I love this idea of making a list to spark your creativity. I also love making lists, but who doesn’t. And Ray Bradbury was a genius. Even his lists convey a sense of melancholy creepiness:
THE LAKE. THE NIGHT. THE CRICKETS. THE RAVINE. THE ATTIC. THE BASEMENT. THE TRAPDOOR. THE BABY. THE CROWD. THE NIGHT TRAIN. THE FOG HORN. THE SCYTHE. THE CARNIVAL. THE CAROUSEL. THE DWARF. THE MIRROR MAZE. THE SKELETON.
Read: Ray Bradbury on How List-Making Can Boost Your Creativity | Brain Pickings.
This is such a moving essay: Stephen King: An Unlikely Lifeline In Turbulent Waters | Tor.com. Even if you are predisposed not to like Stephen King, he is undeniably an author who tells the truth. And an author who tells the truth is an author who can make a difference, especially in the lives of young readers.
I also discovered Stephen King when I was a pre-teen reader, and I have always strongly connected with his books. It’s not the horror and gore that draw me, but the characters, who always seem like very real people, and how they react when the uncontrollable and unfathomable occur in their lives. King shows his readers the horrors of the world and the horrors that live deep in the souls of our fellow humans, but he also shows us what humanity can strive to be.
Currently reading Doctor Sleep.
Stephen King shares his thoughts on why opening lines are so important and why he spends so much time crafting them in Why Stephen King Spends ‘Months and Even Years’ Writing Opening Sentences – Atlantic Mobile. As a reader, an opening line is a greeting from the author. Do I feel welcomed? Do I want to venture in further? Or do I want to run away?
I’m sure we all have our favorite first lines. One of mine comes from King: “The man in black fled across the desert and the gunslinger followed.” It’s a simple line, but it immediately sets the scene as well as the tone of the book, and it introduces instant tension. The Atlantic asked several authors what their favorite first lines were after running the piece with Stephen King. All interesting choices. In fact, sometimes it’s more fun to read the first line and imagine the book, rather than reading the book itself.
You are probably already familiar with the Bulwer-Lytton contest that challenges writers to come up with the worst first lines. It’s named after Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, the writer who came up with the opening line, “It was a dark and stormy night,” later made famous by an authorial Snoopy. Every year, I get a chuckle out of reading the contest winners.
I leave you with some more favorite first lines. Don’t they make you want to read these books?
“When Augustus came out on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rattlesnake—not a very big one.” – Lonesome Dove
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.” – Nineteen Eighty-Four
“If you had told me we’d end up in a world with kids with green hair and bones in their noses I would have laughed in your face. But here it is.”–No Country for Old Men
“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more.” – The Haunting of Hill House
Want to be a writer? No, a real writer. You know, a person who writes, everyday. Well, this little piece will tell you the simple secret to becoming a real writer: How To Push Past The Bullshit And Write That Goddamn Novel: A Very Simple No-Fuckery Writing Plan To Get Shit Done « terribleminds: chuck wendig. Great advice!
Oh, and here’s a handy infographic if you’re one of those writers who doesn’t like to read.
Here is an argument for why e-books should not be cheap. Is this argument too simplistic, too reaching? Is publishing just refusing to innovate and is mired in its old, inefficient ways of working? Read: The true price of publishing on guardian.co.uk.
I remember when writing used to be something I did solely for fun, when I would write just to play around with words. I created collage poems out of words and pictures cut from magazines. I tried to make up my own acrostics and crosswords. I wrote stories as a form of play — playing with an idea, a structure, something that someone else had written.
I think one reason I don’t write as much as I used to or would like to is because somewhere along the way, I lost that sense of having fun with it. Is it because I’ve grown up? Is it because I think I shouldn’t do anything anymore unless it’s productive or results in a paycheck, because that’s we are taught to think that adults do. Adults don’t play; we work.
Or is it because I’ve been told over and over again that to be a writer, one must be tortured, obsessed, possessed? Writing is something you do because you have to, not because you want to. Above all, it is not fun.
Probably it’s a combination of all of the above. One thing I do know — I miss writing just for fun. I want that back in my life.
After reading this – Elizabeth Gilbert Versus Philip Roth: Is Writing Torture? in The New Yorker – I have to declare that I completely respect Elizabeth Gilbert’s point of view. She has not lost her sense of fun or play. She can’t believe she actually gets to write as a job.
Doesn’t that seem preferable to the old “tortured artist” routine?
Also worth reading: Elizabeth Gilbert’s thoughts on writing.
From the New York Times: Relax! You’ll Be More Productive. We work best in 90-minute intervals, just three per day, with rest breaks in between. By “work,” I mean creative or highly focused work. For example, alternating mental work with physical breaks might be a good strategy.
The author gives a potent example. He wrote his first books the “old-fashioned way,” by sitting at the computer for 10 hours at a time; each book took a year to write. Then, he tried writing a book by working just 4-1/2 hours per day, in 90-minute intervals; it only took him 6 months to write the book. The point is that working less and producing high-quality work trumps working more and producing crap.
There was a terrific profile of short-story writer George Saunders in The New York Times Magazine this past Sunday, which I recommend to anyone who is interested in writers or writing. Saunders offers many insightful observations of the writing process, such as this one:
In an interview several years ago with Ben Marcus for The Believer, Saunders defended the time spent in an M.F.A. program by saying, “The chances of a person breaking through their own habits and sloth and limited mind to actually write something that gets out there and matters to people are slim.” But it’s a mistake, he added, to think of writing programs in terms that are “too narrowly careerist. . . . Even for those thousands of young people who don’t get something out there, the process is still a noble one — the process of trying to say something, of working through craft issues and the worldview issues and the ego issues — all of this is character-building, and, God forbid, everything we do should have concrete career results. I’ve seen time and time again the way that the process of trying to say something dignifies and improves a person.”
I recently reviewed George Saunders’ new book of short stories, Tenth of December, on my book review blog. I also highly recommend that collection, or if you want to sample some Saunders, the title story can be read for free online.
Writers are often told that they should “write what they know,” but perhaps that leads to boring, safe writing. A better piece of advice might be to write what you don’t know you know. By delving into your unconscious knowledge of yourself and the world, your writing may not only be more interesting, but also more therapeutic. Via: Should You Write What You Know? | The Creativity Post.
Here’s an interesting first-person account in The Chronicle of Higher Education from a writer who makes his living writing papers for college and university students. Not just undergraduate essays but graduate school theses and semester-long projects; he’s even completed online courses for students and participated in class discussions.
I live well on the desperation, misery, and incompetence that your educational system has created. Granted, as a writer, I could earn more; certainly there are ways to earn less. But I never struggle to find work.
This essay really brings home how much of a game it all is. Stack up the extracurriculars and pump up the SATs in high school to get into a good college. Fake your way through the coursework to win the appropriate degree. Get a job in which that degree will have absolutely no bearing but for which it is required. Work until you die.
The writer almost makes a case for becoming a freelance cheater instead. Except it sounds like so much work.