In every story there is at least one line,
one sentence that stops time, which captures breath.

A good story has several.

A great story plunges a knife into the heart.  And then it recreates.

I want a great story.
I want more than just arbitrary moments of wonder.
I need more than a breath-taking second.

I want wild abandon —
dancing through daisies,
singing with crickets,
weeping over brokenness and parts,
rejoicing at tiny tender fingers and toes,
listening to the earth sigh,
collecting and pressing multicoloured days between pages of years,

— so that when I’m gone
I will have left behind
a story worth reading,
a tale worthy of the storyteller.