#tories

I asked Ring Lardner the other day how he writes his short stories, and he said he wrote a few widely separated words or phrases on a piece of paper and then went back and filled in the spaces. ↗

— Harold Ross

#back #day #few #filled #his

My uncle who helped in a big part of raising me from when I was young, had moved from California, and would just tell me these legendary stories of these motorcycle clubs that he was around and that he used to ride with. ↗

— Theo Rossi

#big #california #clubs #had #helped

As Peret asserts, the value of such stories resides in the fact that they respond to direct social necessity but in a way that is not obvious in a society dominated by what is utilitarian and functional. Rather they represent a natural surplus of imaginative abundance that may confound or reinforce the way we perceive the world, but which never does so in a simple way. Even though they may have no direct social use, they nonetheless embody the actual state of real relations between people. ↗

— Michael Richardson

#peret #stories #surrealism #imagination

We learn best to listen to our own voices if we are listening at the same time to other women - whose stories, for all our differences, turn out, if we listen well, to be our stories also. ↗

— Barbara Deming

#best #differences #learn #listen #listening

Celebrate your victories! Be verbal about it. Haters will say you're bragging, but those who love you will celebrate with you. ↗

— Steve Maraboli

#haters #inspirational #love #victories #inspirational

On the Writing Process: "When in doubt, take it out., ↗

— Barbara DaCosta

#children-s-books #mystery #picture-books #short-stories #writing-advice

What stories can do, I guess, is make things present. I can look at things I never looked at. I can attach faces to grief and love and pity and God. I can be brave. I can make myself feel again. ↗

— Tim O'Brien

#stories #writing #love

Now, years later, he had been commissioned to fashion pictures with sugar water and dyes, a holiday mural. He had risen into something he could do, he had been recognized, and those years spent enduring his father's impatience seemed far away. He would do it for number 98,761,580, his love whose hand he held, cold as it was, who had lain beside him in the tunnels, in the filth. What had haunted him was the thought of her lovely body wasting away. It had torn at his eyes, his throat. It had taken away his faith. He painted a band of sugar on the walls of the hotel, the mural reflecting the city back to itself - the deep green park, the holiday windows, lovers under golden angels, flowers spilling out of markets in December, a resurrected skyscraper, a choir of variegated faces singing in front of a red door of a dark church, the homeless - not swept away, not forgotten - their realities on their faces, hands, hair. It was not a Rockwell. There were a few artists, subcontractors, who kept trying to abscond with the project, to make it what it wasn't for the sake of something they likened to a good make-believe before bed. -- 'A Potter's Field ↗

— Meg Sefton

#short-stories #faith

Masalahnya, kita tidak pernah dalam posisi mereka, kan? Tidak pernah dalam posisi orang-orang yang dicemburui. Percaya nggak, terkadang mending kita dalam posisi yang mencemburui dibanding sebaliknya. Kita aja yang nggak pernah tahu. Anyway, dengan nggak tahu, nggak mesti kita merasa kehidupan mereka lebih oke, kan? ↗

— Tere-Liye

#love

...writing stories was always a bit like falling in love with a stranger and running off to Marrakech for a long weekend. It didn't have to be successful to be thrilling. ↗

— Ann Patchett

#short-stories #writing #love