Bloody hell, I actually wrote something.
Read where to get lunch when you work near Bermondsey Street (which I don’t, any more)
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Bloody hell, I actually wrote something.
Read where to get lunch when you work near Bermondsey Street (which I don’t, any more)
I’m re-reading Heartburn by Nora Ephron because if any sentence can shove you out of writer’s block and into a room where you have no option to create something just as good as the thing you’ve just read, it’s her casual description of the “other woman” on page 2.
What three words describe your writing process?
Er… panic, panic, hope.
And what is a crucial aspect of your creative process?
Mmm… panic. And hope.
And what would you say to anyone in a creative rut?
Um, read. And walk around. And call someone that you can complain about your rut to.
From This Is The Story of a Happy Marriage by Ann Patchett
This is the beauty and the horror of being a writer — or trying to be anything, really: You can feel important or unimportant. No one cares. No one is watching. You can have fun or you can suffer. No one is grading you. No one is invested. You can proclaim yourself ahead of schedule, or you can spend your whole life telling yourself that you’re running behind. No one is there to measure. You can suspect that you’re insecure and outdated, long-winded and short-sighted, high-strung and lowbrow. Or you can conclude that you’re charismatic, a teensy bit talented, never boring, and reasonably worthy. You have choices. You are the decider. Because the truth is, no one else gives a flying fuck.
I Can’t Stop Comparing Myself To More Successful Writers! – Heather Havrilesky, The Cut.