The funny thing about writing is that it happens when you least expect it to.
There’s no rhyme or reason, no time or season, it just happens.
You don’t realize it until people take notice and start talking about it.
My wife asked that I write something with some substance since I’ve been cheat posting for far too long lately. Here’s my best effort.

My stats over the past few days have been overwhelming but for whatever reason they don’t blow me away because I know there are better things out there waiting for me.
I don’t think I’ll ever be a John Grisham or a David Sedaris (though I love Sedaris) but I’m beginning to find my groove, the thing that makes people like to read what I write.
I waddle through my days and listen to people, I really listen.
A customer named Charlie told me an amazing story today. (*fiction writers, call me for attribution)

Charlie loves planting things but there was one particular flower that he just couldn’t get to grow no matter how much love and fertilizer he put on it.
He was downright pissed.
He’d tried to grow the damn thing for two years with no luck.
As the story goes, he told me he owns a huge hunk of land that he turned into a playground for kids, Charlie is the grandfatherly type.
One day this little girl shows up and he says, “Hi, who are you?”
The little girl says nothing and Charlie says, “You can come in but you have to at least tell me your name.”

Nothing.

Charlie says, “Okay, you’re Ishkabibble and that’s between you and me, okay?”

The little girl goes in and has a wonderful time.

Charlie finds out in a round-about way that the little girl is an abused child
and he wants to somehow make the world right for this child but he doesn’t know how.
One day he sees her staring at the flowers in his garden. (Charlie is big into flowers. Big)

“Do you like flowers?” he asks.

Ishkabibble smiles.

“How would you like to plant a flower?”

Again, she smiles.

Charlie shows her how to plant a seed and tells her that it’s okay if she gets her fingers dirty.
The dirtier the better, he says.
Charlie has her plant the same seeds that he could never seem to grow thinking that maybe . . .
She starts talking (!) and Charlie feels he’s somehow broken through the clouds, and maybe he has.
A week or so later Ishkabibble’s flowers begin to grow and Charlie is amazed and happy as is his little gardener.
She asks him for seeds that she can plant in her own garden in her backyard.
Charlie is more than happy to oblige.
He knows that the flowers she plants will always grow simply because
Ishkabibble is a very special little girl with a very special nickname.
Charlie is very happy.