When writers sit down to earn their name, there's a swirl of alchemy bubbling and fizzing in their neural networks -- dendrites, synapses, firing, hocus pocus. Science, of course. Blinding. Many like to imagine this chain reaction is triggered by magic, by muse, by miracles impossible for mere mortals to either achieve or comprehend. Scrooge might suggest there's more of gravy than of grave. Elizabeth Gilbert might point out that the 'pray' portion of the show prompted all kinds of boy-meets-girl questioning from deep within for the guru with all -- not existential queries but 'does he like me?' and 'how can we we work it out when everything is so unworkable?'. Or, maybe it's just the coffee.
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