My 9-year old boy has just appeared in the room in which I’m hiding.

“Trying to write my September newsletter,” I reply.

“Isn’t it the last day of the month today?”

“Thank you for the reminder.”

“Well, I’m just saying. Wouldn't it would be easier if you started earlier?”

“Have you been talking to Mama again?”

“No, why?”

“She has an oddly similar theory.”

“That’s because it makes sense, Pops.”

“Yes, yes, yes I know. But where’s the pulse pounding excitement as you race against time to get breaking news to the people?”

“Pulse pounding?”

“Absolutely. Within the next 12 hours, as time continues it’s unrelenting march, your father will write, edit and publish his entire newsletter.”

“And that’s pulse pounding?”

“Indeed it is, my little friend.”

“Pops, I’m not exactly clear on what pulse pounding means, but you’re sitting in a Lazy Boy recliner with your feet up, eating pancakes and watching YouTube on your laptop.”

“It’s an internal thing, son. A vow between me and my passion.”

“You mean it’s like when you promise to be on time for church every Sunday and you start getting ready 5 minutes before we have to be in the car?”

“Are you sure you haven’t been talking to Mama?”

“Pops,... answer the question.”

“Well, yes, sort of. But writing is different.”

“Because you don’t have to get shower or get dressed to do it?”

“TMI, son. TMI. No, it’s more because it’s a timeless magical, mystical process that resides inside the container of time.”

Oooooh, that’s good. I really should write more of this stuff down.

“Great writers would love to spend days and weeks wandering around in the garden of inspiration, picking flowers, breathing in their fragrance, reflecting upon simpler times before laying their gifts upon the altar of inspiration as they sing songs to praise the muse. Without deadlines, that’s all we’d do.”

“Pops?”

“Yes, dear boy?”

“I should always tell the truth, right?”

“Yep, about everything other than a person’s weight or recent haircut.”

“Well, the truth is I’m only 9 years old and have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m trying to explain that creativity needs deadlines for---”

“Pops, excuse me for interrupting, and you know I love you, right? But that sounds like B.S.”

“What?!”

“What? I’m just saying it sounds like B.S.”

“Where did you learn that word?”

“Mama.”

“ Mama said that word?”

“She said that sometimes when people say a lot of reasons why they can’t do something, they make up some big story about it, and that’s B.S.”

“You’re Mama is way too classy and perfect to have used that phrase.”

“I might have heard you say it when you were talking about politics?”

“More likely. Do you know what it stands for?”

I ask this question, breath held, steeling myself for the end of innocence...

“Sure. Big Story, right?”

“Riiiiight. It’s just a Big Story. Of course it is. Guilty as charged. But still, not a great choice of phrase for a 9-year old. Can we park that one for use later?

“You mean when I’m a teenager?”

“I thought we agreed you were going to skip the teenage years?”

“Pops.”

“Okay, but when you're much older, the phrase is more appropriate for post doctoral work or politics. Now can I get back to my big story so I can get this pulse-pounding newsletter out before the midnight deadline?

“You mean you want to get back to your B.S.”

“Hey, what did I say about that word?!”

Before I can grab him, he skips off laughing and singing a new “song” he’d just written, the lyrics of which consisted entirely of two letters repeated ad infinitum.

[Ahem]

Keeps me humble...

At Mick’s Macs, we try to keep the Big Story to a minimum and just focus on great solutions.

All the best,

Mick