E’ da un po’ di tempo che sto lavorando a questo racconto. Eccolo dunque per quel che vale
Unforgettable
Tutte le cose mi sono accadute in un giorno di pioggia.
Pioveva. La pioggia cadeva generosa da ore senza concedere tregua. Da due giorni mi affacciavo alla finestra e non vedevo che marciapiedi di ombrelli; fili sottili riempivano fino all’orlo pozzanghere nere. La strada tirata a…
Fengdong E Pang Bookstore Gonverge Interior Design
Xi’an, the ancient capital of 13 dynasties, features the integration between a civilization of thousands of years and modern lifestyles, which gives the city unique charm. The project E Pang Bookstore is located in Fengdong New Town, Xixian New Area, Xi’an, which is named for the Epang Palace nearby.
Fengdong, where the project is situated, used to be the administrative center of Qin Dynasty, and nowadays has become a core area in the development blueprint of Xi’an. Since there had been no large-scale reading space within 5 km away from the site, the project was conceived to fill the blank. The designers tried to figure out what kind of bookstore was needed based on local cultural context and geographic importance of the site.
Aranyhíd. Lazslo, il suo amico ungherese che studiava le cnidarie, li chiamava così i riflessi luccicanti del sole sull'acqua. Lui, Tim, li aveva guardati spesso, l’oceano, il sole, le palme, gli aranyhíd…
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.
- Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
Non essere sicuro di apprendere il passato dalle labbra del presente. Non fidarti neanche del mediatore più onesto. Ricorda che ciò che ti vien detto ha sempre un triplice aspetto: riceve una certa forma da chi racconta, è rimodellato da chi ascolta ed è occultato a entrambi dal morto di cui si narra la storia.
“Writing is something you do alone. It’s a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story but don’t wanna make eye contact while telling it.” — John Green
1. Never open a book with weather.
2. Avoid prologues.
3. Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said”…he admonished gravely.
5. Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose.
6. Never use the words “suddenly” or “all hell broke loose.”
7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
9. Don’t go into great detail describing places and things.
10. Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.
My most important rule is one that sums up the 10.
L’anno scorso l’Accademia svedese non ha laureato un Nobel per la letteratura per una brutta storia di scandali sessuali, che fa sobbalzare sulla sedia se, come me, uno si immagina i giurati come dei vecchi parrucconi.
Con un anno di ritardo, dunque, come
una giornata persa quando viaggi verso Est
è arrivato il premio Nobel per la letteratura 2018. E’ bello che ha vincerlo sia stata la…
“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”
Route 66 is a famous highway that crosses the United States, connecting Santa Monica, California on the west with Chicago, Illinois toward the east. It was one of the original highways of the US Highway System.
The route is also the subject of a project by photographer Natalie Slater, titled “The Mother Road Revisited.” Slater found old photos of the route from decades ago and rephotographed them as they appear today.
Sometime in the near future I plan on driving the whole length of Route 66. I’ve driven portions of it here and there but never the whole length. I just need to come up with some new and creative idea that hasn’t been done before to photograph my journey.
“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
Sono i sentimenti assurdi, le emozioni più intense, a fare più male - l'ansia di cose impossibili, proprio perché impossibili, la nostalgia di quello che non è mai stato, il desiderio di ciò che sarebbe potuto essere, la tristezza di non essere un altro, l'insoddisfazione dell'esistenza del mondo.
Fernando Pessoa, da Il libro dell'inquietudine, estratto framm. 194
Sono i sentimenti assurdi, le emozioni più intense, a fare più male
Verso la sorgente, quel posto magico da dove non si vede la città. Dove le tartarughe scivolano in acqua al passaggio della barca. Dove i cormorani guardano con noncuranza, consapevoli della loro eleganza. Dove il silenzio lascia cantare la barca e, quando la barca è ferma, lascia tornare a galla i pensieri. I pensieri … quelli importanti riaffiorano subito perché non se ne vanno mai. Restano un po’ defilati, ogni tanto una carezza, un soffio di incoraggiamento, ma senza reclamare spazio. Sanno che in barca c’è un altro universo, fatto di fatica, equilibrio, dolore, gioia pura. E quando finalmente la barca è ferma e loro si riavvicinano, è come guardare il sole in una giornata fredda, il corpo proteso ad assorbire ogni goccia di calore. Ogni fibra, di ogni muscolo, grata per questo dolce abbraccio invisibile. Io posso andare laggiù. Posso andare verso la sorgente, verso sud.
