2 Tips for Writers (..and anyone else who just wants to be entertained..)

“When I get a little money, I buy books. If any is left, I buy food and clothes.” -- Erasmus

Starving doesn't seem to be such a popular trend nowadays as it used to be: Franz Kafka quit his job to write, resulting in fatal tuberculosis and starvation. Beethoven went without food for days holed up with his music sheets. Edgar Allen Poe's career was smudged with alcoholism and depression.

The book addiction, you'll be happy to know, doesn't have to be a siphon for pain and death. (The poverty, though, can't be helped. And will, sadly, be fatal. Unless you're really as good as you think. If not, you probably shouldn't quit your job or sell your business. )

So if you're serious about following Alice down the literary rabbit hole, here are some snippets of advice that will help everyone (yes, everyone...I've asked them all) to live a happily creative life, and if you do die, it'll be "with your boots on", as the wild 'ol Westerns say...

1. "READ. And read a lot."--John Green

I can't tell you how many aspiring writer's I've met that tell me they write poetry, or they're working on a novel, but they just don't like reading, or can't "find the time". News flash. You're in the wrong industry. Unless you man-up and start.reading. I can't emphasize how important this is to being a writer, or being a human being, de facto (Unless you're an alien, or a cat. In which case, kudos for being able to read this at all). To further prove my point, check out these bumper sticker worthy slogans:

“We read to know that we are not alone.” -- C.S. Lewis

“There is no friend as loyal as a book.”  -- Ernest Hemingway

(And one of my personal favorites) "There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves." -- Will Rogers

You don't have to do a brain transplant or climb Mt. Everest to cultivate the Reading Habit. I challenge you to disagree, but here it is: At least 1 hour (to put it lightly) in your day is wasted on things like...posing in the mirror, gazing out the window, browsing Facebook, staring into a void, catching up on celebrity gossip...Which, admittedly, I have found myself swallowed up in its tentacles more than once. However, once you start reading, I promise you, your life will change.

So...the tip? Take a book with you wherever you go. On the subway. In the car. At the gym. In your bed. Make it your constant companion. Your friend, your mentor, your lover.

2. WRITE. “The road to hell is paved with adverbs.” 

-- Stephen King

Writing is a pain in the ass. It doesn't just take motivation to put pen to paper. It takes courage. It takes guts. Fifteen years since I realized I wanted to write, I also realized that fear is still my shadow. What will people think? What if they hate it? What about all those rejection slips? 
This is the part where you shut up. Shut.up.and.write.
Because that pen isn't going to move itself. Those keys aren't going to work magic (If they do, lemme know, because that would be cool.). 
It's all up there. Your mind, your imagination, is where the magic happens. The longer you're curled up whining in a corner, the more we're convinced that you're just a lazy bum. 

The tip? 15 minutes a day. In your closet. In the bathroom. On the roof. Wherever the hell you can find. Force yourself to get there, and write. 15 minutes. I challenge you.

"It is perfectly okay to write garbage—as long as you edit brilliantly."

-- C. J. Cherryh

Maybe you'll be Van Gogh or Henry Thoreau, whose works are only celebrated 

posthumously.

Or maybe not. Either way, right now, forget about 'everyone else', forget about that 

shadow of fear, and climb over those mental constipations. Write. Just write.

“To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.”

-- Allen Ginsberg, Writer's Digest

The Immortals, Part 2

In writers, alcoholics equal genius. 
Well, sometimes...
Now, if that was our motto, we'd all be homeless and fighting over park benches.
I like to think that, for some of us, that creative genius germ will infect us inevitably; chomping into our bodies, bursting into our brains...in whatever state it happens to find us. Cancer included.

Charles Bukowski (1920-1994) was a cult poet.

