As I sit before my computer, hands slouched across the keys that beg me to type, I wonder…what will I write about? My frame of mind is sour, my heart is sickeningly ill, begging me to refrain, I’ve just finished a novel…why start another? But my hands…my tired hands are still eager to tell stories they have yet to experience.

Stories change lives, and memories change hearts.The truth sat before me, but what was I to do about it?

How could I change lives, or change hearts? What memories could I bring to life as the sun disappeared outside of my window-my fingers fast enough to bring the sun over the horizon in moments, my heart big enough to conjure memories that never happened. What would I write about?

The doorbell rang. My fingers? They could have their answer, and Ellison would be proud.