Reading grabs your full attention and doesn’t let go until you close the book. You become so invested by the words on the page that the whole world around you fades away and ceases to exist.
Almost everyday after class I will come home with a turkey wrap or General Tso’s chicken and de-stress with some Netflix. I will then finish eating, go to some meetings, finish my necessary homework, and watch Netflix again before bed. How much of my life have I spent watching Netflix?
Ender’s Game: No one is coming to save us…it’s all on you.
Over 250 novels that were completed during NaNoWriMo have been published through a traditional route, including Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell.
This noble and hazardous calling, which we call criticism, is more art than science. It lives in the blood and consists of a primordial and sardonic instinct, an inspired tendentiousness, if you will.
As a longtime practitioner of the art of fiction writing and a committed reader of the works of others, I have been thinking a great deal about the impact of the proliferating film/TV industry on the future of reading.
There are plenty of writers who have had the option of going down the more traditional path, only to opt for self-publishing. The internet leveled the playing field for writers across the board.
They’re literary, they’re obscure and they’re so trivial that even the wonkiest of book wonks will be impressed
“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.” – Margaret Mitchell, Gone With The Wind
It’s supposed to evoke, to stir, to resonate inside us. And if it doesn’t, we’re not at fault: the writing is.