The life of a writer can be extremely isolating, insular, yet vast and full. We think, we observe, we hear, we write. We live off the hope that a reader’s life will be changed by what we say.

Stories live inside our heads, begging to be told, seen, expressed. They swirl. They dance. They speak. A writer’s ear catches it all, whether she wants to or not.

Writers listen. Interpret. Absorb. All of life is meshed into the fabric of their storyline. In essence, writers give back to the world that which they experience.

Many people have asked me, “How can you imagine so much?”

I say, “How can I not?”

Characters form in my mind, robbing my sleep if I ignore them for too long.

When a story emerges, a writer must carefully form the message for the world to take in. It is a craft that gives us life.

Son, an emerging writer with an imagination so large that his web ensnares reality with the subtext behind it, recently admitted he had to write a page about why he should be kind. He had not been nice in class and his teacher asked him to explain why it might be a good idea that he should be.

He wrote his prose in the form of a conversation.

Being kind means not to hurt the soul of another.

Being kind is an opportunity to empower a person.

Being kind translates to changing the world.

Being kind is a good idea because I won’t have to write another story like this one.

Stories can heal, instruct, and encourage mankind. Even a little boy who chose his words less than carefully.

Stories can be mentors for us all.

Imagination is more powerful than any medicine. If you believe in the truth of what you tell yourself, no doctor can cure you from it. What you believe far outweighs what others will tell you is so.

What story do you tell yourself every day? That you are lazy, unlucky, out of time? The nice one? The mean one? The crazy one?

You are the creator of your own story. Which ending will you choose?