The books I would write would be the books I love to read, full of real life situations and evocative details, peopled with characters just like the ones I live and work with, the ones I love, and love to hate. They would follow those characters as they traveled down a thorny path, and stand beside them as they reaped the joys of their lives. These books would tell truths that are buried deep in my soul, and reveal reasons for all the mysteries that have nagged at my heart. They would make the world sit up and take notice, and then breathe a sigh of relief. They would be books that were cherished for their wisdom about life, love, relationships, and dreams, books that would enlighten and enliven the minds and hearts of their readers. I admit to having some wisps of ideas for these books floating around in my mind. Right now, I'm just dipping my toe into this thing called writing, collecting impressions and characters, filing descriptions and lightbulb-like sentences away in my pocket Moleskine notebook. There may be some mighty changes ahead in my life, and I'm beginning to prepare for something new to enter in when time and space allows. Could a book be growing there?