Lately I’ve been busting to break out but something holds me back. The creative volcano keeps building in my heart and I swallow it down. I could be telling stories and singing songs all day and into the night, but I sit in my chair stewing and thinking about it, and then the day and the night go by.
There is a story about a life-changing train ride, and there is a story about climbing a mountain, and there is a story about a puppy who lost her way but found her way home, and there is a story about a woman who found out there was more to her than she realized, and there is a story about a team of ordinary people who happened to have superpowers and managed to save the universe, at first almost by accident but finally on purpose.
All of those stories are waiting to be told, and if I don’t tell them they will never be told. Oh, someone will tell stories like that, but they won’t be the same as my stories — and, dear reader, if you have the urge to tell those stories, now is the time, because no one can tell your stories the way you can, so get on it while you can.
And I will get on with mine, and we’ll see where it all goes.
