Turning Grey Ash Into Silver Dust
This is an effect I’ve seen happen elsewhere – the Silver Screen granting some of its cinematic magic onto lesser writing, and bolstering it into something truly wonderful.
This is an effect I’ve seen happen elsewhere – the Silver Screen granting some of its cinematic magic onto lesser writing, and bolstering it into something truly wonderful.
All writing (as with all Art, all engineering, all software coding…) must first and foremost be beautiful. Second, it must be True. Third, it must be unique… and most importantly, it must do all of these things unconsciously.
Yeah, that’s it over there on the sidebar. -> As I Walk These Broken Roads is a post-apocalyptic science fiction novel about a soldier and a mechanic teaming up to try and survive in a degenerated world; a world that’s stopped moving forward, a world where the old tech is allowed to rust away over the years. It explores the ideas of brotherhood, social evolution, epistemology, and the nature of violence. This book was my first foray into fictional writing, started some six-or-seven years ago. It saw its genesis on the Tucker Max Message Board, where I had my ass...
Let me tell you about Writing. In the words of the Great Charles Bukowski, “Doctors, Lawyers, Plumbers – they make all the money in this world! Writers? Writers starve. Writers suicide. Writers… go mad.” No truer words have ever been spoken. One doesn’t become a writer – or a standup comedian – or an artist – or a musician – because of a bit of native talent, and an eye on opportunity. Only actors do that, and only because their parents make them. For the True Artist, it is a calling; at our hearts we are all misfits, incapable of...
Oh, he’s been here for a while, certainly; I meant here *officially*. Two big stories bouncing around the Interwebs; the first, as I’m sure you’ve heard, is the Occupation of Wallstreet. The streets are swarming in New York, police are beating down White Women (and the police state is finally noticed), there are allegedly similar events happening in other cities, and… …the Press isn’t reporting on it. Or so I hear at least; my television serves the roll of Ceremonial Fireplace, and I still haven’t bought one of those digital-whatzit-boxes which I apparently now need, so I’m going by word...
A recent Freelance project got me thinking on this topic. And since it’s the holiday season, let’s talk about something non-awful for a change. I’ve been a scion of Science Fiction since childhood, and during moments where I’m feeling particularly iniquitous I’m apt to say it’s the only genre left where there’s room to create Art; Clint Eastwood tapped the last of the Western stories waiting to be told, and I think Shakespeare pretty much covered everything else. But that’s just my own prejudice, and it’s not what I’m going to write about today. Instead I want to talk about...
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