“An artist is always alone – if he is an artist.” – Henry Miller
Writing is a lonely job, no doubt about it. And no matter how successful you might become, you’re still alone. It’s the inexorable truth of the writer’s condition: you sit at your desk, in an empty room or in the most crowded coffee shop, yet you’re alone. You just do your thing.
Of course, this poses a rather interesting question: if you spend that much time alone, how do you find stuff to write about?
Continue reading “TMM: A Lonely Job”
There’s a part of me that believes art to be a primordial aspect of the human condition. Art inspires, art is a way of achieving greatness, of building a better world. Art turns strangers into friends. Without art, without artists, we wouldn’t be ourselves anymore.
Because I feel that within the confines of any artistic form of expression, we allow ourselves to wear a mask. The artist hides behind words or paints or brushes. And he feels safe. He can be anyone he wants to be. His freedom is limitless. And he plays this bizarre game of hide and seek with the rest of the world, constantly changing the rules, until he decides – maybe on a mere subconscious level – to be himself, thinking that people will never find out.
Continue reading “I Am An Artist Because…”
There’s no doubt about it: the Internet loves cats. And weird videos with people failing at some insanely basic tasks.
But did you know quite a lot of famous authors also loved cats?
Continue reading “Famous Writers and Their Love of Cats”
Okay, so let’s be clear about this: reading is not necessary. It does not satisfy any need, it’s not as if there’s this primordial aspect of humanity that it defines and explores. It does make you smarter, more culture, more empathetic, but all of these are optional. You can be dumb and live and long and happy life.
That being said, in a world where people read, on average, a book per year, here are some incredibly dumb reasons to read…
Continue reading “Stupid Reasons to Read Books even if You Never Did Before”
Some people like to write late at night. When they’re all by themselves. When there’s nothing but silence. Utter silence. Heartbreakingly quiet.
Others like to write early in the morning.
Or mid afternoon. At a crowded cafe.
Or on a bus. Scribbling on a notepad.
This is not about the different habits, this is about the fact that habits are just that: stuff you get used to doing to such an extent that you cannot imagine it doing any other way.
Continue reading “TMM: It’s Not At All About Midnights”
“if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.”
― Charles Bukowski
Passion. Defined as a strong and barely controllable emotion. Fire. Defined as a destructive burning of something. Sounds pretty bad now, doesn’t it? But, if you think about it for a while, creation is a destructive process. Or is it the other way around?
But I do wonder, did you find your passion? Are you sure? Is it the thing that controls you? Make you want to jump out of the bed in the morning? The thing you can’t live without?
You did not?
Continue reading “Find Your Fire”