HOW TO BE A WRITER: 10 TIPS FROM REBECCA SOLNIT

because i love writing & tips & mostly, rebecca solnit

1) write. there is no substitute. write what you most passionately want to write, not blogs, posts, tweets or all the disposable bubblewrap in which modern life is cushioned. but start small: write a good sentence, then a good paragraph, and don’t be dreaming about writing the great american novel or what you’ll wear at the awards ceremony because that’s not what writing’s about or how you get there from here. the road is made entirely out of words. write a lot. maybe at the outset you’ll be like a toddler—the terrible twos are partly about being frustrated because you’re smarter than your motor skills or your mouth, you want to color the picture, ask for the toy, and you’re bumbling, incoherent and no one gets it, but it’s not only time that gets the kid onward to more sophistication and skill, it’s effort and practice. write bad stuff because the road to good writing is made out of words and not all of them are well-arranged words.
HOW TO BE A WRITER: 10 TIPS FROM REBECCA SOLNIT

blue elephants

when you’re a kid, you color with reckless abandon.

 // you color outside the lines.

// you color however you feel.

blue elephants,
purple trees,
red bears,
green oceans —

it’s all good.

as you get older, though, everyone tells you to stay inside the lines,

to color everything just like you see it.

you end up painting by numbers¹²³ —

whether you actually paint — or — whether you write — or — sing — or —
dance — or — act  — or — direct.

// i think you should create what you feel //

// create outside the lines //

i want to watch green oceans and red bears.
i’d love to listen to purple trees.
and i long to read blue elephants.

utopia

island where all becomes clear.

solid ground beneath your feet.
the only roads are those that offer access.
bushes bend beneath the weight of proofs.

the tree of valid supposition grows here
with branches disentangled since time immemorial.

the tree of understanding, dazzlingly straight and simple,
sprouts by the spring called now i get it.

the thicker the woods, the vaster the vista:
the valley of obviously.

if any doubts arise, the wind dispels them instantly.

echoes stir unsummoned
and eagerly explain all the secrets of the worlds. utopia

if you were wise enough to know
that this life would consist mostly
of letting go of things you wanted,
then why not get good
at the letting go,
rather than
the trying to have?

:: miranda july

you will eat

you will eat,
you will laugh at stupid things,
you will stay up all night just to see what it feels like,
you will fall painfully in love,
you will have babies of your own,
you will doubt and regret and yearn and keep a secret.
you will get old and decrepit,
and you will die,
exhausted from all that living.

that is when you get to die.

not now.