Tuesday, April 24, 2012

23 writing quotes

The original article can be found here on WRITER'S DIGEST. And in no way am I associated with it at all (like the writing and the posting). Now enjoy.



“If you have a story that seems worth telling, and you think you can tell it worthily, then the thing for you to do is to tell it, regardless of whether it has to do with sex, sailors or mounted policemen.”
—Dashiell Hammett, June 1924
“The writing of a novel is taking life as it already exists, not to report it but to make an object, toward the end that the finished work might contain this life inside it and offer it to the reader. The essence will not be, of course, the same thing as the raw material; it is not even of the same family of things. The novel is something that never was before and will not be again.”
—Eudora Welty, February 1970
“You yearn to turn out a book-length, your typewriter is silently shrieking abuse, you are itching to go. First read! Read the work of top-notch writers in your field. They know how! Read first for entertainment, then reread for analysis. Soak yourself in their stuff—for atmosphere, color, technique.”
—Fred East, June 1944
“One thing that helps is to give myself permission to write badly. I tell myself that I’m going to do my five or 10 pages no matter what, and that I can always tear them up the following morning if I want. I’ll have lost nothing—writing and tearing up five pages would leave me no further behind than if I took the day off.”
—Lawrence Block, June 1981
“The trap into which all writers have, will, or should fall into, of writing The Great American Watchamacallit, is such an uncluttered and inviting one that from time to time I’m sure even the greatest have to pull themselves up short by the Shift key to remind themselves that it is story first that they should write.”
—Harlan Ellison, January 1963
“It’s like making a movie: All sorts of accidental things will happen after you’ve set up the cameras. So you get lucky. Something will happen at the edge of the set and perhaps you start to go with that; you get some footage of that. You come into it accidentally. You set the story in motion and as you’re watching this thing begin, all these opportunities will show up. So, in order to exploit one thing or another, you may have to do research. You may have to find out more about Chinese immigrants, or you may have to find out about Halley’s Comet, or whatever, where you didn’t realize that you were going to have Chinese or Halley’s Comet in the story. So you do research on that, and it implies more, and the deeper you get into the story, the more it implies, the more suggestions it makes on the plot. Toward the end, the ending becomes inevitable.”
—Kurt Vonnegut, November 1985
“Don’t expect the puppets of your mind to become the people of your story. If they are not realities in your own mind, there is no mysterious alchemy in ink and paper that will turn wooden figures into flesh and blood.”
—Leslie Gordon Barnard, May 1923
“If you tell the reader that Bull Beezley is a brutal-faced, loose-lipped bully, with snake’s blood in his veins, the reader’s reaction may be, ‘Oh, yeah!’ But if you show the reader Bull Beezley raking the bloodied flanks of his weary, sweat-encrusted pony, and flogging the tottering, red-eyed animal with a quirt, or have him booting in the protruding ribs of a starved mongrel and, boy, the reader believes!”
—Fred East, June 1944
“We writers are apt to forget that, as the gunsmoke fogs and the hero rides wildly to the rescue, although the background of this furious action is fixed indelibly in our own minds, it is not fixed in the mind of the reader. He won’t see or feel it unless you make him—bearing always in mind that you can’t stop the gunfight or the racing horse to do the job.”
—Gunnison Steele, March 1944
“Plot, or evolution, is life responding to environment; and not only is this response always in terms of conflict, but the really great struggle, the epic struggle of creation, is the inner fight of the individual whereby the soul builds up character.”
