing at the wet spot, I whine, “It’s your fault. If you would just show up on time …”

“Oh, you don’t need me.”

“Yes, I do.” Then I make my dire confession: “I have writer’s block.”

She laughs, which is not the response I was hoping for. “What a silly notion.”

“Are you claiming there’s no such thing as writer’s block? Because I can assure you it’s real. I can’t tell you how often I’ve been afflicted with–”

“—with fear, lack of confidence, perfectionism, procrastination, other things in your life that demand time and attention, and outside distractions. You know, your neighbors really should get rid of that annoying rooster–”

A loud cockle-doodle-doo from the adjoining backyard punctuates her point.

 “–but all of those are only excuses,” my Muse concludes. “All you have to do is start putting down words.”

By now I’m up from my desk, pacing around. The sight of the empty page has become unbearable. “I can’t just fill a page by writing blah blah blah one hundred times. The words have to make sense. They have to tell a story. They have to be exciting and compelling so the reader will get hooked and keep on reading.”

 “No, they don’t. You know what Nora Roberts has said: ‘I can fix a bad page. I can’t fix a blank page.’ At this point it’s okay to write drivel. Let your characters loose to wander around. They’ll stumble on the story sooner or later. Once they do, you can go back and pretty up the words.”

She sits down in my chair and sets down the mug. For a few seconds her fingers fly across the keyboard. Then she gets up again and dusts off the seat. “Okay, your turn.”

I read what she’s written: Once upon a time. Not much help. “What comes next?”

“Oh, you can figure that out for yourself.”

“But this is your job. You’re the Muse. You’re supposed to inspire me.”

“I just did.” She takes a sip of tea.

I stare at the words. No matter how hard I strain my brain, no thoughts are forthcoming. Finally I say, “I really need your assistance here.”

She shakes her head and giggles. “No, it’s up to you.”

“I can’t do it alone. What will it take to get your help?” I think for a moment, then say, “Suppose I bribe you with chocolate?”

My Muse breaks into a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I prefer the dark kind. Almonds in it would be nice.”

I go to the kitchen and bring back a treat for each of us. When I sit down again, she places her guiding hand on my shoulder. I retype her phrase—Once upon a time—and then I make myself keep going.

Words tumble onto the page. They are clunky. They are awkward. To be honest, they are a hot mess. But slowly, oh so slowly, I can see that a few good ideas are beginning to emerge.  My Muse and I can fix the words later—so long as I remember to replenish my supply of chocolate.

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I’m honored and delighted to be teaching a class called “Writing Genre Fiction” for University of California–Berkeley Extension this winter – 10 Thursday evenings, January 22-April 2 (no class on February 26 because I’ll be at the wonderful Left Coast Crime convention). It meets on Zoom so you can attend from anywhere. We’ll explore popular genres of fiction—mystery, thriller, science fiction, fantasy, horror and romance, covering techniques that are essential to all fiction while examining the characteristics, conventions and reader expectations associated with each genre. You can learn more here.