I don’t want to be timely.

I don’t want to be timely. I want to be timeless instead.

Timeless, writing stories relatable today, tomorrow, yesterday, fifty years from now. A few lines of prose that grips your gut, makes you weep or howl with laughter. Words that spring from the page in bight blue ink, as blue as peacock feathers.

Timeless. Enduring. Like a number two pencil. A number two pencil purchased for a nickel at the bookstore at school, the bookstore just outside the principal’s office, up the stairs, behind th...