Writing is sedentary. Without a regular exercise program, both your body and your creative brain will be in trouble. (Oh, stop whining. You know I'm right.)
--THE WRITER January 2003 From "What I know, for sure ... I think" (A best-selling author offers words of wisdom gleaned from 20 years of writing) by Susan Elizabeth Philips
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Friday, November 04, 2005
Writing Advice: Precision in Language
The writer who tries to be precise is forced to reject almost all adjectives. He has to function practically with only those nouns which express clear and simple images. The language of technology does not stir the reader's emotions; it has neither the power to entertain the reader nor to lift his spirit. It may sound like a paradox, but the thicker the dictionaries become, the poorer the language is becoming for the writer of fiction. The art of writing nowadays lies not in finding new words, but in avoiding more and more those words which have become nothing but empty clichés, like "good, bad, decent, immoral, charming, ugly, noble, clever, attractive," and many, many others which are now stale.
from Conversations with Isaac Bashevis Singer
from Conversations with Isaac Bashevis Singer
Thursday, November 03, 2005
On the honest unlovliness of William Trevor's world
We are the tools and instruments of out talent. We are outsiders; we have no place in society because society is what we're watching, and dealing with. . . . Personally, I like not being noticed. I like to hang about the shadows of the world both as a writer and as a person; I dislike limelight, and the center of things is a place to watch rather than become involved in.
from "Comfort Cult" by Francine Prose in HARPER'S MAGAZINE, December 2002
from "Comfort Cult" by Francine Prose in HARPER'S MAGAZINE, December 2002
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Throw Another Handful of Characters on the Fire
I remember Virginia Woolf was reviewing a book. . .but one of her complaints was when the author lost his way, he would just throw another handful of characters on the fire. (Joy Williams)
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Experience Becomes Literature. . .
"Experience becomes literature when the reader ceases to care whether or not the story is true." (Garrison Keillor)
Monday, October 31, 2005
Where a Writer Looks
Literature is not enriched by a man who is all the time looking into himself, but by a writer who looks into other people. The more you see what other people do, the more you learn about yourself.
from
Conversations with Isaac Bashevis Singer
from
Sunday, October 30, 2005
A Blank Mind Led to "Ragtime"
It was not a blank page but a blank mind that led to RAGTIME-the emotional exhaustion that came inevitably after the completion of THE BOOK OF DANIEL. The blank mind, when it has no wish to think or improve upon existence, grants you a simple unreflective being that is very pleasant and peaceable. Fortunately it doesn't last. One day I was sitting in my study, on the top floor of my house in New Rochelle, and I found myself staring at the wall. Perhaps I felt it was representative of my mind. I decided to write about the wall. And then about all the walls together. "My house was built in 1906," I wrote. "It is a great, ugly three-story manse, with dormers, bay windows, and a screened porch. When it was new the shingles were brown and striped awnings shaded the windows .. . ." I then imagined what New Rochelle looked like when the house was new. In those days trolley cars ran along the avenue at the bottom of the hill. People wore white in the summer. Women carried parasols. I thought of Teddy Roosevelt, who was president at the time. And the blank page of my mind began to fill with the words of a book.
But wherever books begin, in whatever private excitement of the mind, whether from the music of words, or an impelling anger, or the promise of an unwritten-upon page, the work itself is hard and slow, and the writer's illumination becomes a taskmaster, a ruling discipline, jealously guarding the mind from all other, and necessarily errant, private excitements until the book is done. You live enslaved in the book's language, its diction, its universe of imagery, and there is no way out except through the last sentence. (E. L. Doctorow)


The Writing Life: Writers on How They Think and Work
edited by Marie Arana
But wherever books begin, in whatever private excitement of the mind, whether from the music of words, or an impelling anger, or the promise of an unwritten-upon page, the work itself is hard and slow, and the writer's illumination becomes a taskmaster, a ruling discipline, jealously guarding the mind from all other, and necessarily errant, private excitements until the book is done. You live enslaved in the book's language, its diction, its universe of imagery, and there is no way out except through the last sentence. (E. L. Doctorow)
The Writing Life: Writers on How They Think and Work
edited by Marie Arana
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