Queue dramatic music. Open curtains. Slowly fade in. A teenage girl sits alone on a desk with her laptop named Pip and a bucketload of ideas. She poises her hands on the keyboard and.... "Nothing," she says, and slumps back in her chair. A little golden crow perches on the laptop screen and begins to preen itself. The girl's eyes widen. This is it--this is the elusive creature called "Inspiration." Finally, after all this time! She reached out, but at the same moment a large, stinky man swats it away. Inspiration squawks and flies out the window. The girl glares at the man. He would've looked like a hobo, had not he sported a well-groomed handebar mustache and carried a dictionary/thesaurus. "What are you doing?" he asked, meeting the girl's glare evenly from behind his horn-rimmed spectacles. "Can't you see you're making a mistake?" "Why?" "You don't deserve Inspiration. You're worthless. And an awful writer! You shouldn't even be called a writer, you're so awful. Don't you know the meaning of grammar and spell check?" The glare dropped from the girl's face and landed on the floor with a thunk. She slid down in her chair until only her eyes were visible over her desk. The Inner Editor continued to prattle on, poking every possible hole in her writing plan. The girl slowly shrunk into oblivion... ...And then came back! No Inner Editor could keep her from writing! But, wait. What would she write, anyways? It had been so long, she wasn't even sure she knew what her writing voice was anymore, or whether to edit or create. Of course, first things first. After locking her Inner Editor in a cage in the back of the room, she sat back down at her desk and began her writing journey. This blurb is only part of the journey. And no, it's not edited.