Message to Writers Everywhere

Let us write of happiness. Let us write of joy, of elation. Let us write of love. But not of true love, or grand notions of forever. No. Let us write of puppy love, of fleeting things. Let us write of football games and high school crushes and coins that we throw into wishing wells. Let us write songs, and let us write of songs. Let us not only write poetry, but of it as well. Let us mention Keats, quote Whitman, even throw in some Poe for good measure. Let us write of birthdays, of funerals, of all the little days in between. Let us write of the grass beneath our bare feet, the snow that frosts our windows, the one star that peeks through on a cloudy night. Let us write of that feeling you get when someone is watching you. Of goosebumps. Or of that shiver that runs up your spine as their hand brushes yours. Or of dreams, where you’re falling or you can’t get away. Let us write of “thank yous” and “I’m sorrys” and problems that took a little too long to get resolved, but were resolved nonetheless. Let us write of the everyday; never mind the extraordinary. Everything spectacular has already been written about time and time again. Let us write of flowers and bicycle tires and facial hair and chipmunks and various flavors of juice and bathtubs with claws as feet and phone calls and trips to the zoo and music. Let us write about what matters. Let us write about what’s familiar and what’s ours. Let us write about life. Never mind the rest.