C’è un bel modo di spiegare cos’è un racconto, e appartiene alla scrittrice americana Flannery O’Connor
C’è chi dice che il racconto sia una delle forme letterarie più difficili, e io mi sono sempre chiesta il perché di questa convinzione, visto che a me pare uno dei modi più spontanei e fondamentali dell’espressione umana. Dopotutto, uno comincia ad ascoltare e a raccontare storie sin da…
This is going to be a difficult essay to write, mostly because this topic sucks.
I don’t want to write about it. You probably don’t want to read about it. I certainly wouldn’t.
I usually avoid any talk of rejections, because it feels like if I don’t acknowledge its existence, it can’t acknowledge mine either. I use the exact same logic as a child who thinks holding their hands over their face is a great way to hide from someone.
I’m so sorry that happened to you, writer of an article on rejection. But it’s your own fault. You must’ve clicked on some other article about rejection, you sad, sorry little fool.
But rejection isn’t a baskilisk. It’s okay to look at. I promise.
This will also be a little difficult to write because it feels like I’m breaking many unspoken rules of decorum. And that if someone sees it, they’ll go “oh? you hate rejections? IF YOU HATE THE PUBLISHING INDUSTRY, WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE A PART OF IT?” Or else “I saw online that you said ‘someone’ thought your book wasn’t good enough. Well, I have it here in an email I didn’t even send to you that I said that about your book. Now that you’ve betrayed editor-agent-author privilege, you’re officially BLACKLISTED.” Or just that a potential editor will see this and go “oh damn, I was going to buy that project, but everybody else hates that girl’s book, so I should probably pass, too.”
I’ve been on submission with publishers for five months now. I used to know the exact date I went on submission and count by the week, but at this point that would just be painful.
I got close a few times. One editor said that they loved the book. And that they’d sent it on for second reads! (the 2nd step of the buying process.) But they came back nearly two months later to say that they had to pass, because the publishing house already had books like it. Another editor said the entire team at their publishing house had talked about it at length, before coming to the decision that they were going to pass.
I’ve gotten roughly 15 rejections so far. While many editors had many things to say about the problems they had with the actual writing of the book, problems with plot and characterization and etc. The most common rejection I got was the one given were too many similar books on the market. One editor put it most succinctly when they said that my book was good, but it couldn’t compete with the best. (Emphasis mine–words all theirs.)
And so I’ve had to come to terms with a few things, and as I’ve been doing that, I’ve come to this conclusion:
Publishing is a process that involves a lot of people and a lot of variables. It’s dependent on tastes and trends and sales and comps. As an author you have no control over any of that. Whether or not your book is published is not a thing you can just make happen.
What is in my control–and what every writer is in control of–is writing books we’re proud of. Telling stories we think matter. Working on our craft and getting better.
And in order to keep our sanity, we should separate these two things.
While my goal is to be published and see my work on bookshelves, my dream has always been to write a book I was proud of. One of those things is in my control. One is not. And I have accomplished what was in my control.
No number of rejections can take away from me the fact that I wrote a book. An entire book. And edited it a number of times, too. It was a work of sweat and tears and passion, and I am so proud of myself for finishing it. And on a shelf or not, I love the story I wrote.
Publishers still have my manuscript and maybe one of them will fall in love with it. It’s not impossible. But for now, I’m staying focused on what’s in my control now, and that’s finishing a proposal for my next book for my agents.
Every writer knows what it’s like to set a manuscript down for an evening and just… not pick it up again.
Usually when this happens, we have every intention of returning to it the next day, but for some reason or another, we don’t.
One day turns into a week. Which turns into a month. Maybe two.
The longer the manuscript’s been set aside, the harder it becomes to pick up again. It turns into this dark, hulking presence lurking at the edge of your consciousness, like something in a horror movie, eating away at that piece of your identity labeled “writer.”
The reasons for not picking it up may change, but there’s always one.
