Firework Thoughts

Sparking Creativity on State Highway 50

As someone who has always found solace in the rhythm of words and the craft of storytelling, stepping away from writing more or less full time after taking a new job, feels like leaving a part of myself behind.

The transition into my new role, while exhilarating, has not been without its sacrifices. The responsibilities that come with this new job, combined with my ongoing commitments—be it my podcasts, the endeavor to reach a milestone with my Substack newsletter, or the countless other duties that demand my attention—have left my days feeling like a jigsaw puzzle that refuses to fit.

It's a peculiar feeling, this longing to write. It's akin to missing a dear friend with whom you've shared your deepest secrets and brightest ideas. There's a certain magic in translating thoughts into words, a magic I find myself yearning for amidst spreadsheets, meetings, and deadlines. The irony isn't lost on me; writing about business, politics, and social issues has always been a way to decipher the world, yet now, the world demands so much of my time that writing has become a distant memory.

But here's the thing about memories—they have a way of making their presence felt—usually with some sort of prompt, nudging you gently but persistently, reminding you of what makes your heart beat faster.

Speaking of prompts, I've stumbled upon a quirky yet surprisingly effective method to keep the creative flames alive. It's a little ritual, a spark in the monotony of daily routines, suggested by a friend who knows all too well the struggle of keeping one's creative muscles supple.

Every day, as I drive past a certain landmark on State Highway 50—a fireworks warehouse, no less—I take a moment to record a brief message to myself. This isn't your typical diary entry or a structured brainstorming session. Instead, it's a raw, unfiltered snapshot of whatever happens to be on my mind at that moment, no matter how trivial or mundane or fleeting the thought may seem.

But here's where the magic happens: these recorded snippets, dubbed "Firework Thoughts," are not left to gather digital dust in my phone's memory. Instead, I unleash them into the wilds of artificial intelligence, letting an AI companion polish these fractions of thoughts into something unexpectedly amusing. It's a process that transforms everyday observations into bursts of creativity, much like the fireworks that inspired this practice.

Here's one:

This Monday morning took an unusual turn when a Dollar General Stores semi-truck unexpectedly signaled to me by flashing its lights and sounding its horn. I was taken aback, as I am known for my conservative driving style and was certain I wasn’t obstructing its path. The incident left me with an unsettling feeling, as I couldn’t discern the truck driver’s intentions.

My primary concern now is the possibility of discovering something amiss with my vehicle when I arrive at work, as if I might find something, like the hook arm of the storied Sleepaway Camp murderer attached to the back of my car.

Sharing these "Firework Thoughts" on my Substack newsletter every week will become a ritual that offers subscribers a unique glimpse into the spontaneous combustion of ideas that occur when life meets creativity at 65 miles per hour. It's a testament to the fact that inspiration can strike in the most mundane of moments, and that with a little help from technology, these fleeting thoughts can morph into a spectacle as captivating as a fireworks display.

This practice has taught me an invaluable lesson: creativity doesn't require vast expanses of uninterrupted time or the perfect setting. It thrives on the unexpected, the everyday, the moments in between. My "Firework Thoughts" are a reminder that even when life seems too busy for creativity, you can still make opportunities to ignite that spark and transform the ordinary into something occasionally extraordinary.

So, as I continue to juggle the demands of my new job, my podcasts and newsletter, and the myriad other responsibilities that fill my days, I find solace in knowing that creativity is never far away.

It's waiting there, on State Highway 50, ready to explode into a dazzling array of generally mundane but occasionally funny ideas, one "Firework Thought" at a time.