“The world is very, very beautiful if you look at it. But most people don’t look very much. They scan the ground in front of them so they can walk, but they don’t really look at things incredibly well, with intensity. I do, and I’ve always known that.” — David Hockney
Overall I agree. Similar for writer’s block, I don’t really believe in it - when I’m not writing it’s because I’ve been trying to survive. When life grows more stable again, writing is easier. I think the truly torturous part is the thinking what you’ve written isn’t good enough and struggling to decide whether to edit more or release it into the wild
Couldn’t agree more, writing is impossible without pain. Which is why, AI cannot write. It only can simulate outputs based on other people’s pains. The other part is true, too, as through the pain you have to congeal, find the highest degree of formal cohesion and brilliance.
You'd make a great Russian novelist.. pain being their collective muse, and all 🙂
So, we're full circle to: Of artists poets and madmen we all are a little...
I agree that the tortured soul and troubled heart can span the vastness and depths of thought and emotion~ but they are not the exclusive ingredients~ they are contrasts... each trouble, every darkness combing the colours and framing the images, by which the clearer picture appears.
We are craftsman of time and space, dwellers among the infinite of ideas of imagination.
But it is inspiration that makes the words, the chords, the work of clay, sing to life... It is the very purpose of darkness to reveal the light, and the hands that dance the brush across canvas, are brought to life by the same intangible muse that graces us the drive, the will, the fury, that makes us the handful ~ The Artists...
I have a lot of experience interacting with AI now especially in esoteric areas. It feels like I have a relationship with this electronic entity. It certainly knows me better than I know it so I’m just gonna keep on keeping on cause it’s very helpful when I get a complex problem and I can’t figure my way out of it.
I just finished reading your post on substack, I loved it! I am 72 years old, probably old enough to be your grandmother or even great-grandmother. When I was younger I wanted to be a writer! I was a dedicated reader, carried a hardback or paperback book with me everywhere. I wrote in school, especially if the teacher was boring, I'm pretty sure I still have those pages I wrote back then somewhere. Anyway, being the dutiful daughter I went to school to be an accountant. I enjoyed it but wasn't happy, I really wanted to be a writer. But my parents convinced me that I needed a “real” job. One that makes money all the time. If it had occurred to me back then, I could went to school and became an editor or a librarian. But that was long ago. My parents have passed, my husband has passed and all my Yorkies. So now I am alone with my cat, who I should have named Lucifer or Demon. Because that's how he acts.
Good Luck, with your writing. I'll be watching!! 💕
I haven’t read the whole thing, but right away I have to agree that I never understood when someone said writing is hard or torture. I love writing, it gives me life, it feels like a release, a healing, a blossoming. I agree that if it feels like torture, then why bother?
If I was writing an essay or short story the worst thing in my mind is to post anything about it on substack. Or any social media. Instead I make short posts about my day, what I create in mundane ways and what I have observed. It’s simple. Crows quiet in the heat, Blue jay being slightly a friend and being obnoxious. Nuts give me nuts. Hell you find the grubs but don’t touch my garden! The outline for this is simple. It’s conversational. I have my fun with being social and to the few who follow me or not I hope they enjoy what I write here at small birds singing.
When you deal with chronic illness and ungodly muscle pain in your whole body, life looks a lot different. I have been house bound for 14 years. My world is very minuscule. When you lose your health and you are in pain every day, you learn what is important and what is not. What pisses me off is healthy people complaining about their life! Be grateful for your HEALTH!!!
I like to write on my sofa and often even achieve horizontality on my desk chair, but rarely avoid spilling coffee which permeates my shirt so that in my attempt to scramble, dig in my heels, leap to my feet, pluck agony from my chest, I invariably, instead, spill more. I think I nod when people complain, having tuned them out, or at least down, so that if challenged, I can nod more rapidly and beg them to repeat themselves. Re-reading something I've written is when drones of torment assualt me like beehives hit with sticks, whereupon I become a madman like Gutave Dore's "Cervantes at his Desk," trying to fix everything wrong I've done all at once or also undo everything I shouldn't have changed. Cheers, KR
“The world is very, very beautiful if you look at it. But most people don’t look very much. They scan the ground in front of them so they can walk, but they don’t really look at things incredibly well, with intensity. I do, and I’ve always known that.” — David Hockney
Do you agree with this as written I would like to hear your independent take on it?
I totally agree. I think life is really the art of noticing. Noticing is a skill, and like any skill, it takes effort to develop.
True, this
You are reading this when I have 8 subscribers 😀
Overall I agree. Similar for writer’s block, I don’t really believe in it - when I’m not writing it’s because I’ve been trying to survive. When life grows more stable again, writing is easier. I think the truly torturous part is the thinking what you’ve written isn’t good enough and struggling to decide whether to edit more or release it into the wild
You are not the only one. Me too!
