Are you like me and take your hands for granted? Last night, I forgot a friend’s telephone number and realized that I was letting my fingers hover over the phone as if my fingers had their own memory.

Then I made a list of other things my hands could do that I never have to think about. Dialing telephone numbers, punching in codes, scratching itches, typing letters, holding other hands at just the right time, feeling in pockets for keys before I get to my front door, wielding spoons, testing washed clothes for dryness. I could have gone on and on, as I realized how my fingers hold many of the memories that keep me functioning.

So I started to write about one particular thing I love doing – playing cards. I wrote only from the point of view of my hands. I described how they held the spray of cards so expertly, how they shuffled the pack, how the fingers could pincer out exactly the particular card I wanted.

My Mother’s Hands

And then I stopped and looked at my hands properly. When I was a teenager I hated my hands, because they are large and square. I was sure no boy would ever kiss my hands and say they were beautiful, and I was right – although my husband says he likes peasant hands! But let me tell you something that I love. My mother had very small, delicate hands but my index fingernail is exactly the same almond shape as hers was. When she died, I spent some time just feeling the nail, feeling comforted that my daughter had also inherited this particular shape. It’s like a secret shared by the women in my family.

So I carried on my piece about playing cards by writing about what my hands looked like, and then I tried to describe what my mother’s hands looked like. My mother loved playing cards too, and as I was writing, I realised that the way I pulled out a card was exactly the same way she had. With a little flourish and daring.

So I started my piece again. My hands hold the cards just how my mother’s did, I wrote. They play to win. I kept focusing on our hands, and I used this as a way of celebrating both our similarities and our differences. It gave me a distance with which I could explore some quite deep emotions about our relationship, and every so often I came back to the hands and the card-playing which grounded the piece in something real.

Now You Do It

I suggest you try it. Not necessarily with your mother or a family member, but with your own hands. Maybe you want to write something more humorous. How about a letter from your left hand to your right hand – hey, why should I always have to do all the work round here?! Or perhaps you could try to describe someone just through their hands alone. What would they tell you about how that person had lived their life? What about a particular moment? Perhaps it’s the first time you counted your baby’s fingers, or when you first held hands with your partner. Or when you first saw a shadow puppet show.

It’s a good project to do with children, because their imaginations are so vivid. Ask them what their hands can do, and you will have a list of dreams as well as our more utilitarian purposes. One of my small friends pretends his fingers are mini rockets. If he holds them in a certain way they can break through space. What? Can’t yours? Another child I know has a pink plastic ring. Every time she puts it on, she waves as if she is the Queen. She’s mastered the royal wrist-flick perfectly, but somehow she can’t do it without the ring.

And have you ever watched a baby look at their hands, twisting and turning them to see better. They know hands are things of wonder and endless interest. I think it’s time to take back some of that curiosity for ourselves. After all, part of the fun of writing is when you can make the ordinary into something extra-ordinary. And the thing about hands is that really are quite extra-ordinary in the first place.

Here are some first lines to get you going:

I had forgotten that my hands could …
They say your future is written on the palm of your hand …
My baby’s hands were … and now they are …
The first time my hands felt …