Introduction 

            Once upon a time, the heart had a great idea for a scene. The gist of it went something like this: An alcoholic over-the-hill rock star marched onstage, grabbed the mic from a younger rock star, and belted out his new song before a crowd of thousands. The band jumped in midway of the first chorus, backing him flawlessly. The crowd cheered and danced and rushed the stage. The record label boss, offstage, watched intently, reconsidering his negative view of the alcoholic over-the-hill rock star.

Whenever the heart replayed this powerful scene, he felt goose bumps. “Yes!” he cried. “This is exactly how my scene should unfold! I'll make my readers burst into laughter, choke back tears and nod their approval all at the same time! Eureka, hallelujah and shazam!”

So he sat at his desk and placed his nimble fingers over the keyboard. For days, he typed and typed, then he deleted and deleted. Not one word came close to describing what he had seen. “No, no!” he cried. “This is not how my scene should unfold. This will make my readers gag and moan and call me bad names. Why, oh, why won't it work out the way I envisioned?”

A door slammed upstairs. Heavy footsteps ran down the aorta. “What's all the racket down here?” asked the brain. “Are you whining again?”

The heart explained to the brain how he had created this wonderful scene, but couldn't find the right words to describe it.

The brain smacked him up side the head. “You ought to know by now that scenes have to go through me before they’re expressed. Let's see what you got.” In no time at all, his face took on a pained disgusted look. He whipped out his red pen and crossed through several sentimental sentences. “An alcoholic who's been drinking all day is gonna sing like a bird? Bray like a donkey, is more like it. Any old band's gonna know how to play his new song flawlessly? Fat chance. A young crowd is gonna remember an over-the-hill rock star? Yeah, right. This scene makes absolutely no sense.”

The heart folded his arms, and sighed. “There go the goose bumps.”

“Not necessarily,” said the brain, scribbling in the margins. “I'll make him a recovering alcoholic. He meets an old friend at a smoky bar and the owner, who remembers him fondly, asks him to sing. At first he's reluctant, but eventually he steps up to the mic and nods at the gray-haired piano player who launches into the hit that put the rock star on the map, and . . . what's the matter now?”

“Goose bumps!” cried the heart. “They’re back!”

The heart and the brain worked throughout the night to fit the scene into its most logical form. When they finished, they settled back with satisfied smiles and lived happily ever after.

Until the next scene came along.