This was to be my last trip. Sailing great distances was dangerous, and not very profitable in today's world. I walked down the worn wooden step to the captain's cabin, the creaking of the ship keeping time with my steps. Opening the door I found him bent over an old map."Where are we captain?" I asked, hoping it was close to home."See this spot, where it says "Here there be monsters"?" he said pointing to an image of a horrid beast."Certainly, but you and I both know such creatures don't exist!!"The captain laughed, and looking up at me with an evil glint in his eye said, "Who's talking about sea monsters?". As he spoke the skin from one corner of his mouth fell loose, exposing a yellow reptilian skin beneath."What?" I yelled, and as I turned to run for the cabin door I heard screams and loud moans coming from the deck, and the crew quarters below.I felt fetid breath on the back of my neck, "Aye matey, here there be monsters

All throughout our lives, we selectively draw on selected shavings of life events and reflect upon them through consciousness, creating an arranged catalogue of senses, faculties, and mental activities that compose our personal life story.

Words raced thru his mind and his fingers ached to capture them all on paper.

Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.

I live within my daydreams and nightmares; through that, I have learned to create, and I never cease from doing so.

People approach writers, assuming we pull a perfect text out of our nose each time (well spelled). Spelling is the least of it.