—William Wallace Cook, July 1923
“Plot is people. Human emotions and desires founded on the realities of life, working at cross purposes, getting hotter and fiercer as they strike against each other until finally there’s an explosion—that’s Plot.”
—Leigh Brackett, July 1943
“You can’t write a novel all at once, any more than you can swallow a whale in one gulp. You do have to break it up into smaller chunks. But those smaller chunks aren’t good old familiar short stories. Novels aren’t built out of short stories. They are built out of scenes.”
—Orson Scott Card, September 1980
“Don’t leave your hero alone very long. Have at least two characters on stage whenever possible and let the conflict spark between them. There can be conflict with nature and your hero can struggle against storm or flood, but use discretion. … You could write a gripping story about a struggle between a lone trapper and a huge, clever wolf. But the wolf is practically humanized in such a story and fills every role of villain. The wolf too wants something and does something about it. A storm doesn’t want anything and that’s why its conflict with man is generally unsatisfactory. It doesn’t produce the rivalry which is the basis of good conflict.”
—Samuel Mines, March 1944
“The first sentence can’t be written until the final sentence is written.”
—Joyce Carol Oates, April 1986
“The writing of a mystery story is more of a sport than a fine art. It is a game between the writer and the reader. If, once in a while, a really fine book comes out of this contest, that is good; but the game’s the thing. If, on Page 4, the reader knows that the soda cracker is spread with butter mixed with arsenic, and later on this is proven to be true, then the reader has won the game. If, however, when the reader finishes the book, he says, ‘I didn’t get it—all the clues were there, plain as who killed Cock-Robin, but I didn’t get it,’ then the author has won the game. The author has to play fair, though. He has to arrange his clues in an orderly manner, so that the reader can see them if he looks hard enough.”
—Polly Simpson Macmanus, January 1962
“Authors of so-called ‘literary’ fiction insist that action, like plot, is vulgar and unworthy of a true artist. Don’t pay any attention to misguided advice of that sort. If you do, you will very likely starve trying to live on your writing income. Besides, the only writers who survive the ages are those who understand the need for action in a novel.”
—Dean R. Koontz, August 1981
“What the young writer is looking for is not a critic who will slap him on the back and say, ‘Greatest thing since O. Henry,’ but rather the one who will toss the manuscript down in disgust, with ‘You know better than that! It’s rotten! Do it all over again!’”
—Henry Sydnor Harrison, March 1923
“Make your novel readable. Make it easy to read, pleasant to read. This doesn’t mean flowery passages, ambitious flights of pyrotechnic verbiage; it means strong, simple, natural sentences.”
—Laurence D’Orsay, October 1929
“When your story is ready for rewrite, cut it to the bone. Get rid of every ounce of excess fat. This is going to hurt; revising a story down to the bare essentials is always a little like murdering children, but it must be done.”
—Stephen King, November 1973
“Loving your subject, you will write about it with the spontaneity and enthusiasm that will transmit itself to your reader. Loving your reader, you will respect him and want to please him. You will not write down to him. You will take infinite pains with your work. You will write well. And if you write well, you will get published.”
—Lee Wyndham, November 1962,
“Genius gives birth, talent delivers.”
—Jack Kerouac, January 1962
“Long patience and application saturated with your heart’s blood—you will either write or you will not—and the only way to find out whether you will or not is to try.”
—Jim Tully, October 1923




