The ideas that end up on the paper were not there to begin with. It was the process of putting a pen to paper, of following a prompt or a challenge, that drew out otherwise non-existent thoughts. A story appearing like magic, rabbit ears all sticking up and nose twitching in surprise at being pulled into the light.

So much has to do with what’s in there already. What the bucket draws up is what’s in the well. Show people a flower – a single rose, red, long-stemmed…

Person 1: Romance. Flower in hand when he showed up at the door.

Person 2: Apology. Flower also in hand, but hat metaphorically there also.

Person 3: Perfection. Chosen as an example of garden expertise and God’s handiwork.

Person 4: Death. Tossed on a casket as a final tribute.

Person 5: Mystery. Delivered with no note, no name.

Person 6: Warning. Delivered with blood on the thorns.

Person 7: Answer. “When you see the rose, you will know.”

Now here’s the creepy part. Suppose you’re all seven of those people? You see all seven of those roses. What does that say? To quote Lorelai Gilmore as she pointed to her temple, “It’s a big bag of weird up there.”

We – our brains, our hearts – are multifaceted. The bucket may draw up what’s in the well, but my well water changes faster than a Las Vegas showgirl.

That’s why I write. Otherwise, I may implode.

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