HOW TO: Write a Novel Using the Web
It took five years for Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone to go from idea to finished manuscript, but the results have very clearly been nothing short of spectacular. Perhaps…
“The books that the world calls immoral are the books that show the world its own shame.”
“All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you; the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and the sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was. If you can get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer.”
Ernest Hemingway in Esquire, December 1934 [via jessicalindsey: mikhailovna: sabine:asprettyasasong somethingchanged] (via christinefriar) (via fuckyeahreading) (via ilovereadingandwriting)
“All this to say… no matter how long it takes, no matter how raw your voice gets in the process, read your book aloud before you publish it. It’s a really great way to get a different perspective on what you’ve written and to, quite literally, stumble over problematic phrasings. Reading your book aloud should be a fabulous experience, not purgatory.”
“That’s the thing about books. They let you travel without moving your feet.”
(via kanyegate)Not saying TB is great, just found this amusing.
Tie Your Heart At Night To Mine
Tie your heart at night to mine, love,
and both will defeat the darkness
like twin drums beating in the forest
against the heavy wall of wet leaves.Night crossing: black coal of dream
that cuts the thread of earthly orbs
with the punctuality of a headlong train
that pulls cold stone and shadow endlessly.Love, because of it, tie me to a purer movement,
to the grip on life that beats in your breast,
with the wings of a submerged swan,So that our dream might reply
to the sky’s questioning stars
with one key, one door closed to shadow.Pablo Neruda
Expressionless, she stared with bated breath at the screen before her, waiting for the door to sweep closed. He disappeared into the hallway beyond, and she dropped back in her chair with growing contempt for the indifference of her laptop. There on the cheap flat-pack desk it sat, vibrantly eager and lifelessly stoic, awaiting innocently her command, but she couldn’t work now.
She could barely believe how things had changed this past week, denied herself the suggestion that he wouldn’t return. The small make-shift office hung suspended in silence around her, as though the whole world had left with him. The early afternoon was unflinching to her quiet suffering; she could have leapt up, chased him down the stairs, but it would only serve to break the stillness. She longed to be with him, but not to go with him.
“There isn’t much for me to say” she finally looked up at from her laptop and briefly glanced his way. There he awkwardly stood clutching onto a dirtied khaki pouch. In the last week the glow in his cheeks had been murdered by rough stubble. He was tired, yet the weight of his backpack was strangely comforting. The weight for her remained lodged in her throat, it tied her down and dragged her emotions into an endless abyss. She had no idea how to return.
“Take care Mia” in three words he severed their bond. A bond that would take three lifetimes to create again.”
(via wedivorcedoverthisblog)
