In an age yet to be, in a land unknown, young Stinki, daughter of Elisa, resides.The maiden, fair of hair and just eighteen, possessed little knowledge of the world beyond the tiny, isolated kingdom of Report. She had heard tales of a much larger world, fantastic in it's splendor, the mysterious kingdom of Writing--that unattainable world where lies the much sought after prize, the Golden Quill of the Writer. Her days were filled with endless tasks: memos for her wicked step-father and time consuming meaningless reports on the daily routines of their small farm. These mind numbing activities made up the life of a young farm girl and turned her days into toiling drudgery. Not for her the freedoms enjoyed by the young men of the village: the pleasure of riding with the wind in their faces and the enjoyment of the hunt.

One night as Stinki lay dreaming on her bed of straw, she dreamt of her mother. The vision so soothing, Elisa's loving presence appeared full of life once again. "Daughter, go forth in to the land. Seek ye the golden prize, the Golden Quill of the Writer!"

"Mother, I am but a maiden and not worthy to seek the Quill," she said.

"Your birthright awaits you daughter; seek the prize. You are but the child of my heart, brought to me by fortune snuggled in a basket of twigs found along the shore. Your true mother, Queen Inspiration, set you adrift in the hopes of saving you from the evil wizard Bloc. Be not afraid; arise and seek your destiny."

As the dream began to fade a brilliant moon beam kissed Stinki's cheek and awakened her. Lying in her bed, pondering upon the dream, Stinki could not as yet truly believe the vision. "Stuff and nonsense," she thought. "I've too much to do to go gallivanting all over the countryside on some foolish quest!" With this thought she rolled over, putting aside the notion of beginning a quest for the Golden Quill, intending to embrace sleep once again.

"I said arise, put one foot in front of the other and begin now! Do not look back or grieve for what you have left behind," commanded the spirit voice of her mother as the breeze stirring through the window carried Elisa's words away.

Stinki lay clutching her covers. Although she yearned for the excitment of the quest, the warmth and security of her bed beckoned her. The thought of arising into the cool night did not appeal to her, but as a dutiful daughter who loved her mother dearly, she must obey her mother's wishes. Arising, she quickly began to wash her face in the basin of cold water found on the small, battered old table in her bare room. Dressing hurriedly for her journey, Stinki stealthily set out in the dead of night to begin the journey unknown--her quest for the kingdom of Writing and the Golden Quill.

"Just great!" she thought. "I'll never make it; I have no skills for this. There are evil things about and I possess nothing to defend myself with. At best I may be wounded, at worst to die, bruised and bleeding upon the road of rejected manuscripts." Reluctant, but a brave maiden deep in her heart, Stinki began her quest as a writer by leaving the village.

The moon which so brightly illuminated her room through the window now lay hidden behind the clouds. The rocky road ahead contained many twists and turns. With no map to guide her steps Stinki carefully kept to the path. As she wandered alone in the night Stinki nearly stumbled over an object in the road. Reaching down, her hand grasped a walking stick; shoulder height and sharply pointed at one end, the stick might make a very useful instument for her. Stinki balanced the stick in the palm of her hand, feeling it's weight; she knew that providence had left the stick for her to find. Pausing beside the road with the stick clutched in her hand, Stinki found herself writing in the loose sandy soil, "Which way, where do I begin?"

"The beginning matters naught. The end, the middle, the beginning, one is as good as the other. To start is the thing."

"Who said that?" replied Stinki, grasping her stick tightly in front of her and warily looking about for the speaker.

"Whoooooo else, but I the wise man Muse. The wizard Bloc imprisoned me in this form you see before you seventeen years ago. Plotting to overthrow the kingdom of Writing, Bloc chained Queen Inspiration in the tower and stole the Golden Quill. They say that he killed the heir to the throne, the child Hope. Writing exists no more, I will remain trapped and words cannot flow again until the Golden Quill resides once more within the kingdom."

Looking up, Stinki spied two large amber eyes glowing amid the dead branches of a barren old tree beside the road. Perched amongst the branches roosted an impossibly large owl. "I did not see you there sir," she said. "My apologies."

