by Birgitte Rasine |
No, not that kind of oil. Not cooking oil, although the man in this photo is using plenty of it. I refer to the Rembrandt-like quality of this photograph. I’ve been looking at this image for ten years. It is one of the most stunning naturally lit, completely undoctored, photographs I have seen in those ten years.
This photograph carries with it profound and poignant meaning beyond the simple act of making poori, beyond its composition, light, and saturated colors, beyond its timelessness. It carries the stories of a quarter million people who perished ten years ago in a violent natural cataclysm that devastated the shores of eleven countries. No doubt you know which event I’m referring to. Its tenth anniversary is coming up this December 26.
Today I’m sharing this image with you because I’d like you to write a story about it.
by Joe Bunting |
Last night, I came to the realization that I don’t want to do what I’m doing anymore. I don’t want to be a writer anymore. I don’t want to write books. I don’t want to write this blog. I want to quit.
by Guest Blogger |
Have you ever been so afraid to do something writing-wise that you felt physically ill?
Nausea strangles your throat and swirls through your gut. You feel shaky and unsure of yourself. Maybe you’re afraid to start writing that novel, to send out query letters once your manuscript is compete, or to meet that awesome editor at a conference.
When you stretch yourself creatively, fear…
by Carlos Cooper |
Three years ago, I was like many of you. Just starting out. Not a clue which way to go. I had an idea for a book and that was it, but I wanted to become a full-time writer.
Fast forward a couple years, and I’m doing this for a living (on top of being a stay-at-home dad). I make a living writing fiction, but everything didn’t converge until four months ago. So what did I do to get here?
by Joe Bunting |
Just last night, I arrived back home from the Middle East, where I was working for the last two weeks. I traveled over 7,400 miles over thirty-two hours, and honestly, I’m exhausted.
by Carlos Cooper |
As a writer, it’s easy to get sucked into the mundane world of dirty sweatpants, stale coffee and cold pizza. I mean, who really needs to see us while we’re writing, right?
While that may work for a time, pretty soon we become hermits, hoarding our words, shunning the light and developing a Smeagol-like complexion. Gross.
