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       Cause for Alarm

       As I Recall

       Better Safe Than Sorry

       Canada’s Grey Eminence

       Charles the What?

       Choosing Your Doctor

       Clueless in Gaza

       Combat Zone

       Confession of an Agnostic

       Dance Floored

       Dear Dirt

       Deilogue

       Doggerel

       Dressed to Sell

       Eerie Mail

       Egging on Sperm

       Exit Signs

       Guilt Complexity

       Gun Shy

       Haberdashery for Humorists

       Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

       Hints for Wits

       How Decadent Can We Get?

       How to Settle Indian Land Claims

       Keeping Faith on Ice

       Limping Down Memory Lane

       Lone Ranging

       Marginal Progress Reports

       Mea Culpa

       Mind over Matter

       My Brow Has the Wrong Attitude

       My Career as a Voyeur

       My Daily Fix

       My Low Self Life

       My Photo-Op Flop

       My Sex Education

       My Window on the World

       Navel Manoeuvres

       Nose Items

       Oh Solo Mio

       On Being a Referral

       On Further Excavation

       One Temp Fits All

       Only Childhood

       Other Causes for Alarm

       Perchance to Dream ...

       Pharmacist, Heal Thyself!

       Phoney Excuses

       Pore Advice

       Posterior Insulation, Inc.

       Requiem for a Scribbler

       Quaker Spirit

       Script Tease

       Sex, the Four-Letter Word

       Sexless in Space

       So, Email

       Sober Thoughts

       Talking Turkey

       The Call of the Weird

       The Cordless Lover

       The Curse of Punctuality

       The Dilemma of Disposal

       The Dreaded Digital

       The Drummer Boy

       The Genesis of Me

       The Joy of Creative Writing

       The Law of Probability

       The Pre-Shrunk Violet

       The Simpler

       The Sourcing of a Skeptic

       The Vanishing Pin-Up

       The Woes of Toes

       Titillating It Ain’t

       Virgin on Silly

       When Antiquity Gets Personal

       Whipper Snapper

       Whore Housing

       Whose Globe Is It, Anyhow?

       Why Pain Hurts

       Wind Watch

      Welcome, class, to this first lecture in Creative Writing 100, Creative Writing 200, 300, and time permitting, Creative Writing 100 repeated!

      The beauty of these printed lectures is that if you need to go to the bathroom, you don’t have to raise your hand. You may certainly hold up your hand if you wish to relieve tension or exhibit a manicure without risk of drawing extra homework. But what you do in the privacy of your own home, or indeed anyone else’s home, won’t affect your grade, particularly as you won’t be given a grade unless you pay an additional fee on completion of the course.

      First, though, what is creative writing? How do you distinguish it from, say, your grocery shopping list? The answer is you can’t. In fact, your first assignment in this course will be to turn in a creative grocery shopping list that reveals shades of character, as well as some truly deplorable eating habits.

      Second, you need to distinguish between creativity and creationism. Creationism is the belief in Adam and Eve and going to hell with Charles Darwin. But creativity derives from a creator who doesn’t believe in the apple except as a brand of computer.

      Third, creative writing is the second-most satisfying thing you can do lying down. In fact, creative writing is like sex, it being a mental orgasm that is passionate even though the result is stillborn.

      This doesn’t mean you can ignore your physical condition, assuming your Muse is also overweight. Actually, this course requires you to do twenty push-ups before every lecture. Why? Because publishers won’t even consider your work unless you are in good enough shape to survive the book promotion tour. Some publishers now require that your manuscript be accompanied by a complete medical report, signed by three different doctors, along with a recent photo of the author holding up his chin without undue effort.

      This explains why poets like Lord Byron (bad leg) and John Milton (clinically blind) could never get published today. Oscar Wilde might encounter less of the trouble he bought as a gay wit, but he would balk at having to get up at five in the morning in a strange town to appear on a radio talk show hosted by a sadist who secretly hates books.

      Yes, it does help if you own your own aircraft, but not much.

      Now, besides having it in the legs, how strong is your motivation?

      Have you defined in your own mind if you are too shy to talk about why you want to engage in creative writing? If it’s just because you think you look more meaningful in a houndstooth jacket or shapeless sweater, or it’s against

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