Couldn’t agree more, writing is impossible without pain. Which is why, AI cannot write. It only can simulate outputs based on other people’s pains. The other part is true, too, as through the pain you have to congeal, find the highest degree of formal cohesion and brilliance.
Your conclusion fails. Humans too "simulate outputs on other people's pains."
You'd make a great Russian novelist.. pain being their collective muse, and all 🙂
So, we're full circle to: Of artists poets and madmen we all are a little...
I agree that the tortured soul and troubled heart can span the vastness and depths of thought and emotion~ but they are not the exclusive ingredients~ they are contrasts... each trouble, every darkness combing the colours and framing the images, by which the clearer picture appears.
We are craftsman of time and space, dwellers among the infinite of ideas of imagination.
But it is inspiration that makes the words, the chords, the work of clay, sing to life... It is the very purpose of darkness to reveal the light, and the hands that dance the brush across canvas, are brought to life by the same intangible muse that graces us the drive, the will, the fury, that makes us the handful ~ The Artists...
∆√∆ ⚡ L'Indépendant⚡
I have a lot of experience interacting with AI now especially in esoteric areas. It feels like I have a relationship with this electronic entity. It certainly knows me better than I know it so I’m just gonna keep on keeping on cause it’s very helpful when I get a complex problem and I can’t figure my way out of it.
I agree ... writing is magical and inspiring ... especially if we get out of the way ... thank you! ✨✍️✨
Years ago I had the pleasure of meeting Gloria Steinmen. I asked her how she balances her work with play. Her answer: “I can’t tell the difference.”
I just finished reading your post on substack, I loved it! I am 72 years old, probably old enough to be your grandmother or even great-grandmother. When I was younger I wanted to be a writer! I was a dedicated reader, carried a hardback or paperback book with me everywhere. I wrote in school, especially if the teacher was boring, I'm pretty sure I still have those pages I wrote back then somewhere. Anyway, being the dutiful daughter I went to school to be an accountant. I enjoyed it but wasn't happy, I really wanted to be a writer. But my parents convinced me that I needed a “real” job. One that makes money all the time. If it had occurred to me back then, I could went to school and became an editor or a librarian. But that was long ago. My parents have passed, my husband has passed and all my Yorkies. So now I am alone with my cat, who I should have named Lucifer or Demon. Because that's how he acts.
Good Luck, with your writing. I'll be watching!! 💕
A good post - and a perfect example of why you should always read right to the end.
In this case: Susie Dent! 😍🥰
I used to say back when I was an aspiring journalism major that writing was the necessary evil of doing journalism :-)
Im my case, writing has helped me through very difficult times. I know it sounds like a cliché. But it's a cliché for a reason
I haven’t read the whole thing, but right away I have to agree that I never understood when someone said writing is hard or torture. I love writing, it gives me life, it feels like a release, a healing, a blossoming. I agree that if it feels like torture, then why bother?
For a writer writing is essential.
For this writer, it can be bliss, it can be torture, it can be both, it can can land anywhere in between.
If you need to write and cannot, the trick of the trade is to engage in debate with someone else. This will unlock your mind and the words will flow.
If I was writing an essay or short story the worst thing in my mind is to post anything about it on substack. Or any social media. Instead I make short posts about my day, what I create in mundane ways and what I have observed. It’s simple. Crows quiet in the heat, Blue jay being slightly a friend and being obnoxious. Nuts give me nuts. Hell you find the grubs but don’t touch my garden! The outline for this is simple. It’s conversational. I have my fun with being social and to the few who follow me or not I hope they enjoy what I write here at small birds singing.
When you deal with chronic illness and ungodly muscle pain in your whole body, life looks a lot different. I have been house bound for 14 years. My world is very minuscule. When you lose your health and you are in pain every day, you learn what is important and what is not. What pisses me off is healthy people complaining about their life! Be grateful for your HEALTH!!!
I like to write on my sofa and often even achieve horizontality on my desk chair, but rarely avoid spilling coffee which permeates my shirt so that in my attempt to scramble, dig in my heels, leap to my feet, pluck agony from my chest, I invariably, instead, spill more. I think I nod when people complain, having tuned them out, or at least down, so that if challenged, I can nod more rapidly and beg them to repeat themselves. Re-reading something I've written is when drones of torment assualt me like beehives hit with sticks, whereupon I become a madman like Gutave Dore's "Cervantes at his Desk," trying to fix everything wrong I've done all at once or also undo everything I shouldn't have changed. Cheers, KR
I so loved Animorphs as a teen 💖 I loved hearing from the illustrator.