Sometimes the idea comes in a title. Just happens in the middle of what you’re doing, like a pop-up ad. Much more welcome, certainly, but just as annoying—more so, because it takes more than a single click to make it go away. Another Window of some sort must be opened. Someplace to toss it in a room to save, or toss it out to grow.
“The Spirit Crusher.”
A story begs to start here, so much in those three words is already spoken but unwritten. I have dropped this seed in a fertile place to grow out on its own. I’ll feed and nurture it with motherly attention. I shall guide it to its best and full potential.
And what? A glowing peony or just a futile ragweed? Then, when bloomed and fading, I shall dig it up and study its root system; where it wandered in its quest, how deep it had to go, and, of course, filter through my fingers every bit of soil that clings, that was so necessary to its structure, to its growth until it is pulled free to reach its natural end.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology