“Why do you have a pictures of a stop sign?” my daughter asks, scrolling through photos on my phone in the backseat.
“Sometimes, I take pictures for my blog – to go with the stories I write.”
“You write stories about stop signs?”
“No. I haven’t used those yet. I just took them, in case I write a story about… stopping something.”
“Oh.” Silence. A long silence, during which my writing life suddenly makes no sense to me. No sense at all. We drive by a mural we see every day. “Take a picture of that!” she commands me, daring me, waiting to see what I’ll do.
“The world? You like worlds?”
“I like a world with a chain around it.” A what? “A chain of people.”
“You think I should write a story about the world?”
“You should. A story about the world with a chain of people around it holding hands. A story about peace.”