Saturday, April 21, 2012

Let's watch Despicable Me ^.^

[source]
Day 20 of the poem a day challenge



Let’s watch Despicable Me
With the three kittens
Supposedly ruining the
Unicorn’s life
Only to have it end up turning
His whole world around
The unicorn that was
Frowny and arrogant
Started to smile
As happiness and love
Starts to wriggle its way into
His heart
This first started at the amusement park
As one fluffy unicorn
Was waiting to be claimed
By a little kitten named Agnes
And from that moment on,
The unicorn was starting to play with the kittens
A bit more often
All the while trying to build a space ship
With a slightly jealous professor
Who does the unthinkable
While the nerdy rival tries to ruin his plan
One squid gun at a time

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Definitely not Earth

For the last two poems from the Poem a Day Challenge on WRITER'S DIGEST, I've started to write about out of the world places. And frankly, I have no clue why, other then the fact that writing about out of the world places are fun. *nods vigorously

Day 16 - A messed up kind of world

The sky is the ground
The ground is the sky
The blue is the grass
The green is the sky
The leaves are bark
The bark is leaves
Dirt is food
Food is dirt
Cats are called dogs
Dogs are called hamsters
Hamsters are called mice
And mice are called cats
Stars indicate daytime
The sun indicates midnight
While dark and light is considered night
Water is hair
Hair is champagne
Champagne is nectar
Nectar is honey
While honey is air
People have gills
Instead of arms
Talons for feet
And a brain made of gears
That are able to perceive what a messed up
 Normal kind of world
They live in 



Day 17 A world unlike ours

In a world unlike our own,
There are vampires with fangs
Sucking the blood of the most unsuspecting victims
Unicorns with horns
Acting all light, merry, and gay
While, brownies worked day and night
Making items so like our own
There are trolls under bridges
Waiting, waiting, and waiting
For what I do not know
While the fairies and imps
 Flitted around in the most obvious of places
There are elves with pointed ears
Causing trouble for everyone including their own
While the centaurs grazed peacefully
In a beautiful green field so different from our own
All the while satyrs chased the nymphs
Giggles and smiles being spread among them
As they wonder who’s going to be with whom
In a game of cat and mouse
While down by the water
Mermaids and Sirens sing to everyone
Killing anyone and everyone one by one
Giants romp around playfully
While the ogres look for food
With their stomachs constantly growling
It’s no wonder why they’re always searching
All the while, witches and wizards cast spells
Trying to keep people like us from seeing
The fantasy world of theirs





Source for the picture
Where to find more of my poetry/stories.









Sunday, April 15, 2012

The land of insane

Day 15 of Poetry month





Wear a mask
And bring your lucky button
For we’re going on a trip
To the land of the insane
Where you can slash
Your own name on a tree
And it’s automatically not yours
Strap down a horse
And call it a cow
Ride a balloon into the
Sky full of clouds and stars
Yell profanities without being heard
Write lovey-dovey stuff to a crowd full of ears
Eat the intangible
And hear the things that are neither seen nor unseen





Friday, April 13, 2012

Something tiring

The other day, I compiled my poems that I wrote for April poetry month and put it all on figment. The link for it is here, so go check it out if you want. 
Also I've decided that I won't post every poem that I write for the Poem a day challenge on WRITER'S DIGEST. Simply because, the posts are usually a bit long, and some poems in my opinion are kind of embarrassing to post in a way. Plus, it's a bit time consuming (not unless you're a really fast reader), and you guys have lives, places to go, business to do.
So without further ado, I'm going to post number twelve


12. Something tiring

The boring text of a textbook
The same rant from your teacher
The same gossip from your so-called friends
The same hatred between your enemies
The same competition between your rivals
The same white walls in your room
The same people you’ve lived with since childhood
The same feelings that flutter around violently whenever he’s there
The same smile that starts to light up your whole world
The same eyes
The same nose
The same mouth
But a different boy
A different day
And a different moment

The same things you do day after day
Surviving in a world where there’s always
Something tiring to do
Only there are not the same feelings
Not the same tears
Not the same smiles
Not the same screams
Not the same gasps
Not the same actions
Not the same thoughts
Not the same people
Not the same time
Not the same day

There’s not the same you,
Surviving each tiring day


 P.S. If you were wondering why some of the words looked funny, in the introduction part, it was because I was trying to make it look like the words on their main page.

Monday, April 9, 2012

La poésie

Day five of poetry month
5. The Civil War

A simple thought
A simple want
To become independent
By living on their own

A simple thought
A simple want
That made the North angry

The South was determined
To become a new country
By leaving and living on their own

The North was determined
To keep them
And stay united

But it all ended in a fight
Brother went against brother
Want against want
All ending in
Death

Hope was slowly slipping away from
The North
Happiness and hope was gained for
The South

It caused the South to become a bit
Arrogant
As they nearly won every battle
With their smart generals

While the North tried to find
A general that would actually
Make them win
Something
Big and exciting

But all the while the North
Relied on a man named Lincoln
To help maintain their hope

And when the North did win something big
In a town of Gettysburg
Lincoln came up with a speech called
The Gettysburg Address
This in short wasn’t three hours
But was around two minutes
This made everyone start believing

