In which I almost vented my spleen

I was all set to vent my spleen here yesterday but then had second thoughts. I had come across a blog post suggesting twenty sure-fire ways to find inspiration, and I thought the list was obvious and redundant. I was ready to tear into it, item by item, and show how insipid it was. From there I was going to segue into a diatribe about writing and “creativity” seminars and guidebooks. I’ve nearly always found these to lack rigor, and I suspect they exist merely to lighten the wallets of wannabes. Having “committed journalism” myself for many years, I know how shallow such writing can often be.

But something made me reconsider my rant. I suppose I decided I didn’t want to paint with such a broad brush. Because I had intended to provide a link to the offending blog post, I guess I had cold feet about libeling the poor author.

I keep a paper journal. I use college notebooks, and I’ve been keeping them for nearly thirty years. A long time ago I decided to no longer use them for unbridled negative thoughts. That attitude may have also influenced my decision not to write the spleen-venting post I had in mind yesterday. In any case, I’ve spared you my gloom and complaint. And while I still consider that blog post to be a ridiculous use of bits and bytes, and I continue to consider “creativity” training to be mostly robbery, I’m not going to write about them. The world is a better place as a result.

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