Note: This post was originally published on the Lucy Varna blog.

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My parents played a lot of cards when I was growing up. They had a whole clique of fellow card players whose houses we would rotate through on the weekends for mini-tournaments of Rummy (of all kinds), Rook, Cribbage, or whatever the flavor of the moment was. Around the time I turned eleven, someone turned my parents on to Canasta, the most enduring of all the games my parents played.

That was also about the time that my brother, my sister, and I decided we should get in on the action. We spent one, long summer playing game after game of three-player Canasta around the coffee table in our living room, learning the nuances of the game while our parents were at work.

After my mother’s death a few years ago, we stopped playing as often. Now, Canasta is our go-to game during the holidays, the only time my whole family can get together. I rarely play anymore. With Mom gone, we have an uneven number of players, so I cook while the others set up around the kitchen table Mom refinished herself and hoot and holler their way through a hotly competitive match.

I learned a lot about strategy by playing cards. More importantly, I learned a lot about timing, pacing, and other techniques that have translated well into writing fiction. I learned that no matter what you’re holding in your hand, you never let other players see your cards. You hold them tightly to your chest until they’re ready to play, then you dole them out one by one or all at once, depending on the situation you’re in. You refresh your hand by drawing from the deck and you refine it by discarding cards you don’t need, and you always know what cards are in your opponent’s hand.

Above all, you never, ever tip your hand. That’s probably the hardest trick to playing a good game of cards. You can’t react to what you draw or what you have to discard, or if you do, you make sure it’s a reaction that won’t allow other players to guess what you’re holding, even if it’s the best hand of cards you’ve ever been dealt.

Lots of people have been asking questions about the Pruxnae’s culture and are interested in learning more about that particular story world. Readers of the Daughters of the People Series have figured out by now (I hope) that they can trust me to show them the cards (aspects of the story world) that are needed to tell each story well, precisely when those cards need to be played. They also know I’m holding a whopper of a hand, that I have Aces hidden back that will make or break the overall story arc, depending on when they’re revealed.

Story is a game of trust between the reader and the writer. We’re partners sitting across the table from one another, each trying to guess what cards the other has so we can create the best hand possible and win the game. For my part, I hope you sit down at the table with an open mind, ready to be entertained.

You, though, are probably expecting me to reveal all my cards, but that isn’t how the game is played. How much fun is it to know everything there is to know about a story right off the bat? Yeah, not such fun, so I study the cards I have, refresh and refine them as is needed, and play them when the time is right, exactly when you need to see them in order to best understand the story being told.

I don’t expect you to trust that I have plenty of cards left to play. I expect you to try to force my hand so you can see exactly where these stories are headed. I expect you to be looking for the Queen of Hearts or the Jack of Diamonds, when the next card I play will be the King of Spades or a Joker or even one of those Aces.

I have a lot of Aces in store for you.

In the meantime, sit back, relax, and enjoy the game.

Happy reading!