Sometimes I want to write something beautiful, something meant to inspire. And this burning hunger grows inside me, consumes me to the point that I can’t write anymore. And it all feels pointless. It seems as if I will never be able to write more than just words, more than a nice story.
After all, writers are also readers. And all the stories that left a mark on us appear to be much more than just words. More than simple stories, they’re the fuel that ignites what’s most human in us, the engine that has driven mankind towards greatness. Continue reading
Everything I write acts as a sort of personal metaphor; I try to add a bit of myself in each and everyone of my stories. It’s probably the easiest way to add realism to a fictional world. And furthermore, I’m the one person I know best in the world, so to speak.
But it wasn’t always like that. Continue reading
You’ve got five painters in the same room, painting the same object. If all five of them employ the same style (or manner) when painting that object, almost always at least four of them are doing something wrong.
At least two of them would much rather paint something else, and of those two at least one would use the same style and technique as before.
Also, at least one of them would like to paint the same object, but in a different style.
What I’m trying to say is that there are only two requirements when making art: one is to be passionate about your subject matter, and the other one is to do it exactly how you feel like it. Continue reading
In 1938 aspiring author Frances Turnbull sent a copy of one of her stories to Francisc Scott Fitzgerald. In the feedback he offers her there’s one great piece of advice: “You’ve got to sell your heart, your strongest reactions, not the little minor things that only touch you lightly, the little experiences that you might tell at dinner. This is especially true when you begin to write, when you have not yet developed the tricks of interesting people on paper, when you have none of the technique which it takes time to learn. When, in short, you have only your emotions to sell.”
You can read the rest of the letter here. It’s really worth the time, and it’s the kind of advice writers give only to closest friends. It’s not something you can tell anyone about, because most people will think you’re crazy.
Now, about selling your heart… Continue reading
A couple of weeks ago I almost gave up on this blog, on writing, on basically everything I was. Quite a strange moment. I was afraid that I might never become what I’ve always wanted to be.
Because, as any self-publisher can tell you, summer is tough. Book sales always go down. In my case, they almost stopped. Even though I released a new title, that just wasn’t enough.
Sometimes things happen, and we can’t explain them. This was one of those times. Continue reading
The moment you buy any of my books and read it, that’s when that book becomes yours. And only yours. And you can take from it anything you want. You can love it, you can hate it, you can love me or hate me, but at that point I no longer care.
I find that’s the only way to actually “survive” as an artist. At least, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head every time someone tells you they hate your work. And it’s the only way to actually get past that paralyzing fear of rejection, that stupid voice inside your head telling you, over and over again, that your book is not good enough yet, that you need to work on it a little bit more… and so you spend so much time editing the same fifty thousand words that they stop feeling yours anymore. Continue reading
Or artists in general?
I’m sure this is not your usual Friday type of post, and I could easily answer with another question: who isn’t? And then I could go back to writing and stuff.
Instead, I’m going to write an actual post. About crazy writers. And stuff.
So here goes nothing. Continue reading