"Writing is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public." --Winston Churchill
"A writer needs three things, experience, observation, and imagination, any two of which, at times any one of which, can supply the lack of the others." --William Faulkner
"After all, most writing is done away from the typewriter, away from the desk. I'd say it occurs in the quiet, silent moments, while you're walking or shaving or playing a game, or whatever, or even talking to someone you're not vitally interested in. " --Henry Miller
"Write without pay until somebody offers to pay you. If nobody offers within three years, sawing wood is what you were intended for. " --Mark Twain
"The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. This is the writer's radar and all great writers have had it. " --Ernest Hemingway
"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master." --Ernest Hemingway
"Whores and writers, Mahound. We are the people you can't forgive. " --Salman Rushdie
Thoughts? Are they right? Wrong?
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Exposition on an Unknown Man
This may seem odd; it's a writing exercize during a last-minute study session over the course of about an hour. Each break in paragraph is a time lapse wherein I turned back to studying. I was sitting on the other side of the room from this guy who was also studying and decided to describe him. I have never met the man before. Here it is, the description of an unknown guy in a page:
Some guy in the corner with glasses, chewing gum and looking intently into his laptop, twirling a pen with focused indifference. Drops it.
Now he’s leaning on an arm, looking utterly both concentrated and exhausted, as if changing the direction of his head will somehow change the words on the screen to something more interesting. He looks like he’s asleep, except for the pen in his other hand which is sticking up in to the air, reminding those in the room that he’s still there. His short, inconsistent beard changes colors of black as he chews.
A knee up to his mouth, still staring at the screen. He holds it to him with childlike innocence, stopping once in a while to tap the keys on his computer. He is entirely comfortable with being so informal.
He sighs, eyebrows furrowed, and puts his feet up on the table, hands behind head in an almost theatrical motion of cool relaxation. Now he’s smiling, smacking the gum with entertainment at his computer screen. He stretches, leaning as he is back in his chair, only briefly.
What’s this? He’s tapping the table as if listening to the same music I am. His computer is a brand I have not seen before. He leans back, leg now again as it was against his chest, in the stiff chair he’s sitting in.
His hand is a claw, surrounding the caged electronic mouse beneath those fingers. He is smiling, a tongue roving in his cheek. He seems to have strayed from studying. He scratches the back of his head thoughtfully, chin wrinkling as he does so. That same, open mouthed grin playing at various levels on his face.
I scratch the back of my head, thinking and gazing at posters of overseas programs, loving the feel of my soft hair. Always hoping somebody is going to notice my feigned indifference.
He chews like he’s chewing a particularly delectable piece of meat. A Celtic warrior swapping tales around a campfire at the end of the day. His whole body is smaller now, arms reclining on his knees. An ape, surveying the clan before him. He puts a wrist to his mouth in thought.
Three professors stand in the way, blocking my view and speaking loudly and excitedly. They have no idea the connection they are disturbing. I say nothing.
I see a peek of him. His eyes - pained? A girl with a bright red jacket sits across from him, blocking anything I may have been able to see.
A hand to his cheek, wonderingly. Thoughtfully. Frowning at his computer. Stretch back, you Celtic lord.
Where has he gone? He got up and walked off casually, gum still in mouth. Now the red-jacketed girl is sitting alone, poring over some book with interest.
He’s eating. Sustaining himself on Sprite and a chocolate chip cookie. Leaning against the wall, now. He is pulling bits of information from his brain with his claws.
Some guy in the corner with glasses, chewing gum and looking intently into his laptop, twirling a pen with focused indifference. Drops it.
Now he’s leaning on an arm, looking utterly both concentrated and exhausted, as if changing the direction of his head will somehow change the words on the screen to something more interesting. He looks like he’s asleep, except for the pen in his other hand which is sticking up in to the air, reminding those in the room that he’s still there. His short, inconsistent beard changes colors of black as he chews.
A knee up to his mouth, still staring at the screen. He holds it to him with childlike innocence, stopping once in a while to tap the keys on his computer. He is entirely comfortable with being so informal.
He sighs, eyebrows furrowed, and puts his feet up on the table, hands behind head in an almost theatrical motion of cool relaxation. Now he’s smiling, smacking the gum with entertainment at his computer screen. He stretches, leaning as he is back in his chair, only briefly.
What’s this? He’s tapping the table as if listening to the same music I am. His computer is a brand I have not seen before. He leans back, leg now again as it was against his chest, in the stiff chair he’s sitting in.
His hand is a claw, surrounding the caged electronic mouse beneath those fingers. He is smiling, a tongue roving in his cheek. He seems to have strayed from studying. He scratches the back of his head thoughtfully, chin wrinkling as he does so. That same, open mouthed grin playing at various levels on his face.
I scratch the back of my head, thinking and gazing at posters of overseas programs, loving the feel of my soft hair. Always hoping somebody is going to notice my feigned indifference.
He chews like he’s chewing a particularly delectable piece of meat. A Celtic warrior swapping tales around a campfire at the end of the day. His whole body is smaller now, arms reclining on his knees. An ape, surveying the clan before him. He puts a wrist to his mouth in thought.
Three professors stand in the way, blocking my view and speaking loudly and excitedly. They have no idea the connection they are disturbing. I say nothing.
I see a peek of him. His eyes - pained? A girl with a bright red jacket sits across from him, blocking anything I may have been able to see.
A hand to his cheek, wonderingly. Thoughtfully. Frowning at his computer. Stretch back, you Celtic lord.
Where has he gone? He got up and walked off casually, gum still in mouth. Now the red-jacketed girl is sitting alone, poring over some book with interest.
He’s eating. Sustaining himself on Sprite and a chocolate chip cookie. Leaning against the wall, now. He is pulling bits of information from his brain with his claws.
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