Creativity has it’s own measure that has nothing to do with numbers. It doesn’t mean it’s a dream world. You don’t have to “wake up” and leave.
He does it over and over, increasing the torment until I protest. “That hurts.”
“Too much? Or just enough?”
A chance to win a free copy of Closed Doors.
…the train I take to work hit someone.
When he lands in my lap I hug him close. “Babies are so perfect, aren’t they?” The little one settles against me, a warm compact weight that fills me with gladness.
What if changing the way you saw things followed the same simple pattern we set forth as kids playing basketball?