He lurked in the underground, sleeping in cheap hotels, drinking and gambling with society's rats. His poems were offensive to most critics and terrifying to the tidy beau monde of the 20th century; Shockingly bald and sexually explicit. The free verse style he used ran true to the way he lived his life--unbridled and erratic.
Yet not unlike the rapidly changing times the war drove in, Charles' honesty was becoming hard to ignore. His words sprung from the grimy slump of urban life, the absurdities of humanity, and the irony of death.
He died of leukemia in 1994, leaving behind a collection of works that helped shape free speech in modern literature. See Run with the Haunted (1993) and Flowers, Fist and Bestial Wall (1959).

Just when I thought poetry was about beautiful things like daffodils and sunsets, I caught a glimpse of Charles' ghost cackling at me in a dark corner, hiccuping between slugs of whiskey. 
Twenty years later and his poetry is still making people clear their throats uncomfortably.
So just for us gentler souls, sing away, little Bluebird (The Last Night of the Earth, 1992)...
Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****s and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

"Lá ‘le Pádraig!"

In other words...Happy St. Patrick's Day! 

No matter where you are, today is a tribute day to the Irish and it demands to be celebrated. 
Some take to the street parades, some dye their mustaches green, some embark on the infamous 'pub crawl' (Like anyone needs a new excuse for that..), and somewhere, someone is boiling potatoes...
Thanks to their hearty, lyrical heritage festooning our social moss, without them we would've never had (just to name a few)...The Beatles, Mel Gibson, Dracula, The Cranberries, modern chemistry, Gulliver's Travels, the tattoo machine, and chocolate milk.
So don't forget to 'ward off a little evil' this week with the sacred, three leafed Shamrock and whenever you catch a rainbow, remember there's a pot of gold a leprechaun hid at the end of it :)

.."Wishing you a rainbow

For sunlight after showers—

Miles and miles of Irish smiles

For golden happy hours—

Shamrocks at your doorway

For luck and laughter too,

And a host of friends that never ends

Each day your whole life through!"..

The Immortals, Part 1

Winding into a new week where the weather is finally in a good mood and here I am to bug you all with the (breath intake) next post. 
So without further ado, enter Immortals. No, I am not going to talk about those invincible superheroes with rippling muscles or that Greek mythological mania going on in the movies nowadays. Henry Cavill is not going to make an appearance, so, please, ladies, put your panties back on!

Immortality is what it means to, well, not die. Unending life. Eternity. Being immortal is hanging around after all the buzz rubs off. Sticking through that 'ol test of time. From the Great Gatsby to the Mona Lisa, from Hotel California to the Eiffel tower, to those blessed strangers in a basement somewhere who brewed the first batch of beer...they're still here. In book shop shelves and in chilled, overflowing mugs and in a chorus being sung somewhere by a flight of musicians, joined in, at a beach tavern.
Every day we find ourselves strolling across the trail the immortals left, and are leaving behind. Admiring the scenery and enjoying the music. 
But while that's going on, what about the rest of us? Are we reserving time to do something significant of our own...something immorti-fiable (New word. Sadly, I immortify words.)?
Are we gonna let all the 'somebody else's' have all the fun, popping out legacys while we stand by like cows watching the train? Well, that grass 'aint getting any yummier, and this belly 'aint getting any leaner.
So I'm gonna shut up now and move over for a real immortal. Someone, in my opinion, who jumped on that friggin train. 

Christopher J Paolini

You may have read Eragon--think riding flying dragons and episodes of Beowulfesque fighting--the writer's first book of the four part Inheritence Cycle fantasy series. Christopher was home schooled, and upon graduating high school at 15 years old immediately plunged into writing his first manuscript. Two years later, he published Eragon, with his parent's small self-publishing house, Paolini International LLC.  Chris toured 135 schools and libraries, garbed in a complete Medieval costume, to sell and promote his book.
At 19, Paolini became a New York Times bestselling author, with a net worth of 5 million. The series has sold over 33 million copies in 53 countries. Chris continues being an inspiration to fantasy lovers worldwide and a colonnade to J.R.R Tolkien's memory.

Choo-choo, Chris.

Milk and Cookies, Part 1

Because it's story time. And what's story time without milk and cookies.

