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2002-11-25 - 5:28 a.m.

I was fresh out of ideas today--not that I’ve had any recent bursts of creative genius--so I went searching for inspiration among the many writing prompt sites online.

There’s a wealth of sites offering hundreds of ideas to spark the creative juices. Nothing I found kick started my muse, but I did stumble on some curious notions meant to trigger the imagination.

Picture me in a room with Dr. Phil for an hour, listening to him say all he has to tell me and then writing it all down. And what would I title this trek through my addled mind with the preeminent boob tube shrink? The Screaming Meemies, maybe? And I don’t mean to imply I’d be the one screaming!

A like question was: Have you ever been in therapy? A more fitting question: Should I be in therapy?

In 500 words describe my feelings of being in a psychiatric ward. I’m only going into a psychiatric ward if I can have Dr. Phil as my room mate.

Am I or are others crazy? I plead the Fifth.

Do I excuse behaviors I know are wrong? Define wrong, please. Of course I excuse behaviors I know are wrong. If I didn’t I’d be disciplining myself all the time, now wouldn’t I! Gawd knows I don’t want to get involved in self-discipline. To do so would take away all my flaws and faults, and after all these years I’ve grown attached to my flaws and faults.

For the uninspired writer interested in wasting a few hundred words on graphology: If someone could read me by my signature, what would it say? Illiterate slob.

Many of the ideas involved fruit, one was: What fruit would I be and why that fruit? I was taught in the sixties fruit had a negative connotation, and I shouldn’t use the word. So I guess I won’t be a fruit.

Describe a time when I played? Ah, fer crissake, wouldn’t it be easier to describe a time when I didn’t play?

Some of the writing wizards authoring these creative triggers must be suffering from long spells of celibacy! Either that or I hit on some x-rated prompt sites.

What do I wear to bed? What led me to choose it? Depends on who else is going to be hunkered down under the sheets with me. If Mel Gibson is steaming up those hot pink satins I’d hop in bare-ass nekkid!

In the eyes of my ideal lover I am.......Go ask Mel!

Describe my erotic dreams. Ah, the stuff of porno flicks.

Write about when I feel erotic? Okay. All right. If y’all stop laughing I might pen some of my erotica. Well, on second thought best not, it would make Beatrice Small green with envy.

How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop? I think this question would deserve a very carnal five-page description in the erotica above, wouldn’t it?

Why do I write? Obviously today I shouldn’t have.

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