#write

Novels are written word by word. If you can write a word, and then another word, you can write a novel—assuming your novel will be two words long. Here’s a two-word romance novel: I do. It’s also a murder mystery.
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— Jarod Kintz

#humor #marriage #murder #murder-mystery #mystery

Coleridge was a drug addict. Poe was an alcoholic. Marlowe was killed by a man whom he was treacherously trying to stab. Pope took money to keep a woman's name out of a satire, then wrote a piece so that she could still be recognized, anyhow. Chatterton killed himself. Byron was accused of incest. Do you still want to a writer -and if so, why? ↗

— Bennett Cerf

#money

Just me, my music, and the voices in my head. ↗

— Christie Silvers

#fun #true #writers-on-writing #music

Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you... ↗

— Sarah McLachlan

#emotion #music #musicians #obsession #relationships

The music lets me see the story but the story doesn't let me write the words. ↗

— Elizabeth J. Kolodziej

#words #writers-block #writing #music

She's thinking that what she's been doing all these years isn't what she wants to do anymore. Sometimes music flows to her and from her, but sometimes it doesn't. Lately that happens more and more, and she can't seem to find what she had and what made her special. But she can't tell her father because he'd be so disappointed in her, so disappointed to find out she's not extraordinary after all. ↗

— Leila Cobo

#music #writer-s-block #music

But about the drip drip of long-haul, no-end-in-sight solitude, they know nothing. They don't know what it is to construct an entire weekend around a visit to the laundrette. Or to sit in a darkened flat on Halloween night, because you can't bear to expose your bleak evening to a crowd of jeering trick-or-treaters. Or to have the librarian smile pityingly and say, ‘Goodness, you're a quick reader!’ when you bring back seven books, read from cover to cover, a week after taking them out. They don't know what it is to be so chronically untouched that the accidental brush of a bus conductor's hand on your shoulder sends a jolt of longing straight to your groin. ↗

— Zoë Heller

#loneliness #writers #librarians

That’s the biggest purpose of religious gathering: permission to look terrible in public. We used to go to church to confess our worst behaviour, to be heard and forgiven, then to be redeemed and accepted back into our community Chuck Palahniuk in interview with TMO ↗

— Chuck Palahniuk

#religion #transgressive-literature #religion

When, however, one reads of a witch being ducked, of a woman possessed by devils, of a wise woman selling herbs, or even of a very remarkable man who had a mother, then I think we are on the track of a lost novelist, a suppressed poet, of some mute and inglorious Jane Austen, some Emily Bronte who dashed her brains out on the moor or mopped and mowed about the highways crazed with the torture that her gift had put her to. Indeed, I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#dignity #empowerment #feminism #gender #history

Lolita is famous, not I. I am an obscure, doubly obscure, novelist with an unpronounceable name. ↗

— Vladimir Nabokov

#fame #lolita #names #obscure #writers