January 2011
17 posts
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Everybody uses their mind when they think. But a writer puts on an outfit...
– Haruki Murakami, What I talk About When I Talk Abut Running: A Memoir
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Inheriting Cookbooks
We’ve been cleaning out my grandparent’s house after they both passed away in 2009. I found Mastering the Art of French Cooking in their floor to ceiling bookshelves. The bookshelves are divided into cubbies and each section has two doors. I hadn’t looked into the shelves until today.
When I was little I thought the shelves were off limits. No one ever told me that I couldn’t look...
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Writing is Hard.
I’m done with college. I don’t have a job. I’m trying to finish my novel.
Looking at the screen day after day, feeling absolutely lost as to where this story is going, I get hopeless. And then I start moping. My sentence structure isn’t varied enough. The armature of my novel is shaky. I start getting paranoid about the strength of the novel as a whole.
I’m...
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I stop every day right at the point where I feel I can write more. … Once...
– Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, pg 5
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201 pages
I have officially, as of today, written 201 pages in my novel.
Nathaniel turned back to his biscuit dough, stirring and pouring the buttermilk in bit by bit. Behind him he could hear the icy rip of the knife through the half-thawed bird.
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Always Take the Train
I rode the train back home from Brooklyn this week. I will always prefer the train to the plane. I never have to leave the ground, I get to walk around, I can buy a Twix. I may not have arrived home on time but I saw the track-side sights: the backs of factory buildings and their jade-coloured glass, a stray black dog, intricate tags and graffiti, a hobo’s sagging orange tent pitched...
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