-- Sunday, March 19, 2000 --

12:54 a.m. Perhaps the cd-rom (as art) trend is catching on around here. It doesn't take much for an idea to take root -- just a little confidence, a little free time, and lots and lots of attitude. Attitude is the all-important fertilizer.

Nurture vs. nature. Are artists made or grown?

I met the man who has the garden in which these cd's are planted. He was steering yet another red wheelbarrow of dirt and stones into his small front yard. He reached over it to shake my hand and leave a little grit behind. He is an accountant by day, I believe.

Garden art is his hobby. Another view of his garden is in this photo I posted on December 15. The theme of this particular artist's garden is "Things Coming Up From Out of the Ground." His next installation will involve rifles.

This is the sort of person I want to grow into being. I want to learn how to express myself in my physical environment and not worry about Martha so much any more. Of course, you'll be saying goodbye to your real estate investment if you get too ... you know ... creative. But, hey! That's a small price to pay for creativity.

In fact, I'm already in debt to creativity, and it hasn't paid off yet. Not a day goes by -- and Monday isn't going to go by either -- without most of my hours being spent quite unwisely in the pursuit of cash. Nothing creative about it. I do whatever I'm told; I follow a client's directions to the letter.

I prepare an invoice, and I'm not even creative at that.

I can't talk about my project for this particular week coming up because I've actually signed a nondisclosure statement. That's a whole new experience for a person who has always stood at attention in the reporter's line at every possibly opportunity. I've given my word that I won't say a word, and not a word will you hear from me.

Suffice it to say: mum's the word.

Enough said. I've got to put this baby to bed.

Secrets are very hard for me to keep, and I'm running through all sorts of ideas in my head so that I can create a snazzy demo for the project I can't talk about. These ideas are taking up the space normally reserved for my topic each night on these pages.

I need a bigger garden, or maybe I'm going to have to plow some unused furrows of my brain and turn them over to creativity, instead of letting them lie fallow. I probably won't be learning Russian any time soon, so there's a nice patch of brain I can free up right away.

I don't know how spies do it. I think ... and I speak. I think ... and I write it down here. A spy, on the other hand, must think ... and then stash the thought away, never to be shared. It must be a lonely life, no matter how crowded.

I think I'd make a lousy spy. Always hinting. Secrets, buried in my brain like chipped Indian arrowheads in the old soil. The deeper you go, the less you know.

And with that, I will shut up. My secrets are safe with me.