by Tom Swift

Recall when you were a boy at The Lake. At various points around the shore, including at the edge of your backyard, near the wooden bridge, stood the water wheelies. Writing is your version of those white donuts roped to the red sticks that stood always for anyone who may need to be saved. You never have to succumb to the Sargasso Sea of confusion so long as you remember to reach for the life preserver found right at the tips of your fingers.