Like many of my generation, I came of age inspired by Jack Kerouac and spent a good deal of my early writing years pouring my heart out in endless streams of consciousness. I was attempting to mimic his philosophy of “spontaneous poetics,” the belief that in releasing the mind, uncensored, one’s originality and authentic “voice” would be revealed. As he put it, people need only stop altering “words the Angel brought them.” Or, as Isadora Duncan wrote in her autobiography, “If anyone wrote the truth of their lives, they will have written a masterpiece.”