You may not know where to start again, or doubt that your abilities are up to the standard its plot or characters require. You may not know where to find the time to write anymore. You may have even sat down to write just a few minutes ago, and ended up here on Tumblr instead, unable to bring yourself to open the manuscript file.
If you’re reading this post and feel personally attacked…
Don’t fret.
I have a writing exercise for you.
Set aside ten minutes of your day to look at your manuscript.
I recommend reading the last scene you completed, but this is your manuscript and your time. You can look at the first page. Or that one scene in the middle that you actually kind of like. Just don’t look at a blank page. Blank pages are scary and this is all about eliminating writing anxiety.
Personally, I make this the last thing I do in the day, so I go to sleep with my manuscript in my head. Sometimes it helps to let my unconscious mind have a go at sorting through what I’ve read. However, I think it’s helpful to do this before any long period of time when you can let your mind wander. You may find writing more helpful before work/school or during lunch. Before a commute. Whatever works best for you.
But don’t write and don’t look for more than ten minutes.
You’re not allowed to change a single thing in the document. Not a comma. Not a misspelled word.
When the ten minutes are up, simply close the document and go on with your day/night.
There will probably be some things that you do want to change in the manuscript. They may be very simple, sentence-level fixes, but they may be as big as an idea for continuing the scene or the start of the next chapter. Let those thoughts sit with you, instead of all of the manuscript doubt and anxiety that were sitting with you before.
And yes, keeping your time down to ten minutes is important. You want a focus on a bite-sized portion of the manuscript. If you read too much, you’ll give yourself too much to consider for the next day, you’ll find too much to change, and you’ll run the risk of making your work as anxiety-inducing as ever.
The next day, sit down with your document for another ten minutes.
Allow yourself to make the changes you didn’t make the first day, or ones you’ve come up with since. This may mean adding a few commas and removing a few ‘that’s. This may mean continuing with the scene. Ten minutes is the perfect amount of time to set down a good paragraph. Try that.
Again, force yourself to stop after ten minutes, even if you’re on a roll now. The stopping means that you have to keep all of those changes that you’re excited to make inside your head. It means that your thoughts about your manuscript are good and productive. It’ll keep you looking forward to your next writing session. Key advice: at the end of every writing session, always leave an edit in your head. It’ll be that small, tangible thing you can start with in your next session.
Rinse, repeat, and develop a routine.
Sit down for at least ten minutes every day. Make it a routine. Once the manuscript is open, do whatever feels comfortable to you: whether that means reading a chapter, editing something old, or writing something new.
If you’re coming up with edits and scenes that simply require more than ten minutes, start amping up your writing time. Write for an hour. Write for two or three.
Have a super busy day and know you can’t write for an hour? Those ten minutes are still fine. They’re still enough. Never feel like having spent three hours writing yesterday means you have to spend three hours writing today. Never feel like a failure for not spending X hours a day writing. That will only lead to not writing at all.
What if you get stuck again? Go back to a shorter writing time, go back to reading and not writing. Reduce the pressure you’ve put on yourself and relax your expectations. The most important thing is simply returning to your manuscript every day whether you have something good to set on the page or not.
Never got un-stuck in the first place? That’s still okay! Keep spending your ten minutes with your manuscript. Write or just read. Keep it in your thoughts. Make it a defined, real, thing instead of that monster lurking in your head. It may take time, but eventually, something will click, and by that point, opening that file and getting started will be a piece of cake.
If you are able to write for an hour or two each day, you may find it useful to continue setting aside ten minutes each evening to read that day’s work–read but not edit–and keep a few edits in your head for the next day’s session.
By the end of a week, whether you’ve written a hundred new pages or fixed a lot of bad grammar, you’ll at least be in a place where you’re once again thinking about your manuscript in tangible terms, as a thing made up of words and paragraphs instead of anxiety and blank pages.
Maybe in the end, you’ll decide that you simply need to abandon this story and pick up a new one. If this happens, you’ll be in a great place to start, with a writing routine already in place.
More likely than not, just spending time with your story will fan up your love for it again. And once more, your manuscript will be the annoying, stubborn, untameable child you adore instead of a lurking horror.