"People rarely do. Some have come seeking me, but I tend to sneak up on them while they are unawares," hooted the large owl in his lonely tree.

"Sir muse, you are mistaken; the princess did not die, I am Hope. The Queen, my mother, hoping that I would be found by some kind soul, cast me adrift in a basket of twigs, I seek the Quill; the quest is mine to fulfill," Stinki explained to the wise old owl.

"We shall all be blessed if this be true child. Seek what you need along the way. Be open to what may come, but be wary. Ahead are many dangers and many delights. Oh, to be an owlet again that I might accompany you along your journey!' With that a downy feather floated to her feet. "Take this feather with you along the way. It will serve to remind you of my council. Be brave, child!"

Clutching the feather to her breast Stinki waved good-bye to the wise man and again set out on her journey. As the sun began to rise, her steps began to falter; she was not accustomed to spending this much time at a task. At home interruptions and distractions left her little time to ponder on other things. Making a bed of leaves beside a brook, Stinki lay down to sleep. As she slept the sound of sweet music and singing entwined with her dreams, awakening her.

Across the brook, in a ring of trees, danced a handsome young lad. Dressed in fine clothing he strummed a lute and his siren's song beguiled her. As Stinki arose from her bed of leaves the downy feather, which she still held, brushed her cheek; the evil wizard Bloc was revealed to her.

In the glade stood the wizard dressed all in black, the color of his evil heart. His eyes glinted cold as ice and his bearded face disclosed his fury. In his hand he brandished a serpentine staff.

"Dear mother!" Stinki cried as she recoiled in fear.

"No, this cannot be!" shouted Bloc in anger, realizing that his evil schemes had been thwarted. Striking his staff on the ground, he vanished from among the trees.

Stinki's eyes opened to the treacherous lure. She had almost succumbed to his irresistable wiles. How easily she could be tricked into abandoning her quest! Would she be able to resist again this evil in disguise? Firmly she resolved to stick to the path, not to stray too far.

The day spun out ahead of her, a seemingly endless thread. Morning became mid-day and Stinki grew tired and hungry; she could not put two thoughts together any longer. The excitement of the quest alone could not sustain her. Finding some sweet ripe berries growing beside the path, Stinki paused to eat. "Who knows what's ahead to come," she thought. "I'll keep a few aside to be used as I need them." Carefully wrapping berries in her scarf, Stinki tucked them into her belt.

Mid-day began to yield to late afternoon and Stinki found herself at the edge of a deep canyon, too deep to even think of climbing down and much too long to go around. Searching for a way across the ravine, she came upon an old suspension bridge fashioned of rope and boards. Despite her misgivings, Stinki knew that she must cross here.

The weight of her foot upon the first board set the bridge into the spasms of motion. From beneath the dilapidated bridge a troll popped up from his hiding place. The troll's contenance reflected his nasty nature and his hairy body bowed over with the weight of his enormous limbs. Great horny nails grew from his gnarled hands and his deadly teeth flashed sharp as razors.

"Stop! You cannot cross but first you solve the riddle," the troll shouted as he blocked the entrance to the bridge. "When parts of the subject from a single unit, what form of the verb is used?"

"Oh, no!" Stinki thought, "It would be a question on subject and verb agreement; I've always had trouble with that." Rubbing the owl's feather between her thumb and fingers nervously, the answer suddenly came to her. "The singular. That's it, I'm certain of it," she cried out triumphantly.

"Drat!" the troll snorted. "another wise ass! This can't keep up or I'll never get anything to eat. Move along, move along," he motioned angrily to her, stomping back under the bridge.

The brief, sweet moment of victory behind her, Stinki again took to the path before her. The green, rich grasses surrounding her became more barren and wasted as she progressed. In the distance she could barely make out the violet hues of a mountain range. The hot afternoon sun beat down upon her, sapping her energy as she wandered in the desert. To keep up her reserves and to stave off thirst Stinki began to eat the berries, a few at a time, just enough to keep her going. Eventually, with the precious few berries she possessed gone, there remained nothing left to sustain her.

Continuing on her trek she noticed that the path began to climb, gently at first, becomng steeper the farther she went along. Finally the path ended altogether.

