As a child, I was frequently bored. School was especially tiresome. Not all of it, of course. I enjoyed recess and music. Also lunch.

However, much of the time in my elementary school days I was bored: Listening to a rehash of things I’d already learned. Having to sit for long periods. Working out long division (without a calculator.)

I coped by daydreaming. I invented stories and went on adventures to desert islands and galloped on ponies across the prairie.

Once in a while a teacher caught me up short with a question suddenly directed at me, but most of the time they were lenient. Since my grades were okay, their wisdom must have included letting a bored child grow her imagination by drifting.

My ability to drift, to imagine, has served me well in adulthood. Working on a storyline for a novel? Just start writing, even if I have only a faint glimmer of the story, and eventually the process is likely to kick off an aha moment.

I don’t think my imagination would be nearly as developed, including my fiction, if I hadn’t often been bored as child.