I look upon a fresh, naked piece of college-ruled notebook paper, and I must write. I NEED to write much like I need to breathe, intake nourishment and eliminate waste. I have to; no choice. This blank sliver of a tree pulls me in and opens a door to what is deep inside my soul. I must create and my juices begin to flow. I salivate, my blood pressure rises and my breathing quickens. I must stop everything and simply write.

I vision a grand and magnificent poem that will be hailed as the best creation since life itself. A Nobel Prize for Poetry is surely in my future (I'll be in line with Dr. Sheldon Cooper, a winner in Physics). Then, I check the FanStory contest results and notice that I received NO votes in yesterday's contest. REALLY - not even one?? But, still, I must write.

The need to write must be in our DNA but I've been unable to trace any prominent artistic relatives on either side of my family. I remember hearing that my mother had attended an industrial arts high school in Miami. She was proficient in free-hand painting of identifying letters and numbers on the exteriors of boats. But, apparently she left this skill behind along with her youth and brain.

At the time of my birth, my father was a brick-layer and followed construction sites around the State of Florida. After work there was his golfing, partying and women not my mother, or so the story goes. His talents didn't seem terribly artistic . . .

My second born daughter, Toni, has the skill of flower arranging, both real and linen flowers. She also can take a bowl, add a few Christmas deco trinkets and create a lovely holiday table decoration. If I took the same materials and tried to duplicate her arrangement, it would just look like I had forgotten to store some left-over decorations and they were left willy-nilly on the table.

I've noticed that most writers talk a great deal about their MUSE. I looked in the dictionary to help me understand. A muse is a reflection or meditation in silence. A Muse is a Goddess presiding over a particular art; goddess or power inspiring a poet. I still don't really understand. I think we make this up to healthily explain why we talk out-loud to ourselves!

We can and do ask "why" about many different things. It is an over-rated question and goes to infinity . . . and beyond (or was that a Captain Kirk quote?).

I've decided that I don't care 'why' any more. I have established my own opinion about everything which usually isn't agreeable to others who have their own opinions and it just goes on and on . . . thus endeth another why.