I have a spiel about this. I do not believe in writer’s block. I believe some days it’s harder than on other days, but that’s true of any job. Some days you’re really kicking ass at your work and other days you’re just delivering get-the-job-done level work. It’s still work, not sorcery. I think when people subscribe to the idea of writer’s block, they’re doing themselves a great disservice. Sure: if you need to grow further, then sometimes whatever you write comes out unsatisfying and isn’t a keeper. You’re in a place where you need to challenge yourself and dig deeper. Cool. You just keep working, reading/listening/seeking stuff that inspires or challenges or aggravates. But I am adamant that writer’s block is this weird concept that people dreamed up when they decided writing was some type of labor that’s magic instead of a discipline like any other discipline. On any given day, any writer, if the choice were down to “write something or you don’t eat today,” will write something by dinnertime. It may not be good, but that’s not “block.” It just means you’re not working at your best that day, which, like, that’s just being human.
Obviously I give this spiel but people’s experiences are real so if people say, no, there are days when I have time to write but actually cannot write a single phrase, then I gotta accept that. But it’s never been true for me and I look at things differently, I guess, because I consider creative work like any other kind of work: work you do using skills you learned. Skills don’t go dormant unless they’re not used. I have days when my writing doesn’t really sing like I want it to, but not days where I actually can’t write, so I never worry about being blocked.
Clearly a better way! #EndtheNet #PullthePlug #STOPnetneutrality #CorpPOWER
(Visionary image of the future courtesy of Zach Green @140elect)
Patton Oswalt is a Jedi master at troll baiting.
Who else misses Tumblr before it was this?
This is why we can’t be best friends, Tumblr
Akira Kurosawa, on watching Solaris with Andrei Tarkovsky:
"Tarkovsky was sitting in the corner of the screening room watching the film with me, but he got up as soon as the film was over, and looked at me with a shy smile. I said to him, “It’s very good. It’s a frightening movie.” He seemed embarrassed, but smiled happily.
Then the two of us went to a film union restaurant and toasted with vodka. Tarkovsky, who does not usually drink, got completely drunk and cut off the speakers at the restaurant, then began singing the theme of Seven Samurai at the top of his voice. I joined in, eager to keep up.
At that moment I was very happy to be on Earth.”
Pie chart of on-screen coffee sips for each Twin Peaks character, to go with our supercut of all the pie and coffee in Twin Peaks.
Reblogged for Jeremy, Connor, Will, oh hell, just about half the people I know.
Agent Cooper’s pure-bliss-face when sipping coffee could sell a cup of garbage water.
There’s a scene at the end of the SOPRANOS episode “Where’s Johnny,” where Tony is tearfully asking his (at this point fully senile) Uncle Junior if he ever really loved him. Junior, probably slightly less tuned out then he’s pretending, absentmindedly remarks on a nature documentary on TV:
Brazil’s Forgotten Son
One of the characteristics of the Brazilian national team’s reconstruction during the present World Cup cycle is the uneven distribution of quality. There is significant depth in defense (especially in the center) and in defensive midfield, but the pool becomes drastically more shallow as one goes further up the pitch. In attacking positions there is a generational gap as the veterans of yesteryear have given way to inexperienced younger players.
Many members of this lost generation who were supposed to mentor these youngsters on the international stage have either lost their way, or are not of the requisite standard for the national team. (The likes of Vagner Love, Nilmar, and Diego Souza come to mind, among others.) Then there are those have been suffered from not being in the spotlight. Most of these have never been under consideration before, but there is one man who is an exception.
He was once considered to be the future number 10 of the Selecão, but the wilderness of international football has been his abode for nearly four years now. Yet there is an argument to be made that he deserves another chance, not only because of the current dearth of creative talent, but also on merit. It’s time that Brazil remembered its forgotten son, Diego Ribas da Cunha.