I love this image:
“I can work anywhere. I wrote in bedrooms and living rooms when I was growing up with my parents and my brother in a small house in Los Angeles. I worked on my typewriter in the living room, with the radio and my mother and dad and brother all talking at the same time. Later on, when I wanted to write Fahrenheit 451, I went up to UCLA and found a basement typing room where, if you inserted ten cents into the typewriter, you could buy thirty minutes of typing time.“
Pay typewriters. Who knew? Reminds me of the computer stations in the Sbarro in Port Authority. If I missed the early bus, I’d log on for a while. I don’t remember if I wrote anything decent, but the thing was just to write. Still is. Off we go, then.
“Ought not to daunt you. Never be daunted. Secret of my success. Never been daunted. Never been daunted in public.”
If that’s not a twitter bio for the Lost Generation, I don’t know what is.
“Every good writer or filmmaker has something eating at them, right? That they can’t quite get off their back. And so your job is to make your audience care about your obsessions.” – Bruce Springsteen
Not a bad way to think about it. Not the only way, but a very good one.
Flavorwire has a list of the 30 Harshest Author-on-Author Insults in History up today.
Two of the first three don’t feel like insults at all:
Wouldn’t you love to be called a “large shaggy dog just unchained scouring the beaches of the world and baying at the moon” by RLS? I for sure would.
Nietzsche’s aphorism about Dante is hysterical even if you think he’s wrong. It’s also brilliant. And now, aren’t you thinking about how awesome it would be to write poetry on tombs? I for sure am. With the transcendent, absurd, holy, trippy joy through which I assume hyenas experience the world? Yes, please!
Speaking of Nietzsche, have you experienced Nietzsche Family Circus? It takes a random Family Circus panel and pairs it with a random Nietzsche quote. When you get results like the one below, you start to question if the whole thing isn’t rigged:
And then you keep clicking, only to watch Billy whispering into Jeffy’s ear that eventually the abyss will stare back into him (this while they’re watching their mother, Thel, playing with baby PJ) or telling Thel that God is dead. Dolly’s “why” for living is a pair of giant sunglasses. Jeffy levels some pretty hard charges against the Keane regime, and then this, which cracks me up:
It turns out that Family Circus + Nietzsche = Calvin and Hobbes.