No degree, no teacher, no permission — just the work.

What does a composer do when the bulldozers show up before the last take is finished?

What does it take for a toll collector who painted tigers in his off-hours to end up enthroned on a packing crate at a banquet thrown by Picasso?

For ten years, a Chicago dishwasher kept a secret diary grading the local weatherman against reality.

Who feeds a band one cup of soybeans a day for a month and calls it rehearsal?

The man who invented vulcanized rubber spent $30,000 he didn't have to build a palace of rubber furniture inside a building made of glass.

A deaf arithmetic teacher in a Kaluga log cabin derived the rocket equation between marking schoolboys' sums, and kept a trapdoor in his ceiling his family called the door to outer space.

What does an 82-year-old who just solved the longitude problem do for an encore?

What do you do when a voice in your head orders you to write, the verse is catastrophic, and the Queen's polite rejection reads, to you, like a coronation?

Issued one pencil a week, he spent thirty-five years balancing the ledgers of a universe he'd crowned himself emperor of.

He showed up in overalls and gumboots, removed his dentures, and asked if he could run.

He kept a shoebox labeled Mouse Material; the archivist who finally opened it found the contents of a vacuum cleaner.

What happens when a former barber decides to stitch a beating heart by lamplight, twelve years after the most famous surgeon on Earth said it couldn't be done?