Happy New Year!
Do you need a kick start? I sure do. Here's some thoughts from various writers for inspiration.
Which is your favorite?
Have you heard any of them before?
The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shockproof crap detector.
--Ernest Hemingway
If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.
--Stephen King
I believe more in the scissors than in the pencil.
--Truman Capote
Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.
--Scott Adams
The road to hell is paved with adverbs.
--Stephen King
If it takes a lot of words to say what you have in mind, give it more thought.
--Dennis Roth
I love being a writer. What I can't stand is the paperwork.
--Peter De Vries
I try to leave out the parts that people skip.
--Elmore Leonard
The beautiful part of writing is that you don't have to get it right the first time, unlike, say, a brain surgeon.
--Robert Cromier
Happy Writing in 2013! ; )
Showing posts with label Ernest Hemingway. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ernest Hemingway. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
A Sentence A Day
If you ever wondered how writers keep themselves inspired after the intensive work of NaNoWriMo, here's one way. Carol Krenz, a wonderful writer and all around great person, came up with a humdinger of an exercise for us at the Books and Writers Forum. After we wrote a lot of words for NaNo in November, she took inspiration from this quote form Ernest Hemingway:
"All you have to do is write one true sentence. The truest sentence you know."
And so the December inspiration--A Sentence A Day--was born. Many of the writers who frequent the Forum are posting a sentence a day for the last twenty-nine days of December.
Here are a few of the ones I've posted so far.
Dec. 3--Sharp pain flashed up my neck and wound around my jaw, curling behind my ear.
Dec. 4--I stared at Mack; even his boots were camouflaged and not just with mud.
Dec. 5--Blowing out my arteries would be the best option because snapping at Mack and Samantha—or heaven forbid—Alex would only add to my stress load.
Dec. 6--“Well, she’s pretty enough and has the Chandler coloring,” her silver hair didn’t shift as she turned back to me, “but you know she’s not a real Chandler, Laura Grace.”
Dec. 7--The sandwich shop’s AC chilled my sun-warmed skin; that was only fair for now it matched my heart.
Dec. 8--The embossed ivory invitation was from the one address I'd hoped never to see again, and the intitials on the flap--HCC--made my stomach clench.
Dec. 9--Over the years her eyes had faded to ice blue and now they looked on my child with chilling disapproval.
Dec. 10- Her perfume was the same--a mix of rose and gardenia--but with a subtle addition I could only identify as old lady skin.
Dec. 11- I had never faced her without Tom at my side, but now that my knight was gone, I was on my own, and I was Samantha's only shield.
And one to grow on while my mother has pacemaker surgery on Wednesday. Keep us in your prayers.
Dec. 12- Momma had faded; her skin a thin, old ivory marked by fine dark lines of veins detailed as a roadmap, and if only I'd known what care to insist on, Samantha could meet her Grandmother Grace to counteract meeting her Grandmother Hazel.
How are you keeping your writing going during this hectic holiday season?
"All you have to do is write one true sentence. The truest sentence you know."
And so the December inspiration--A Sentence A Day--was born. Many of the writers who frequent the Forum are posting a sentence a day for the last twenty-nine days of December.
Here are a few of the ones I've posted so far.
Dec. 3--Sharp pain flashed up my neck and wound around my jaw, curling behind my ear.
Dec. 4--I stared at Mack; even his boots were camouflaged and not just with mud.
Dec. 5--Blowing out my arteries would be the best option because snapping at Mack and Samantha—or heaven forbid—Alex would only add to my stress load.
Dec. 6--“Well, she’s pretty enough and has the Chandler coloring,” her silver hair didn’t shift as she turned back to me, “but you know she’s not a real Chandler, Laura Grace.”
Dec. 7--The sandwich shop’s AC chilled my sun-warmed skin; that was only fair for now it matched my heart.
Dec. 8--The embossed ivory invitation was from the one address I'd hoped never to see again, and the intitials on the flap--HCC--made my stomach clench.
Dec. 9--Over the years her eyes had faded to ice blue and now they looked on my child with chilling disapproval.
Dec. 10- Her perfume was the same--a mix of rose and gardenia--but with a subtle addition I could only identify as old lady skin.
Dec. 11- I had never faced her without Tom at my side, but now that my knight was gone, I was on my own, and I was Samantha's only shield.
And one to grow on while my mother has pacemaker surgery on Wednesday. Keep us in your prayers.
Dec. 12- Momma had faded; her skin a thin, old ivory marked by fine dark lines of veins detailed as a roadmap, and if only I'd known what care to insist on, Samantha could meet her Grandmother Grace to counteract meeting her Grandmother Hazel.
How are you keeping your writing going during this hectic holiday season?
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