A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper
Creativity or talent, like electricity, is something I don’t understand but something I’m able to harness and use. While electricity remains a mystery, I know I can plug into it and light up a cathedral or a synagogue or an operating room and use it to help save a life. Or I can use it to electrocute someone. Like electricity, creativity makes no judgment. I can use it productive or destructively. The important thing is to use it. You can’t use up creativity. The more you use it, the more you have.
Hope you’re all having a good weekend! Stay busy!
This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important. So write with a combination of short, medium, and long sentences. Create a sound that pleases the reader’s ear. Don’t just write words. Write music.
“Poetry is not a thing, but a way of saying it.”
I know a lot of people say they hate poetry or it doesn’t make sense. I’ve always wondered why that is. What is the difference between a poem and a short story or a poem and a song?
It also reminds me of when people say they don’t like plays, but they like movies. How can that be?
I find all forms of creative expression beautiful and interesting and would never point blank say I don’t like the entire medium.
Anyone feel the same?
Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.
– Anton Chekhov