It is difficult to define what creativity means today, because there is so much of it exploding and overflowing all around us that we are left breathless.

A simple visit to the bookstore leaves me feeling overwhelmed, afraid that one lifetime is not enough to finish even the best of the books.

Reading newspapers, just only the local ones without surfing the net, there are ten new ideas jumbled up in a page, wonderful expressions, enviable phrases.

A simple book review has so many wise references, a movie critic uses so many sly puns, a poem thinks of images you did not even imagine could be brought to paper.

All of this is very, very interesting, and often makes me wonder where all of this creativity is stored in a person. I read carefully when interviewers ask writers about their source of creativity.

The writers hem and haw and mostly give vague answers, like how they do not know, or that ideas just come to them, or that once they begin writing its almost automatic.