Work the words. 
Work the words when your heart is heavy, when your skin crawls with sorrow, and when your fingers ache with bone crushing anger. Work the words when you have nothing but weight and grief and the searing passion that comes from knowing the injustice in the world. Work the words when it’s all you can do to lift your head from the pillow because the day is too much already and the wet blankets of despair clench at your spine.
Work the words.
Work your words.
Work your words when you are happy. Work your words when the joy ecstatic makes you smile and shake your ass to the perfect song. Work your words when you relax into the perfect cup of coffee, smiling at your mornings and the scone waiting for you to devour.Work your words as you slip into the tipsy haze of an after dinner bottle of wine, reveling with your loved ones and simply enjoying the feel of a cool night breeze on your face. Work your words at the birth of the children around you, complete with the joy of life, the humor of bodily fluids, and the satisfaction of life ever moving onward to glory.
Work your words.
Words work you.
Words work you when you are dry, parched, uncreative, and just plain stupid. Words work you when the blank page laughs at you like the jokers smile. Words work you when you are spent, languishing in the aftermath of life treating you like a school yard bully. Words work you when it is time to grow, to crack your hard shell and tenderly push your tender sprouts upward into the harsh noon day, praying for rain and spring. Words work you hard, rough, again and again, like a good physical thermistor getting a bed ridden shell ready for a decathlon.
Words work you.
Work in the words.
Work in the words like a grease monkey elbow deep in a classic car engine. Work in the words like a fisherman waist deep in hip waders and a rushing river. Work in the words like a farmer tilling the earth to put shit and nitrates back into the soil. Work in the words like a triage surgeon covered in blood and sweat and relief that the patient still breaths.
Work in the words.
Work and words are what the writer does. Work and words are our bread and wine. Work and words are our discovery of voice and deconstruction of pretensions expectations. Work and words are our calling.
Work the words.
Aaron Smith is husband, father, believer, writer, nerd, coffee chugger. Just your typical Jesus obsessed, non-religious, question everything, artsy fartsy, theological, poet punk. He blogs at CulturalSavage.