Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Nothing makes my creative juices flow today. Even that sentence brings only thoughts of stomach acids and how they feel when overly active.
Mysterious are the ways of both creativity and the stomach. Why is it that certain topics go "ping" inside my guts and then I want to write about them, whereas reading about some other topics makes me want to gouge out my eyeballs and unlearn the English language altogether? It's not just that I pretend to know some topics better than others and that this would cause the pings. The areas of my greatest expertise are the ones I will not touch with a six-foot pole, unless lots of money is offered, of course.
So. This is an off-day and all the blather above is from my morning random-writing exercises. I edited it by removing all the swear words and moans and my personal monster references. And the description of the sun dress I bought for five bucks at the charity shop.