There is a fine line between creativity and clinical pathology.  I can say this with some conviction because the love of my life is a psychologist and he knows about these things.  The whole topic came up one day as I was readying myself to sally forth to find a nice coffee pub that would keep me supplied with caffeine and sugar while I casually wrote a best-selling novel before lunch (one can dream, can’t they?). As I said my good-byes, I flippantly remarked, “I’m off to play with my imaginary friends.”  The look on my love’s face was a Kodak moment, I can tell you that.  And it stopped me in my tracks.  “What?” I asked, not seeing anything alarming or unusual in the repartee up to that point. “You do know,” he answered sounding rather serious, “that to many of my colleagues you would be an annuity.” “Hey, look on the bright side,” I parried.  “With me you don’t have to choose between business and pleasure.” Then I turned serious myself.  “Fix whatever you can.  God knows, I need it, but don’t mess with this.”  I handed him a copy of my novel, WANNA GET LUCKY? He read…