On favorites/follows: If I favorite your story, then it's intriguing, well written, and I find it far more likable than others out there. If I follow your story, then it's worth reading more of and I got sucked into your plot and characters. If I favorite you as an author, I love your style, your stories, your opinions, your creativity. HIGHEST HONOR: If I follow you as an author: I love you. As an author. Not otherwise, that would be freaky. So far, I have followed no one. You best hope and strive to be the one.

You Know You're a Writer When:

You have the last chapters of a story done before even thinking of the characters names.
You often imagine your books becoming movies.
Spell check is your best friend.
You'll spend an hour trying to find one word cause you won't dare use a synonym.
Not being able to write is like not being able to pee to you... you just can't hold it in for so long.
You write so fast, you leave out words in a sentence.
Things that are written badly annoy you and make you want to re-write it better.
You laugh at jokes you wrote yourself.
You can spell words like 'troublesome' but can't spell 'the' half the time.
If you are not writing or typing, your fingers are moving constantly.
When you have to write some sort of story in class, you get carried away.
You would rather die than use words like 'good' or 'nice' and etc.
You put off the last chapter of a story simply because you don't want it to end.
If a story, movie, show, etc. finishes without closure, you have a powerful need to write a suitable ending.
You like to fidget, tap, or chew on the tip of something when you are trying to come up with a new sentence, paragraph, chapter, or story.
You are in love with the Thesaurus.
You dream of new stories.
You often revisit some of your old stories.
Someone can call your name twenty times without you hearing if you're writing.
You would rather write than go out.
Your/you're and their/there/they're are errors that send you into an apoplectic fit.
You get cranky if you don't get to write.
You've heard/seen/thought something, and thought, I need to write that down.
You wake up in the middle of the night and scrabble for a pen and paper you keep next to your bed to write down a scene to make the voices be quiet so you can get some sleep.
Getting the scene finished is more important than coffee, the bathroom, or food.
A blank wall becomes the screen where the scene you're writing takes place right in front of your eyes.
Even though you try your hardest to resist, you often correct your own grammar on IM.
You've apologized out loud to a character after doing something horrible to them.

(I am all of these...)

Today, we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.

He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn't always fair; and maybe it was my fault.

Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies such as don't spend more than you can earn, and reliable strategies like adults, not children, are in charge. His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6 year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate, teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch, and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student only worsened his condition.

Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer Neosporin, sun lotion, or a band-aid to a student, but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband, places of worship became places of business, and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home without having to worry about the burglar suing you for assault.

Common Sense finally gave up the will to live after a woman failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded $3,000,000 when she sued the McDonalds that had given her the coffee.

Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion; his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.

He is survived by his 3 stepbrothers; I Know My Rights, Someone Else Is To Blame, and I'm A Victim. Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on. If not, join the majority and do nothing.

Live your life in such a way that when your feet hit the floor in the morning, Satan shudders & says, "Oh shit...she's awake."