creativity and sex

There. That oughta get me some good search engine linky love. I've been absorbing some creativity here lately, reading up and whatnot while un-writing. First up, I came up with a definition.

Creativity: The coalescence and expression of standing concepts into a new sum which transcends its parts.

Get me. Big words.

I'm onto the creativity bandwagon for a couple of reasons, not the least that I'm writing a short story that is going no-where on a freight train. Sheesh. I got massive character conflict; I got a whole world in flux; I got angst and tough fighting knights. I even got a hot black hero. What I don't have is a hook. All I got is a bobber, and we all know you starve on bobber-fishing.

My thinking time is when I'm going to sleep. I lay there after draining what energy I have left with bad television (last night: Interview with the Vampire), a little praying (don't ask for that, it's selfish. Go with world peace and feeding the hungry. God likes that.) worrying over my kiddos (I yell too much. I yell too much. They're going to be scarred for life-oh my God what was I thinking?). Then I soothe my psyche with a story or two.

My next best thinking time is when I wake up, too early (all the way until 7 this am. Usually it's 5ish) and then I'm up, frustrated because I can't recall the gist of the story I told myself the night before.

Short stories are hard. I know, I know, I know, I'm an editor. But seriously, I respect the hell out of anyone who can write a good short story. I have trouble coming up with plots for the dang things. Why oh why didn't I write myself a synopsis? Eh?

The other reason I'm on the creativity train (in the bar car, of course) is because I'm in publicity mode for the magazine. And next I'm turning my rather considerable talents and ideas onto myself. What if I had a significant audience before I ever sold a book? I'm not dumb enough to quote myself in a query letter or something, but dang it all, I want to be read. I want to sell books. And yeah, I want my picture on the back cover. I can surely make myself look hot and reasonably hipster for one picture.

After all, the Chevy guy at Big Gig thought so. He took my pix with his car.

Note to self: when indulging in blatant self-promotion: wear a leapard print bikini. Y'all can have that tip for free.