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| Death blooms | ||||
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IntroductionThings I wish to address here is the beauty of writing, it's potential and the potential within the writer. And by beauty and potential, I mean quality. Writing is my life. And I have noticed a certain close-mindedness of the world. People do not understand quality writing anymore, or at least that is the impression I have been given. Writing in itself is an art, or can be made into one, and I desire to do so by beautifying language to it's full potential. If God grant me one thing, it'd be to publish my novel and when it's completed, maybe then the world may see a little into what quality is and not just the greed for money and the impatience to have whatever they want right then. I'm not saying that I am an amazing writer. I am not saying that I'm going to be rich and famous because my creative writing is absolutely astounding. What I am is still learning. I would love to be the next Faulkner or Murakami; Tolkien or Atwood, but alas I am not and my writing has so much further to go. I can only ask for help in the way of constructive criticism and give my own, if my help be any help at all. However, I do care if someone understands what I'm writing because I think then we will have found someone who understands the meaning of quality. There's a little something more than just a story or poem of words mashed together. That's my philosophy at least. I daresay, I won't ever push my ideals upon someone else. But they're here to be taken or to be shunned. You don't have to listen to me. How you interpret quality may be totally different from what I believe quality is. And that's ok. Regarding ReviewsFor the General Reader:
UpdatesPROSE: in-progress: MAY 26, 2008
Ratings
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Quote"Before God we are all
equally wise - and equally foolish".
My NotebookPROSE: in-progress PROSE: complete Essays Poetry HomeExtraHost The Orange Sky Fall OutWilliam Faulkner"...There is only one
question: When will I be blown up? Because
of this, the young man or woman writing
today has forgotten the problems of the
human heart in conflict with itself which
alone can make good writing because only
that is worth writing about, worth the
agony and the sweat. He must learn them
again. He must teach himself that the
basest of all things is to be afraid: and,
teaching himself that, forget it forever,
leaving no room in his workshop for anything
but the old verities and truths of the heart,
the universal truths lacking which any story
is ephemeral and doomed--love and honor and
pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice." |
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