Creativity

For some unknown reason, creativity courses again through my mind. After a prolonged fallow time, writing creatively has returned in full force.

Why now? Personal resolution? Dark clouds passed? The storm has moved beyond me?

I have no idea why, it just happened.

How do you spur creativity? Go to a special physical or mental place? Is there an exercise?

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To SASE on Not To SASE that is THE Question.

Ok, I think too much digital ink and time has been spilled on the subject but since Ms. Snark didn't post my comment on her blog, I feel drawn into the fray. For those few of you who don't know an SASE is a self addressed stamped envelope usually requested or required by agents, publishers, magazines, and others for inclusion with any submittals of work for review. This morning, the blogshere is a buzz with two opposing views, one by rising author Joe Konrath , and the other by anonomous literary agent, Miss Snark . And the comment I made that was not posted: "A Tale of Two Tragedies: First, a good writer fails to find the good agent because an SASE is not included in the submittal and the agent refuses to read writer's work. Second, a good agent fails to find the good writer because the writer didn't include an SASE. What a shitty plot. You decide." Ok, I gave her qudos for her reading 100 synopses, but quashing freedom of speech -that's just wrong. Ok, m
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Hapy Birthday....Edgar Allan

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The mystery of Edgar Allan Poe continues. Beginning in 1949, Poe's grave has been visited every year by a mystery man, during the early hours of Poe's birthday, January 19th. It has been reported that a man draped in black with a silver-tipped cane, kneels at the grave for a toast of Martel Cognac and leaves the half-full bottle and three red roses. The three red roses supposedly are in memory of Poe himself, his mother, and his wife. Poe is believed to be buried on the grounds of what is now the University of Maryland Law School in Baltimore. Considered by many to be the progenitor of detective and crime fiction in the United States, his cause of death at the age of 40, and his actual burial place remain shrouded in mystery and controversy. Have a shot of Cognac today and think of Edgar... From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow;
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Sex, Bad Sex, and More Bad Sex

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