Not a week (rarely a day) goes by when I don’t hear from someone out there in this wild world of ours, someone just like you. Someone with a regular, ordinary, mundane life. Someone with joy and bliss and heartache and grief. Someone with trauma and fear. Someone struggling against demons. Someone determined to rise.

Every single one of these someones has a story. Every single one of these stories has value.

And every single one of these someones has one thing in common.

They want …no – they deeply long – to tell their stories.

Somewhere deep inside there is a pulse of desire. A kernel of an idea. A sweet and lingering pull toward the blank pages of the journal, the blinking cursor in the word doc, the empty spaces waiting to be filled. Sometimes just to the very idea that somewhere inside of them lives a story worth telling, a story someone might one day want to hear. A story that could matter, that could change things. A story that could delight or distract or make someone on their darkest nights feel just a little less alone.

Maybe even a story that could save.

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