(Source: thespartanwarrior, via daveholmes)
“Art isn’t therapy. We’re not here to work out our personal problems, we’re here to take those problems and completely exploit them to hell with how much we hurt. Actually, the more you hurt, the better.” — Smash
to get anything done, a writer only needs two things: a voice, and a way to express it.
moleskine or MacBook, iPad or pen and paper, all the tools of the world are compatible with pages ready for that life-changing landing. they’re available to everyone, really — for anyone who wants to give it a try.
so really, the only thing necessary is a clear, distinct voice.
—-
I’m one of those girls who lose my voice easily, and often. after a night of screaming at a concert or a weekend of drinking too much, I’ll wake up the next morning sounding like a shadow of myself — raspy, sore, affected by the bad decisions made just hours ago. maybe it’s because I was having too much fun or because I was trying desperately to do so…either way, my pastime of having a good time always causes me to lose my voice.
I also often lose it after trying so desperately to be heard: after a day of back-to-back campus tours, after an argument with a loved one inevitably blows up. I’ll let anger and information reign in the heat of the moment, without considering the volume of my screams or the repercussions or my words. maybe it’s because I think I make so much sense at the time and that I need to be louder in order to be effective…either way, my addiction to acknowledgment also causes me to lose my voice.
maybe the two are one in the same, actually.
it takes a long time to find it again, to get it back. to figure out what I usually sound like and what I want others to hear when I do choose to use it. it’s hard to remember what I used to naturally sound like anymore. I lose it way too often and for way too long, and one day, I’m afraid I’ll lose it for good.
and soon — if all falls into place accordingly — i’ll find myself somewhere in which the noise never stops. from morning show tapings to subway trains, there’s rarely any room for peace, quiet or rehabilitation. and my biggest fear is that, while among all the voices of all the generations and all the hopeful dreamers who dropped everything to speak, I’ll not only try so damn hard to be heard, but I’ll go into it all without everything I’m supposed to say, and everything I’ve always wanted to say, in every way that I ever wanted to say it. I’ll be drowned out and swallowed whole because I never gave myself a fair shot at the damn thing. because I didn’t prepare, because I didn’t foresee, because I didn’t shut the eff up when I had the time and place and chance to hone the one thing I’m moving to pursue.
I’ve been so incredibly distracted, chasing handshakes and page views and nods of satisfaction, and escaping to safe havens of slot machines and cigarette smoke. this is not what I wanted to sound like. this is not what I wanted to be doing. something’s wrong and has to change, and I’m too damn lazy, busy and greedy to do it.
but mostly, I’m too afraid that once I do, I’ll come up empty anyway. that I won’t find the voice I’ve been constantly saving for later. and that I never really had it to begin with.
Newsweek: The 13 Most Useless College Majors (As Determined By Science) -
1. Fine Arts
3. Film, Video, and Photographic Arts
4. Commercial Art and Graphic Design
5. Architecture
6. Philosophy and Religious Studies
7. English Literature and Language
8. …
Getting your money’s worth from a major and doing something useful with it are two different things. If the person who put together this study paid more attention in any classes for majors #7 and #8, they would know what the words “useful” and “useless” really mean.
seriously, people really need to stop hating on liberal arts. sure, science saves lives, but art makes life worth living.
“I like kids, and I like being around kids - but it was never an ambition, something, like, I need…
I like working. That’s what I like doing. I like to work.”
— Zooey Deschanel, Marie Claire May 2012 (out April 17)
…because it’s never too late to get it right!
today, I began to accept that you actually were the best. not that you were the best for me — I’ve relearned time and time again that such isn’t true — but that you are the best that I will ever have the pleasure of having, of calling mine. as in, because you arrived earlier than others did, you had me before I was tainted with poisonous rules and expectations. you had the benefit of me not knowing better.
as for me? I had love. pure, life-changing love that defines me to this day. that I will search for forever. that I will compare every other one to. that no one may ever live up to, that no one will ever understand, that I will lament forever as the one that got away — at the exact moment that he was supposed to leave me forever.
farewell, my love. bon voyage to the one that was. though you left me long ago — and though you left yourself altogether — i am forever indebted to the one who discovered the person I was meant to be. honestly, breaking my heart was the best thing that ever happened to me.
“You’re not making art, you’re making a product. Sometimes you get lucky and you really do get a beautiful treasure. But once you become too precious with your creative medium, you lose sight of the commerce. And at the end of the day, I’m in the business of making successful — and profitable — projects.” — Wendy Finerman on producing films. but definitely applies to writing, or attempting to do anything remotely creative for a living.
don’t cry over spilled milk. or shaking heads. or broken hearts, or broken dreams.
save them tears for laughing too hard, seeing beauty and celebrating lives.
you know,
shit
that
matters.