Ha! You’d think, or at least I thought, that writing becomes less surprising the longer you do it and I’ve been doing writing for some years.

I was wrong.  Here’s what happened:

I started writing a story for no particular reason I can think of. I told somebody I trust and like, who happens to be my son, that I was doing so and he said, “Oh. the story found you.”

Just like that. He was correct. His being correct was not the surprise. A story finding me. This hasn’t happened before. It feels like a tug on your skirt around the knee. You cast your eyes downward and see little fat fingers of a child who may or may not be your own, wanting to be picked up.

So of course you do. I did. What a surprise.