When was super depressed, I wasn’t working—I was always too depressed. Hemingway did his best work when he didn’t drink, then he drank himself to death and blew his head off with a shotgun. Someone asked John Cheever, “What’d you learn from Hemingway?” and he said “I learned not to blow my head off with a shotgun.” I remember going to the Michigan poetry festival, meeting Etheridge Knight there and Robert Creeley. Creeley was so drunk—he was reading and he only had one eye, of course, and had to hold his book like two inches from his face using his one good eye. But you look at somebody like George Saunders—I think he’s the best short story writer in English alive—that’s somebody who tries very hard to live a sane, alert life.
You’re present when you’re not drinking a fifth of Jack Daniel’s every day. It’s probably better for your writing career, you know? I think being tortured as a virtue is a kind of antiquated sense of what it is to be an artist.
In an interview with The Fix, Mary Karr debunks the toxic mythology that it is necessary to be damaged in order to be creative. My own vehement defiance to that mythology is what led me to choose Ray Bradbury – the ultimate epitome of creating from joy rather than suffering – as the subject of my contribution to The New York Times’ The Lives They Lived.
Pair with Karr on why writers write.
this is like when you’re sitting with someone that you really like then you like touch knees or something and all of a sudden you feel all this energy going through both of you through this one point of contact
this gif is kinda like that
This will forever be my favorite gif
oh god i can’t handle the colors chosen for this
Søren Kierkegaard (via irresolutewords)
Kierkegaard was the 19th century Rob Bell, the line right after this one is: “But I do not believe that; on the contrary, I believe that all will be saved, myself with them—something which arouses my deepest amazement.”
wait ahhh kierkegaard as the 19th century rob bell, i love that(via twenty-fouroceans)
You think your heart is a game of Jenga,
and after five or six heartbreaks,
five or six people taking a piece of you,
maybe a freckle from your left arm,
or your third rib,
or maybe they took your kidney,
but once they do,
you fall apart,
So you move onto the next game,
your heart is now a game of Cranium,
and after being broken,
someone has to win the game, get to the end,
to even have a glimpse of your heart.
Answering trivia questions,
sculpting themselves to fit what you want,
and acting out some sort of challenge,
but when they get there,
and they turn and walk away,
and put the game up,
you just sit on a shelf until the next person comes along.
You are not a game,
your heart is not a trophy,
it’s not the finish line,
and it’s not something that loses.
Your heart is fragile,
but strong at the broken pieces,
it is pumping blood through your body,
and keeping you alive,
your heart is strong.
Stop letting your heart be a game,
when it deserves so much more.
hi i love you amanda thanks
I read what a lot of you write to me… and I feel like there is a common theme of not getting what you need from the people in your life. I remember feeling this way too when I was younger… and even occasionally as an adult.
However, sometimes, unexpected people (teachers, extended relatives, yourself, friendly dogs, etc.) are offering you help that you might not be taking.
I want to make a video about this…so let me ask you night owls first:
Why is it so hard to ask for help?