A steady drum of rain coming down. Last night I was up past midnight and needed to get up early because a new stove was delivered. The old one was lousy for baking so I'm happy to have this small area of life solved. But I'm sort of bleary-eyed this morning and already longing for a nap. I've been having this fantasy of creating a writing prompt from the jumble of crazy emails that end up in my spam file. This means writers would need to include luxury watches, diplomas, Viagra, or some form of penis enhancer, and speaking of enhancement, larger bosoms, software updates, vitamins, lottery winnings, in a single story......
Here's another fabulous quote:
“Are you born a writer? Were you put on earth to be a painter, a scientist, an apostle of peace? In the end the question can only be answered by action.
Do it or don’t do it.
It may help to think of it this way. If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don’t do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet.
You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human reach one millimeter farther alone its path back to God.
Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It’s a gift to the world and every being in it. Don’t cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you’ve got.”
Steven Pressfield, The War of Art, Winning the Inner Creative Battle
Showing posts with label The War of Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The War of Art. Show all posts
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