One of the things I often struggle with as I wander through the myriad alleys and highrises of my rampant (and that is being kind) imagination is the plethora of ideas that I encounter, meet, stumble over, run from, and even sometimes cower in abject fear of. It has been said by some in the past and indeed the very name of this blog and the All Pulp column of yore that inspired it supports the fact that I very well may be some sort of joke the Cosmos has played on....someone....and might be a veritable two legged idea factory.
This thought both inspires and frightens me. All at the same time.
Do not get me wrong. Having these explosions of inspiration in my head that demand to be released in some form to get the life giving attention that ideas and thoughts must have to grow and breathe and develop is truly a hoot. I have come up with entire novel ideas based on how I see someone hold a fork or the misuse of the word 'affect' as opposed to 'effect'. I'm not kidding, really I have. Bits and pieces of useless information pour into my head in disjointed tirades and rambles and blossom and bloom out as somewhat realized storylines and 'What if the guy did this' scenarios. It is truly wonderful, especially as a creator, to never be bereft of things to dream about and work on.
But then there's the other side.
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