My pencil hesitates as it attains contact with the paper. There's no going back now. Suddenly, it pounds at me; like as would a boxer heroically blowing out his or her opponent. An idea springs into my head; a light to a fire! My hand scribbles away, not as fast as my mind. Oh, how I wish my pencil would go faster! More ideas pounce into my head left, right, up, and around. I smell the air and smell nothing but creative juices at work. I reason that made no sense, but as a writer it's am aroma with the scent of and one's hinting voice at it's best. I suppose only worthy, genuine writers can smell such a delicacy. I can hear myself jotting away my thoughts. As I end the awe-making journey of writing this story, I lightly stroke my paper and feel the glorious dents of this feeble imagination catcher