Writing as the simplest and most complicated thing I've ever done.You create worlds and people, giving the reader a mirror to reflect his world, while searching for some mystical concept called "truth."
But how does one reconcile the idea of truth-telling with an inability to differentiate between reality and fantasy? I think that question goes to the essence of great fiction and poetry making, and also perhaps to the uncanny power of dreams.
You did it! You have finished writing your novel... at least the first draft. Take a moment, a day, or a week to enjoy this great accomplishment. It's worthy of appreciation. Do not waste the time though.
With an ever-widening gap between the number of rich and poor that earn bachelor's degrees, dropping out of college often has devastating effects on their lives. ScholarMatch harnesses technology and the community-at-large to make up these shortfalls.
I write in the middle of the chaos of my living room. I stay up late to write in the serenity of the night and wake up early to squeeze in an hour of writing before my family awakens. I do these things because that is what I have to do to follow my passion and pursue my dreams.
Letters hold together. Emails often have nothing to grab on to. Letters call for contemplation and soulful enjoyment. Emails call for very little. So, my wish for the return of real writing has not been fulfilled.
I came to it in fury and revolt. I wanted to be a salesman like Abe Waitzkin, and I wanted to be Jack Kerouac or Raymond Radiguet. Probably it was the tumult, the tension and war in my home, the beat of the conga drums, the rhythm of Hemingway's sentences that first tempted me.
Dear Mr. Roth, please write. I'd like you to rage, rage against the dying of light. What happened to the legacy of our best grandparents, professors and crusty editors, skilled, in the arts of torment, demand and attitude?
Everyone in prison thinks they can write. From inmates writing poetry and song lyrics to the officers who all say they're going to write their memoirs when they retire. There's something about the darkness and desolation that breathes life into the muse.
Good writers do not channel in from some higher plain, they are simply human creatures who have a talent for expression and a talent, as Noel Coward would have said, to amuse. Everything they write is an expression of their selfs.
Naomi Replansky speaks with rueful self-acceptance of the long patience she's devoted to her relatively small body of work. "There's that old saying about how inspiration is waiting outside in a thunder storm for lightening to strike," she said. "That's been my life."
Have you ever watched a movie where someone gets there shoe stuck with an impending disaster heading toward them? You watch and want to yell at the screen, 'just take off the shoe!', but they don't -- they never do. I'm here to tell you that you just don't think about taking off the shoe.
There's a dynamic of technical expertise and social-digital elan I just haven't mastered. It began with e-mail back in my days as a salesman. My attempts at engagement were often clumsy, annoying, stilted and embarrassing.
Fellow fiction writers, Let's be frank: we're not the healthiest-minded bunch. If we were we'd spend our days doing something more pleasant than writing fiction. But lately we seem to have taken a turn for the worse.