Goals and Foals

Dear Elissa Gator, 
I have been told by many people that I am a great writer and that I should pursue writing. The problem is I sit down to write and get stuck.

I fear I won't be as good as what people make me out to be. I fear I won't come up with great ideas. I fear my ideas will have already been done. I fear that my idea and ensuing story will be so great that I'll become famous and have to hide from the paparazzi. Any suggestions for an aspiring writer?
Wanda the Writer

Adnaw,
That's your name, but backwards. Actually, if we were going to be literal -- that's your name, but backwords. My name backwords is Rotag Assile; the first which is reminiscent of a dishwasher line, the second which sounds like a device for shooting missiles out of your...butt.

Putting the two together we can assume it's a clean missile shooting device, unless someone forgot to rotate the dial to "Heavy: Pots, Pans and Weaponry" and instead chose the "Light Spritzing" option.

Don't ever choose the light spritzing option.

Not only will it mess up the missiles, you'll be left with an itch that is unsightly to take care of in public.

I do believe I've accomplished so much more than I set out to for your reply.

You're welcome.

Dear Elissa Gator,
I've convinced myself to stay in Fairbanks, Alaska, for the winter. Will you help to super convince me?
Future Popsicle 

Snowflake,
The problem with convincing yourself of something is that you are just as capable of unconvincing yourself. One time I convinced myself I was a human, and just like that I convinced myself I was beaver. I started hoarding wood, and even splintered down my roommate's dining table set. Granted, it was 73% plastic, so it didn't make for the best wood products, but it still dammed up nicely.

The problem with 73% plastic composite is the rancid smell it emits during the summer months. Being a beaver, I didn't mind so much. I cared more about how I was going to find a mate. Which I think we as humans can relate to, or at least those sad enough to not have found a mate yet.

The hardest part about being a beaver was my dental insurance no longer covered the large bucking beaver teeth I was sporting. Sometimes, I'd get these huge chunks of wood stuck between my teeth, and all I could do was stare at myself in the water, wondering when would my reflection show who I was inside. You think paper cuts are the worse, try having a permenant wooden saw scratching at your gumline. I win.

I unconvinced myself that I was a beaver when a Russian tried to trap me for fur. I said "Aw, hell no!" to the trapper and poof! I was human again. Unfortunately, my two front teeth seem to be larger than before. But that will change when I convince myself I'm jellyfish and don't have to deal with silly nuisances like teeth.

You're welcome.