I used to have a
tree frog that would come in every night and watch me write. He would always
announce himself, sit quietly for hours, then he would say "Goodbye!"
and slip away. I named him Jeremiah. I told him I truly did realize he wasn't a
bullfrog, but the temptation was too great. Evidently, he didn't mind a good,
strong name like Jeremiah, because he continued his nightly visits.
Isn't it amazing what wonders
writing opens our minds to? As writers, we seem to be a little better at
stopping to smell the roses and see the frogs, for it is their story that helps
bring ours into being.
*This a response to a Facebook post from C. Hope Clark.
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