I can sit at a large, old fashioned desk, quill pen in hand and feel the atmosphere inspiring me. I can dip my quill pen in the largest bottle of ink and hold it over an empty page, feeling ever ready to begin my greatest achievement. My hand will freeze, hovering over the page, ready to set free the million thoughts but unable. The thoughts will stick and no amount of old fashioned and inspiring atmosphere can drag them out.

I can sit in the back seat of a fifteen seater van and catch a glance of the sun flashing a morse code message through the thick foliage, that stirs something in my mind. A memory will catch fire, colliding into a series of words that clicks together. They will form a train that spills out faster than anything onto my notebook.

I can dream that my words are the best in the world. I don't confess they are. They will never be on the level of C. S. Lewis, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens. . .they can never compare. I can hope that my words will change someone's life. I can pray they will touch someone's heart. What I do hope is that they will change me. I hope they will touch my heart. I hope my words mean the most to me.