Sometimes I wish I had a zipper across my forehead. Then, when all the words are fighting to get out, one quick move and - splat- they’d spill onto the page and I could arrange them neatly, one at a time, sort of like tournament Boggle. The primary reason I write is because when I don’t there’s war up there over my brow. Oh, I fight back. I let the grocery list invade for a while. The anthem we practiced for two hours last Sunday will often come out swinging and not let up for days. Gossip sneaks in and then out again usually to exactly the wrong person (serves me right). But, boy, most of the time I’d sure like to have that zipper!
Barring major surgery I’ve become resigned to the phenomenon of stories rattling around in my head all the time. I scribble and scratch them down and rearrange the words until I have some semblance of order. I think I‘m pretty good at it. Whoa! Guess that word humble got caught in the zipper teeth. Hey, I usually hide the S on my camisole, but I’ve got to think that we all have gifts. I’ve got to think that the grand plan is to share them. I happen to believe that none of us would know anything if it weren’t for the written word. And just like the soprano with the perfect set of vocal cords or the athlete who runs like the wind, we who have a noggin full of stories are obligated by the bestowal of that gift to set them loose.
So here I am to give all you fellow sufferers the go for it. You see, I know it’s not a sinus headache or the kid’s loud music or your mother-in-law coming for a six-day visit that’s driving you nuts. Nope, you can’t fool me. I know that in order to feel like you and honor your gift, you need to relieve that pressure with a glorious tumble of words. There’s a world full of people out there waiting to read what you have to write. Get down to it, sort out your stories and don’t let them down.