Lounging on my couch with my coffee, I looked at the 512 pages of manuscript that sat on the coffee table, and I couldn’t help but think: Those pages were blank at one time. Just white paper from Walmart, purchased on sale for $3.99. My gawd, I did that? It still amazes me when I see a stack of my thoughts in black and white. A quarter million words pieced together like a puzzle, breathing new life, new people, a new world, a new story that shall live eternally. I will die someday. It feels good to know that my thoughts are immortal, for they will live on bookcases through time. The brain is magnificent. Yessir, as soon as I finish this cup of coffee, I’m off to Walmart, for there waits another stack, another canvas that begs to breathe, that waits for a creator to infuse the gift of life. I love being a writer.