Reader, I admit it: I don’t know how to take a hint. Now, don’t misunderstand me. In social contexts, I am the hint-taker extraordinaire. I know when to excuse myself from a host’s party and how (and when) to pivot smoothly away from sensitive topics in conversation. But in the world of games and puzzles, I forfeit all grace and savvy. I become a caricature of stubbornness, the husband in single-panel cartoons who refuses to stop the car and ask for directions. Hint buttons beckon me, promising success in exchange for pride. And I’m not alone in striving to resist them: In the comments sections of Wordplay, crossword solvers often celebrate a solve with “no lookups!” (Meanwhile, the Spelling Bee forum has bespoke hint writers so dedicated that they’ve become minor celebrities among the hive.) The trouble began last week, when I had to use a Strands hint for the first time. For those not in the know, finding non-theme words on a Strands board gives you points toward a hint; three non-theme words equal one hint. I should have been relieved to see the dotted circles appear on the board to guide me. Instead, I felt shame. Why couldn’t I have sat in bewilderment just a little bit longer? On the other hand, why would the option be there if not for you to use it when you needed to? Did the contestants on “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” ever feel angst about using a lifeline? Unable to settle my internal debate, I phoned a friend — as in, I asked a colleague. The puzzle editor Christina Iverson told me that she solves Strands with her 5-year-old, who actually insists on filling up the hints bar so that she can find as many words as possible between identifying theme words. “My share is always like: |