It was also around the time when Lincoln decided,
To free the slaves
If  the North won the war

This caused panic among
The South
For their great plantations
Depended on slavery

But not for the North
Who was full of gears,
Workers, and great big pieces of
Machinery

It caused both sides to fight harder
Till four years of fights and death
It all ended
With the North as the winner
And the South losing
As they became a united and independent country
With the North once again
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Day six of poetry month
6. A danky shed

Hidden
Cold
Wet
In a dark danky shed
In the middle of an
Abandoned city

Fear creeps in from
Every cobwebbed corner
Pain starts to ebb
Away from my broken
Body
Blood drip drops
Through the musty
Floorboards
Tears starts to dry from my
Numb face

Ghosts filter past
Unaware of my existence
Acting dead yet happy
The clock ticks down to my own
Death

And only one person
Knows
That I’ll be joining the
Abandoned city of ghosts
And that person is
Me







Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Two, three more poems, please?

Day two of poetry month
2. Visitor 

De thump de thump
The beating of my heart felt
Unfamiliar

Conk, thump, conk
My footsteps felt
Heavy

My hands were
Sweaty
My eyes
Unblinking

As I took a slow step
Forward
The door looking less and less
Like a
Safe haven
And more like
Hell

For a minute
I wondered if I should have
Turned around
Too late now
I think to myself
As I finally reach the door

Thump, thump, thump
My knocking sounded like
Thunder
During a stormy night

Silence then…
The click of a lock
Opening
Then the soft creak of an
Opening door

As my eyes started to
Close
And then I felt something
Falling
Into familiar
Arms
~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Day three of poetry month
3. I'm sorry/ I'm not sorry

I’m sorry for being so unapologetic
I’m sorry for being so uncaring
I’m sorry for abandoning you in your time of need
I’m sorry for having ever met you

I’m not sorry for having met you
I’m not sorry for you being the way you are
I’m not sorry for you having abandoned me
I’m not sorry for being your friend

I’m still sorry for having you in my life
I’m sorry for having you around my violent ways
I’m sorry for being your friend

I’m not sorry for still having you in my life
I’m not sorry for hanging around you
I’m still not sorry
So please stop apologizing

I’m sorry
I'm not
~.~.~.~.~
Day four of poetry month
4. 100% Dad

Vietnamese
American
Hard working
Tired
Happy
Frowny
Angry
Determined
Tall
Lazy
Human
My dad
100%




Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Poetry month

So I've decided to do the Poem a Day challenge from Writer's Digest. Where I try to write a poem every day in April using the prompts that are provided. As well as doing Script Frenzy  at the same time. Which might be a bit simpler than writing 50 K, in one month. 
However, I might not write a poem every day in April. Simply because of school, life, etc. So, I'm just going to do this for fun, it's not going to be that serious or anything. 


1. Communication 
A teenage girl trying to find if her crush likes her at all. 


Are you responding?
Or are you ignoring me?
It seems like
You never wanted to communicate
With me in the first place
Why are you sending me mixed signals?
Does that you like me
Or does it mean that,
You like her
Or was it supposed to never be
Interpreted that way at all

Are you responding?
Or are you ignoring me?
Does that mean you like me?
Or does it mean that you like her?
Or was it for no one at all?

Oh, please respond
Or just ignore me
It’s killing me
Not to know at all




Monday, April 2, 2012

Thanks

First of all, I want to say thank you to those of you, who follows me. It means a lot, especially when I don't post that much now days. Now I know that isn't much, but at the moment I feel kind of like a drunk Haymitch. However, I don't have an ounce of alcohol in my blood. But, I feel kind of sick, and my mind feels like its going everywhere at once. The only thing that seems to anchor my thoughts right now is music, and writing (which I should be doing.)
Anyways, here's a piece of a poem that I managed to write once I finished reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.
Here it is...
Mentally unstable 
Spinning out of control 

Run away
                        away             
away
But be me
                        me
                                    me


 P.S. Thanks again.