by The Urban Blabbermouth
My first moment of creativity occurred the moment I was born, and frankly, it went downhill from there. No matter what I thought up in fantasies and wrote into stories thereafter, nothing could top my creativity in creating myself at the moment of my birth. All of me came to me in a flash, in an instant, in an explosion of creativity like the Big Bang. Me, bursting upon the universe in a loud wail and the universe was suddenly better, well, certainly noisier if nothing else. It was magnificent.
Where then can I go from here in writing my story? What false attempts to top my initial and greatest moment of glory can I engage in now? I have one hundred years to try. More than half the years have passed and I still have no answer to tell you. I have written countless stories, some rich in joy, love, humor, and others poor in joy, love, humor, and so far, none have proven worthy.
The truth is this -- the day my answer finally comes to me, will turn out to be the last day of my one hundredth year, and my last day here in this world. I will then be born again in another magnificent burst of creativity in the next - whatever it is that comes.
So there you have it, born in creativity, dies in creativity, and muddled through the middle somehow.