If you’ve seen her writing fervently in a little notebook in the strangest of places wearing a satisfied grin of concentration–you’ll know it from the slight furrow of her brow–you might think it’s easy.

Word-wrangling.

You’ve seen inspiration so good she puts a pause on running errands and sits in her car scribbling. She’s capturing the bits of lyrics and dialogue and perfect phrases that float in on the breeze. And it looks like it. A breeze.

Sometimes.

But sometimes she has to lasso the wind. The words won’t come, and when they do, they feel grey and tarnished, heavy as lead, and just as dull. So she wrestles and ropes and gets those windmills turning.

Sometimes the wind’s blowing up a storm. Lightning strikes so fast her pen can’t keep up. One too good to lose is about to get away. So she saddles up a pony and goes scrambling after words scattered by a gust. Sometimes she doesn’t make it in time.

This is the life of a word-wrangler. Going headlong after the just the right turn of phrase–words wild and beautiful, running free across the mind, kicking up sparkling dust. Hiding in the canyons. Taunting the wind. They’re out there. She knows it.

Chase ’em down. Lasso ’em. Line ’em up.

I don’t know about easy. But you’d better bet it’s buckets of fun.

Here’s to all the word-wranglers. I know your aches and pains. I know your joy. I know some days it’s hard to stay in the saddle. I know you’ll be glad you did.

If you know a word-wrangler, pass it on, will ya?