I don’t like chit chat. Or to put nicer, chit chat is hard for me. I’ve heard this is a characteristic of introverts.

So yesterday, when I’m sitting at the baseball game, and the two single, middle-aged women, who are season ticket holders, attempt to “chit-chat” with the opposing team’s on-deck batters (and every other breathing soul that comes within one-thousand miles of them), I become frustrated.

I prefer quality rather than quantity. Deep rather than shallow. These are just preferences. I tolerate the extroverts’ gabfest. At times I dabble in it myself.

But sometimes just shut up.

I really mean this when it comes to other things other than talking. Like books and movies and songs and art. Just because you made it (or can make it) doesn’t mean you should publish it or sell it or even share it.

Some things, most things, like words and stories and thoughts, need time to grow, to mature, to deepen and strengthen. They need to be edited and worked on.

I want the best story possible from a set of words. Not just a story. I want the best movie and conversation and photograph and book. Not a bunch of them that I’ll throw away and forget.

Whether it’s one word, one color, one shot, one note, take the time to make it the best, most amazing thing ever.