Thinking inside the Box

 

I don’t see myself as a wordsmith.  To me, a wordsmith is someone standing in front of a fiery furnace, sweating, as they hammer out the upright stems of a W.  They forge each letter, ensuring their shape matches perfectly the intended pronunciation.

I see myself more as a child, playing inside a large box filled with verbs and adjectives.  I arrange them as would a child, pretending I know what I’m doing, perhaps stacking nouns along my pretend village street, a person here, a place there.  My choices seem endless.

At the intersection I place a run-on sentence, then of course, an ambulance and a tow truck. 

I can think of no other hobby that has as many parts to play with as there are words found in my dictionary.  I am the luckiest kid I know, even though you don’t write, sending me some of your words.

 

I guess you just never learned to share.