When a writer dies, he is taken to heaven
and shown two rooms. One is like an aviary, very large,
the size of the Astrodome. Flitting about gaily are this writer’s
ideas, but not all of them—only the ones he wrote down
in a notebook. The second room is even larger, and very like
a landfill. Here is kept the vast pile of ideas the writer
failed to write down—these ideas are covered with
a sludgy tar, like birds in the aftermath of a
tanker accident. The writer is given a plastic spoon,
and when every one of the unrecorded ideas has been
scraped clean and set free, he too is allowed to
flit about, and be free.
When a Writer Dies
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Sounds more like hell…