You know when you read something and you get a lump in your throat or your eyes get teary; well behind that piece is a writer that cried his soul out for you in words.
She didn’t marry her soul mate, but she married the right one.
Who says writing is easy. It’s painful.
It’s painful conjuring up emotions, beliefs, inspirations. It’s painful finding the right words, rhythm, style. It’s painful cutting out words. It’s painful letting go of a piece. It’s painful waiting to find out whether people like it or not. Oh, it’s all so, so painful.
But you know what’s much, much more painful?
When you grasp the box in your hands. And you tear its wrapping paper – patterned and colored. And you untie the ribbon – satin to one side and velvet to the other.
Your heart skips, your eyes twinkle, your fingers wiggle. Not knowing what’s inside.
It could be chocolate. It could be a book. It could be a sweater. Whatever it is.
It is simply exciting. To be lovingly gifted.
Step away from his writing room. And keep his door closed. (But have his window slightly open to let in fresh air.)
Now keep it quiet, so that he can hear the voices inside his head.
He will write something great, he promises.
A masterpiece he will dedicate to you and to me.
And the cars slow down, and the voices go hush, and the alarms are silenced.
When you don’t need to be anywhere, don’t need to speak to anyone, don’t need to meet a deadline.
That’s your cue to kick your shoes off, laze in your favorite spot and read a good book.
Have a good weekend.