“God-or whoever is in charge of this planet- got drunk on the job one day and decided to give me the gift of writing. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can set that gift high on a shelf so it won’t get dinged up and nobody can make fun of me for playing with it.” He smiled until the crinkles at the corner of his eyes were deep enough to hide state secrets.  “Or, I can have fun with it and play with the gift I was given until the engine burns out and the wheels come off. I decided to play. I suggest you do the same, young man.  Go paint or draw or collage or whatever you want to do.  Come back when there’s smoke coming off the canvas. And for God’s sake, go have some fun. Please?” – Shaffer, 2023 P. 78

I am so. Damn. Proud. Of myself.  

I have written, since I could. 

Diaries with useless locks and keys.  

Journals considered my closest confidant. 

“Dear Journal, You are the only one I can talk to.”  

Everyone wanted to be Carrie but I knew, I already was Carrie.  

It took one high school teacher mentioning, “You are a gifted writer.”  

And over a decade later, a neighbor suggesting, “You should start a blog.”  

For me to start a blog.  

How will I ever properly thank them for the journey they have encouraged me to record?

I keep writing, that’s how. 

I play with the gift I was given until there’s smoke coming off my paper. 

And for God’s sake. 

I have fun.  

Special thanks to The Wishing Game by Meg Shaffer