I just nearly shot a white chocolate orange bliss latte out of my nose, and I blame the Subourbon Wife.  (You can rib me about my girly choice of drink in the comments, but her post on an unexpected chat she had to have with her daughter this morning about modesty really cracked me up).  The Subourbon Wife is one of my new friends from a couple of Shocking Real Life writing workshops I’ve been taking from author Hollis Gillespie here in Atlanta over the past couple of months, and I’ve loved every minute of them.  I’ve always thought it would be great to be talented creatively.  I tried my hand at playing an instrument.  I sucked.  I tried my hand at painting.  I sucked.  I tried my hand at drawing.  I sucked (though I do have a rather nice sketch of the key to the Jeep I drove in college that I drew when I was going through a phase of wishing I had artistic talent and practicing sketching between classes).

I never considered my writing to be creative, because 1) it’s something I’ve always done, and as such is just something I’ve always thought of as a part of me, and 2) I’ve always been a non-fiction writer, so I wasn’t creating some fantastical alternate reality.  Thus, writing never struck me as creative, but just as something I had to do.  Idiot.  I know. » Read more: Creative Process