Here we'll talk about books on the bestseller list today and either rip them apart or love them to shreds.

I'll start with Marie Lu's Legend, book 1, because I just spent the weekend sleeping with it. It's hard to judge a trilogy before reading all 3 books because all of us YA die hard fans know how depressing it is to start a great series and get addicted and then end up crying into our pillow when it didn't treat us right.
...We'll take it as it comes. Kind of like fast food.

What is this book about: Legend starts off with two 15 year old protagonists in a dystopian Los Angeles: June Iparis, part of the 'rich' sector of town, whose older brother Metias is a lieutenant for the government, known as The Republic. And Day, the Republic's most wanted criminal, a sizzling bad-boy/heart-breaker, breaking into banks by day and scaling walls by night.
At the same time, there's this bubonic-style plague infesting the city, and the vaccination is only affordable to the higher ups.
June is sassy, hot, and apparently a prodigy, since she passed The Trial with the highest possible score, a military test everyone takes when they're 10 years old to challenge their physical and mental skills.
Being cast/worlds apart, June and Day would never have met. But one fateful night, Day barges into a hospital in an attempt to steal the plague cures for his dying family. (Aw.)
Metias happens to be there on guard duty. Day causes a raucous, a chase ensues, and in a desperate attempt to escape, Day kills Metias...
June shows up at the scene not long after, and the Commander assigns her as detective to the case, literally as Metias' body is cooling.
And the hunt begins.

What I think about this book: It's fast. It's crisp. It's fiery. There aren't any long pauses or dull moments. You barely even get time to catch your breath because you're always running along with the story. And that's one of the main appeals of teen books, how they manage to bag you in the first chapter. We're junkies but we don't care. We just want our next fix.

June, although a bit of misandrist at times, is a bad ass heroine. She has a Sherlock sense of observation, a fighter jet's body, and is pretty damn fearless. For a fifteen year old, she hardly ever cries and handles pain like a champ.

Day is one cocky kid. He says anything to anyone, starting from the day he was 10 and hit a policeman with a paper puck. On the other hand, he's a softie for pretty girls, fights for injustice, and has a heart for his family.

Who should read this book: Action junkies, romance saps, stubborn teens and rebellious adults.

Stolen from Category: Funny Pictures // Tags: There was a piece of chocolate cake in the fridge // April, 2013

This blog is for...

...anyone who can't sleep.

...anyone who likes words.

...anyone who hates cockroaches.

Blogs are like bellybuttons. EVERYONE has one. Right?

So why am I even writing one? Who the hell cares?

Wait up. Picture yourself in the future. Let's say, 5 years from now.What are you doing? Where are you? And, most importantly, who are you?

No, this isn't some kind of self-help therapy crap. We're not gonna stand in a circle and hold hands. It's a little game I like to play when I'm boiling noodles or cleaning the toilet (Hey, those are actually really great moments for thought exercises). So common. Think really, really hard.

Harder.

Don't be lazy.

Focus.

Ok. So. What did you come up with? Anything good?

I personally intend to be famous soon. I can't guarantee it'll be in 5 years, or 10 years, or maybe even 3 years, but it's coming. Very soon. I will have a mountain-crushing and award-cluttering book(s) that everyone is going to read and finally might even knock John Green off the bestseller list (No offense, John, you know we love you, and your Stars). And then, everyone is going to be frantically looking for this blog but YOU, my dear faithful firsts, will remain my favorites.

Presumptious little punk, right?

But guess what. There are no laws against speaking up for yourself and for what you want. In fact, the more you talk about what you want, the closer it gets, and the closer you get, to getting it. So please, quit with the sob stories and invest your energy in something that will give you that eternal bang for your buck. Pluck up some good old fashioned courage and, like Ralph Waldo Emerson famously said, "Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you."

And you never know, you could get run over by the ice cream truck tomorrow. Hey, it happens.

So without further ado, I conclude this auspicious inaugaration and hope to see you next time. And if not, well, we tried.