February 8, 2014

J.M Coetzee does all the things people say Hemingway did. 

February 8, 2014
Trust Noone!

I think I only write on tumblr when I want to speak out-loud but to noone inparticular. 

So, I’ve been working on my novel for a few years now. I know its plot, it’s story, it’s characters inside and out and also, more importantly, I know the length it needs to be. Right now I’m re-writing a lot of scenes that were either first or second drafts from about this time last year and while the early chapters are sub-Wolfian, I came across a part today that I really liked. It described everything neatly when it needed to, profusely when it called for it and with with a fun, surrealist manner when it was describing something bureaucratically (it had this fun Kafka/DFW element to describing how it isn’t in a capitalist individual’s best interest to think of someone else.) It fact I liked it so much that I didn’t quite trust it as I had written

If I had written it two weeks ago I would think: Well done, me. That probably won’t need much more tidying up when you come back to that later. But I hadn’t written it two weeks ago, I had probably written it a year ago at best. I think a writer gets better with writing and reading and to think that I had achieved something a year ago before I had read so many books that had a great influence on me (V and Infinite Jest particularly) I can’t trust the piece… But it is good enough to not be completely re-written.


Ugh, writing is hard… 

October 30, 2013

 

(Source: sirheisenberg, via satine12)

October 30, 2013

(Source: miracule, via sadyoungliterarygirls)

October 30, 2013
Writing Diary #6: A big, genderless, sexless Chewbacca/Winnie the Poo-esc creature

I’ve gotten into a really bad habit recently of saying ‘Soz’, the ironic, sorry-but-I’m-not-that-sorry-and-anyway-why-are-you-getting-so-uppity-about-it-It-was-only-a-pot-plant way of apologising. The problem being that I’m not saying it ironically or in an instance when I’m not really sorry, I’m saying it when I really mean sorry. Its as if I’ve sub-consciously replaced sorry with soz in my head. Furthermore, I don’t even say soz when I don’t mean sorry, I just say sorry, but in an over the top way as if to suggest that if you want your sorry, damn well, you’ll get your bleedin’ sorry. I don’t know how I’ve picked it up.

Sorry, I don’t mean to vent (well I suppose I do, which I why I keep a blog/diary/thing), but due to a new work schedule, my inbetween-flat situation  and general tiredness as a reaction to the change in work schedule, my opportunities to sit down in a quiet, empty and tidy room and spend the whole morning, uninterrupted, writing, have been very few and this has left me worrying about how long it’ll be before I lose whatever tentative talents I might have acclimated over the past few years since I’ve been taking writing seriously, and revert to a cliché riddled, Kafka wannabe. I can fit in the odd hour or so at work, but now that I have to work later it’s been hard to find the energy to get anything really good done. I’m caught in a bit of an anxiety spiral that has started to convince me that I need one perfect day, with a perfect output to follow before I reclaim my usual productivity. I’m reminded of course of Woolf’s room of ones own idiom, but, as a modern addendum, I’d like to add, not only should a woman have the money, by which to keep the spectre of a job and its time commitments at arms length, but also a big, genderless, sexless Chewbacca/Winnie the Poo-esc creature that would stand at your shoulder and tap you on the back and say, after reading the work you have pushed out on that day you finally get to write after a dry spell: “No, honestly, that’s just as good as that short story you wrote just after your birthday that you said you thought was one of the best things you’ve written. {insert, if you choose the Chewbacca incarnation, a small, friendly roar here} I would even go as far as to say its better than that scene in your novel where Angela imagines the life of her ex-lover’s new girlfriend and what Sam (being the ex-lover) must mean to her now - the one that keeps you from deleting the whole thing when you’re feeling particularly down about it, because Hell {or heck, if you wish} if you’re going to let that scene go to waste - and I don’t say that lightly. Really, truly, you haven’t lost it. You’ve gotten better!” and a room of her own. But I suppose that isn’t really as spiffy. 

October 26, 2013
Writing Diary #5: Whatever

I have a pretty shitty job. It’s not actually shitty, I haven’t been sold into the sex trade or anything that is truly awful, but on the spectrum of jobs, with the lowest being sold into a child labour sweat shop and the highest being… I don’t know… James Franco’s job (his job, from what I can tell is doing whatever the fuck he pleases regardless of his ability to do it), mine is slap bang in the middle. It’s overall shittiness derives from its absolute mediocrity. I work in an office reception (which is where I am right now. On a Saturday. Pretty shitty). 

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10:45am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Z05OhtyfZvXh
Filed under: writing lit work shit fuck balls 
October 21, 2013

Money is really hard. I probably owe you money.

October 21, 2013
englishmajorhumor:

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

englishmajorhumor:

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

(Source: Guardian, via satine12)

October 19, 2013
 

 

(Source: revhallowell, via gingerwalrusmoustache)

October 18, 2013
sizzlemontyjing:

So… this is a picture of (left to right) John Oliver, Desmond O’Connor, Richard Ayoade and David Mitchell.
What. 

sizzlemontyjing:

So… this is a picture of (left to right) John Oliver, Desmond O’Connor, Richard Ayoade and David Mitchell.

What. 

(via sadyoungliterarygirls)

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