I found a link to this article on To Love, Honor, and Vacuum.
There is the question of why I want to write. I don't have a specific goal in mind. I don't have a burning, driving desire to be a novelist. I don't have a specific story or message that God has laid on my heart to share with others. I just like to write. I have this delusion that I'm occasionally good at it, and I want to practice and hone that ability.
That being said, I didn't write much today. I did read a few blogs. I failed to add The Starr Blog to my list. I accidentally deleted a story thread from my g-mail account. (But Christopher Robin is going to rescue me, cause she has the story thread and is going to resend it to me. After rolling her eyes of course.) And I came up with the oh so clever comparison that if a word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver, then my words were more often like crab apples in tupperware. (By the way, Holly, I didn't mean to imply that I only directed my temper tantrums at God. My friends and family members also receive some fall out, though the Jedi gets the hysterical tears part more often than the temper tantrum part of my little emotional meltdowns.)
And now, Toa of Boy is snuggled into bed, so I can't play Zelda. No, that doesn't have anything to do with writing, The "and now" was a topic transition. Anyway, Toa of Boy is my cheerleader, commentator, and advisor while I'm playing Zelda. So, I can't continue on through the Water Temple without him, because the Zelda game has become nearly a team effort. I think I'll go play Sims Racing instead.