I remember when my son, Ryder, was younger. He’d come home with homework, and my fiancé and I would lean in and say it like a mummy rising from the tomb: “Come… aliiiiiive!” He’d giggle, but in that moment, I was serious. I’ve always been inspired by the written language.
Reading “The Word Collector” to him was my favorite. It taught us that words have weight. But being a writer is hard work. You have to be the keeper of the characters’ souls; you have to remember every scar on their back and every secret in their journal.
I’ve started and stopped so many books because I lost the trail. But then I think of Tolkien. He didn’t just describe a tree with brown bark; he saw the way the sunlight nestled into the deep, amber fissures of the wood, the silver moss clinging to the northern side like a velvet cloak, and the way the roots hummed with the secrets of the earth.
It makes me think of the Ultimate Author. How did God come up with all of us? The complexity, the beauty, the design. When you look hard enough at the Bible, you see the dots connecting across centuries. It’s the ultimate inspiration. If He can weave all our stories together so perfectly, the least I can do is try to breathe a little life into my own.
Today's pen is tomorrows pages 