Stephen looked at the computer screen and wanted to flip that damn blinking cursor the bird. He had been at this for eight hours, and still his computer mocked him. It told him he wasn’t good enough. It made it blatantly clear every time he began to type. Stephen was so frustrated he thought about giving up his dream of becoming and author and instead take up basket weaving or skydiving. Still, he returned to the page. If he could just get his word processor to stop underlining everything in red and green squigglies he knew he would be okay.