I walk forward gingerly, almost afraid to touch the doorknob. I hear a voice inside my head, telling me I can do this, telling me I will do this. I take a deep breath and turn the knob, slowly pushing the door open and taking a step into the room before me.

    At the wall of the small, square area sits a simple wooden desk. A lamp is placed beside a pencil and paper. I amble towards the light of the lamp, and reluctantly take a seat on the black stool. I lightly touch the paper, and in a whoosh of blue particles, it turns into a computer. A white screen is displayed before me, a shiny keyboard ready to be typed on. Inside my head, I think that I'm not good enough; I can't possibly create material that people would want to read.

    And again, that tiny voice enters my head. It reassures me that everything will turn out alright, if I just try. There will be disappointment, but that's okay, it says. There will be supporters, but you have to believe, it says.

    I raise my hands so they are hovering over the keyboard. I draw in a deep breath; I never did like challenges, but I guess I can learn to appreciate them. Without another thought, my fingers touch the keys.

    Without another thought, I begin.

    I begin to write.