Inspiration

Inspiration… that son-of-a-b***h

I’m having a problem with inspiration right now.

He’s been ducking me.

I mean we have this regular arrangement. He shows up and

Inspiration, that son-of-a-b***h, has been ducking me.

I know what happened. He got all cracked out on the ideas he was supposed to bring me and now he’s embarrassed. So he ran away. He’s jittering around Times Square circa 1976 clutching a Bendix brake drum in his left hand, trying to pawn it off on tourists as a novelty ashtray.

Somewhere men are laughing. Somewhere children shout. But in Times Square circa 1976 it’s just starting to rain and that cigarette he bummed off a schoolteacher from Maine is ruined

He slides into a pizza joint to get out of the weather, but gets yelled when he doesn’t order, because he doesn’t have any money. That son-of-a-b***h, I was prepared to pay cash.

“Come on man, I got a great idea for a Tweet,” he says, starting to shake real bad now. “I trade you straight up for a slice.”

If there’s one thing I can tell you about the creative process it’s that you can’t depend on inspiration. He’s a real shitheel.

You just gotta make it happen for yourself.

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