I always have stories in my head. Little snippets of plots with no definition and characters with nothing more than hints of personality. Often I get little scenes that play out, often lacking dialogue. I see bits of life in my head. I see struggles of non-existent people and conflicts that have never happened and may never happen. My mind feels like a newly constructed greenhouse. Plots and settings grow in flashes like seedlings. Some grow and evolve into strong tales, while others are pushed aside by the next idea. Like the plots and settings, people swim around in my mind. Each of them laden with difficulties thrust upon them by life. Each struggling in their world to not just survive, but to thrive, to be something more. I have stories in my head, and I can’t get them out.