"Beware the Beast," proclaimed the sign nearly obscured by bolders at the foot of a sheer wall of rock. The nearly vertical cliffs blocked her path; Stinki knew she had finally arrived at the Cliffs of Creation. She must climb up if she wanted to continue on.

"As if I haven't suffered enough," Stinki muttered under her breath, "What is this beast; can it be the mythical dragon which guards the entrance to the kingdom of Writing, the dreaded Comma Splice?"

Discarding her trusty walking stick our reluctant heroine began to nervously climb the cliff. The ascent became treacherous; just when Stinki thought she possessed a firm foothold, the loose scree wedged in the cracks would give way, nearly toppling her over. With great resolve Stinki pressed on. Nearly exhausted, not knowing if she could go on, Stinki found the rim of the ledge.

Pulling herself upright, Stinki found herself standing on a narrow ledge before a cave. The entrance, a massive gaping mouth in the side of the mountain, waited to devour her. She must either go back down or press on ahead; neither option held any appeal for her. Momentarily indecisive, the slight young girl passed into the inky shadows of the cave.

At first, because of the darkness, she could not see. Impulsively she began to wildly grope her way along, but this could be her undoing. "Stop!" her inner voice commanded. "Be still and all will be well." This blinding flash of wisdom allowed Stinki to calm her nerves, stop, and take a few deep breaths. Within a few minutes the darkness began to lift and Stinki was able to make out shapes: jagged outcroppings of rocks and deep pits in the floor. A faint luminescence guided her through the cave until it emptied into a massive cavern.

In the center--nested in its dry bed of leaves, broken fragments of clauses and run on sentences--lurked the monstrous Comma Splice. The head of the dragon towered above her in the darkness, his eyes glowing coals. His fetid breath, foul and reeking of brimstone, tainted the air about her. The scales, which encased his body, emitted a dry and whispering sound when he shifted his massive weight. His talons, each a sword of death, clattered as they scraped the floor. The immense bulk of the beast finally ended in a great, snaking, forked tail. This fearsome creature, the most dreaded of all, her final trial. Could she conquer the beast? "Not likely," she thought.

The terrible lizard reared, looming over her. The scales of the monster's underbelly shimmered in the faint, green glow of the cave--a wall of scales leading up, up, up to the snapping jaws of the beast. The long sinuous tail beat furiously against the floor of the cave, scattering debris everywhere.

Nearly unnerved, Stinki took a step back, her instinct to retreat. Again that inner voice: "Be still, and all will be well." Withdrawing the owl feather from her belt, Stinki brandished it before her and the feather began to glow. Rapidly a new shape took form, that of a massive ink pen. It's shining metal tip contained a fire of its own.

"Now is the time," she felt. "now or never, no turning back."

Holding the pen as a lance before her, Stinki rushed up to the dragon as it once again reared. Without hesitation she plunged the pen into his poisonous heart, discharging the ink contained within. With a great roar the beast collapsed, drawing one last ragged, fetid breath. Standing victorious at the side of the fiend, Stinki glanced down to see his form change to that of the evil wizard Bloc. Her victory complete, Stinki paused for one last glance at the wizard as she moved deeper into the cave.

Each passing moment saw the darkness of the cave lifting. Stinki traversed the ever narrowing passage until it became necessary for her to crawl on her knees through the low opening that marked the exit to the cave.

Ahead lay a lush, green meadow, dotted with a multitude of brightly hued flowers. In the center--bathed in a bright, yellow shaft of light--stood a stone altar. Upon the altar stood the Golden Quill, glowing with an inner light of its own.

Stinki stood knee high in the grass, transfixed by the sight, not even realizing she held her breath. Above the Quill appeared a shimmering vision of the Queen whose voice proudly heralded: "Claim your prize, daughter! The Quill is yours by right, and by trial."

Slowly Stinki stepped into the light; once again she became Hope, daughter not only of Elisa, but of Queen Inspiration. Taking the Quill into her hands, feeling its warm glow bathe her, Hope raised it above her head.

"I am a writer," she uttered with a satisfied smile.