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particularly creative, Mister Go,” Iverson said.
    “Nonsense. We’re all creative in one way or another. You do your daughter an injustice by saying that. You’d be shocked how well someone can do with a little instruction.”
    “She just had a seizure. She needs to relax her mind. Why not show me?”
    “If you insist,” Go said, “Have a seat.”
    There were no chairs. Iverson sat on the floor and crossed his legs Indian style, his buttocks suffering the hardwood floor and his leg muscles stretching in places they hadn’t in years. He felt a little silly when a leather club chair miraculously appeared before Mr. Go.
    Angela sat on the floor next to Iverson, setting her rose down beside her. She affectionately took her creator’s hand in hers.
    “You’ve heard that scientists discovered a black hole in the center of our galaxy,” Go said from his plush throne.
    Iverson felt like a school kid with Mr. Go as his teacher. “Yes, of course. In Sagittarius A,” Iverson said. He almost expected praise.
    “Sagittarius A,” Go repeated thoughtfully. “It might seem counterintuitive to some, but to a creative person the idea of a black hole in the center of our galaxy makes perfect sense.”
    “We exist in a spiral galaxy,” Angela said, “Scientists believe that the black hole’s intense gravitational pull crushes protons, which releases the enormous energy needed to rotate the galaxy.”
    Iverson cringed. She sounded awfully robotic.
    “There’s a void inside humans, as well,” Go said to her. “Everything we create comes from there.”
    Pulling a wry expression, Iverson said, “I don’t understand.”
    Go thought it over for a moment. “To create something, you have to embrace nothingness . . . the void inside you.”
    Iverson looked to Gibbons for help. He was still sitting in the conference room, leaning to one side in the chair so he could hear. Obviously he had nothing to offer.
    C.C. Go sighed impatiently. “This is going to be more difficult than I thought. Maybe I should call the printer. I may need a rewrite.”
    A quick scan of his brain showed he believed the comment to be untruthful. “No, no, C.C. The book is fine. Please continue,” Angela told him.
    “Okay, Doctor. Relax your mind,” Go instructed.
    Every muscle in Iverson’s body tensed. He wanted nothing more than to leave this room, go out of the building to the smoking section, and light up a cigarette. But he remembered his lighter didn’t work.
    Suddenly Iverson realized that Go and Angela were laughing at him. He searched their faces. “What’s so funny? Why are you laughing?”
    Iverson brought up his hand and was startled to see that he was holding a lit cigarette. Shocked, he tossed it to the floor. It burned there for a second before he pounced on it with the sole of his shoe. Red embers scattered like fireworks and then turned to specks of dark ash. Amazingly, after a few seconds, the cigarette and its ashes were gone. Not so much as a mark was left on the hardwood.
    “You did it,” Go said.
    Angela applauded him.
    “Maybe next time you’ll create something less self-destructive,” Go said. “Addiction is usually symptomatic of creative blocks. We’ll have to work on that. But for now, let’s break for lunch. I’m starved.”
    Suddenly a door appeared.
    Go gallantly offered a hand to assist Angela up from the floor. When she got to her feet, she searched around for her rose, but it was gone. “Where did my rose go?”
    “I’m sorry, but the rose is gone. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did,” Go said. He went over to Iverson and extended a hand. “Come on, Doctor Iverson. Get up off the dark matter. We’re going for dim sum.” After helping Iverson up from the floor, he went into the conference room to entice Gibbons out of the chair.
    Iverson went to the door Go had manifested. It was an old-fashioned wood door with a wood frame and a Victorian style brass knob. Were he to look up “door”