by Joe Bunting |
As I was riding across the steppes of Outer Mongolia (it hurt to sit down for a year afterwards), beneath horizons that appeared to be of limitless blue, I thought this was a country that called for an elemental style.
I’ve always loved Cormac McCarthy and amongst his many talents is the nature of his prose. “Clean and hard as pebbles,” says the Independent on Sunday; “language as subtly beautiful as its desert setting,” the Sunday Times. His style has been likened to The Old Testament and described as, “formidable,” “overpowering,” “transcendent.” To me his writing is beautiful and direct, naked and almost pagan in its connection to the landscape and base human nature.
by Joe Bunting |
“…as immediately I stopped disciplining the muse,” said F. Scott Fitzgerald, “she trotted obediently around and became and erratic mistress if not a steady wife.”
Most writers either over discipline their muse or ignore her (or him).
The key to solving your discipline problem is to realize you don’t have a discipline problem. You have a relational problem.
You can either be a good lover or a failed one, a committed wooer or someone who makes lots of promises but doesn’t deliver.
by Joe Bunting |
There is an interesting trend in writing today. I’ve noticed it in the contests we host here, in the practices, in many of the books I read, and even, if I’m honest, in my own writing.
Our stories are all very serious and dark.
Our stories are all very serious and dark.
by Joe Bunting |
Being funny just seems to come naturally to some people.
We all know the class clowns, office jokers, and court jesters that make us laugh.
We know our favorite TV sitcoms and comedies that crack us up.
And we serious writers may be thinking to ourselves, “I could never be that funny. I could never be that clever.” And maybe we’re right.
But what if we could be funny in our own way? What would it take to find our own humor voices?
by Joe Bunting |
In our visually-focused age of memes and imgur, one thing you may not realize is that people can also be funny with words. In fact, we’ve done it for thousands of years, from the boring and hard to understand William Shakespeare—nice try, Bill—to the more manageable Dave Barry. People have wooed lovers, conquered nations, and embarrassed their children with effective humor.
But how do they do it?
