Random Jottings from the Back of a Movie Poster

A writer must write against the spirit of the times.
If the age is one of smug contentment, unexamined hypocrisy, and materialistic shallowness, the writer will be on the attack, exposing the lies. For this the writer will be condemned by those who believe all is well, and thus the writer will have the chance of gaining some notoriety.
If the age speaks of despair, treats women as objects to be raped, children as beings to be broken, and makes headlines of the worst and the ugliest in life, then the writer must be the antidote to the mass cynicism, writing of hope and beauty, telling tales of people who find healing in hidden corners of the wasteland. By taking such an approach, the writer will be considered a simpleton and a sentimental fool. In furious times, the writer will probably attract almost no attention except for the sound of others’ contemptuous laughter.
Matters of opinion, expressions of taste, sharp blows of criticism, these make for slices cleaved from the literary pie. Once the words are delivered and consumed, the pie still remains: it is whole, round, and flawless, though there is a fly who buzzes and lightly lands in the meringue.
This is our land, these are our fields-the whole unwritten page.
A man steps out of the elevator, you step in. The door shuts. In the box by yourself you press the button and begin the ascent. Now you smell the lingering sweat odor. No kind word for it. The man has radiated what you will write about. Human messages from the past and tinglings into the future. Tomorrow the door opens again. Fresh air is not a possibility.
In the writing life you’ve become an astronaut. You’re also your own Mission Control, giving personal reports, advice, and encouragement as you keep that behind of yours up there swinging in a sling in the sky. Then, at the appointed time, you send out desperate signals, and your words make re-entry, bringing yourself down along with them, sometimes in every sense of the phrase.
A mystery religion in the making: Since the invention of Coca-Cola, only seven men have known the formula. This is the kind of thing one stays awake at night wondering how to write about.
A pretend life (a fiction) has its own pleasures in that it entertains as it slows/accelerates the real world’s pace and takes us somewhere new. It is not Life itself, however, or even a true commentary on Life, seeing how it is what it has always been since the days people sat around campfires, and the orange flames glowed in the teller’s eyes and licked the listeners’ corneas (madness!), and everyone went to bed knowing what they’d heard was nothing but a wonderful magic show, now finished. In the morning, they did what their people have always done-got up, dug the potatoes, netted the fish. The storytellers? He and she were right there alongside the others, keeping their calluses hard.
The way to write a classic story or novel is to live a lot and write many frankly nonclassic stories and novels. Then one fine, nonclich‚d day the sun will also rise and-
Among elephants, it has been observed that the oldest ones lean on one another rather than sit down. They are afraid if they sit they will find themselves in the grip of Death, unable to rise again. This proves that elephants are like writers. When it comes to what is at stake, they never forget.
Writers should not worry about what other writers think of their work. Other writers are confident they know “how things are done,” which makes them eager to meddle. This is called the “workshop method.” It is just as dangerous as allowing an outside party to coach your kissing.
You can write whatever you want, and you need no one’s permission to do so. If you reject their criticism and flee their suggestions, some people may retaliate and not read your writing, but the odds were never great anyway (be honest!), so why not write your story your way now?