I could see the stars tonight,
only it's raining outside.
Even so, I wish I could take you there.

In the morning, the sun will rise, and at first light,
hues of orange, and yellow, and pink will adorn the sky.
Someday I will take you there.

The moon, a cool night time figure,
will dance ceaselessly with its heavenly counterparts.
Somehow, someway, I will take you there.

The sea will rise and fall, crystal waters
meeting a solitary sandy shore,
and I wish I could take you there.

Today will become yesterday,
and we will hold yesterday forever in our hearts;
because I can take you there,

and because secretly, you want to go.

So, I go along to the war-gamer's event, at the local school, because I'm involved with the project. They have asked me to write the book that goes along with the game, and they suggested I go along, to see the prototype being played.

I see the researcher, the historian, who I've already met, so I make my way over to him. He introduces me to Pete, the model maker and says ""This is....".

"Oh yes," says Pete, "the writer".

Now, I've been writing, professionally, for several years. I'm published. My passport says I'm a writer, but nobody has ever said it before.

I've been "The Course Designer", "The Resource Developer", "The lady who's writing our..." but never "The Writer".

Shit, it felt wonderful!

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