Avoid the crowd. Do your own thinking independently. Be the chess
player, not the chess piece.
—Ralph Charell (via edmunddantes)
(Source: valjean-rising, via and-she-was-mad)
I remember reading a review that Pauline Kael wrote about some director’s big epic, and she said: Now, look, it might seem unfair to judge a talented man more harshly when he tries to do something big than a less talented person who’s doing something easier. But when you try big things, you take big risks, and if you’re trying to do something that is maybe above you and you can’t quite pull off, then whereas before we only saw your gifts, now we see your failings.
—Quentin Tarantino Q&A w NYTIMES (via msg)
I was leaving Vancouver, in the taxi on the way to the airport when this book fell into my hands somehow. I read it quickly cover to cover in the time it takes to fly to Chicago from Vancouver, and to Burlington from Chicago with a two hour lay-over and a break for a double-bacon cheeseburger and an Amstel Light.
A working habit he has had from the beginning, Hemingway stands when he writes. He stands in a pair of his oversized loafers on the worn skin of a lesser kudu—the typewriter and the reading board chest-high opposite him.
When Hemingway starts on a project he always begins with a pencil, using the reading board to write on onionskin typewriter paper. He keeps a sheaf of the blank paper on a clipboard to the left of the typewriter, extracting the paper a sheet at a time from under a metal clip that reads “These Must Be Paid.” He places the paper slantwise on the reading board, leans against the board with his left arm, steadying the paper with his hand, and fills the paper with handwriting which through the years has become larger, more boyish, with a paucity of punctuation, very few capitals, and often the period marked with an X. The page completed, he clips it facedown on another clipboard that he places off to the right of the typewriter.
Hemingway shifts to the typewriter, lifting off the reading board, only when the writing is going fast and well, or when the writing is, for him at least, simple: dialogue, for instance.
He keeps track of his daily progress—“so as not to kid myself”—on a large chart made out of the side of a cardboard packing case and set up against the wall under the nose of a mounted gazelle head. The numbers on the chart showing the daily output of words differ from 450, 575, 462, 1250, back to 512, the higher figures on days Hemingway puts in extra work so he won’t feel guilty spending the following day fishing on the Gulf Stream.
—
George Plimpton, The Paris Review. Ernest Hemingway, The Art of Fiction No. 21.
In a 9,000 word interview from 1954, Plimpton and Hemingway discuss writing and craft, and gossip about their contemporaries.
(via futurejournalismproject)
The only people who see the whole picture are the ones who step out of the frame.
—Salman Rushdie (via alexcarantza)
(Source: kari-shma, via alexcarantza)
The word gomen (game) is found 18 times in Gawain. Its similarity to the word gome (man), which appears 21 times, has led some scholars to see men and games as centrally linked. Games at this time were seen as tests of worthiness, as when the Green Knight challenges the court’s right to its good name in a “Christmas game”. The “game” of exchanging gifts was common in Germanic cultures. If a man received a gift, he was obliged to provide the giver with a better gift or risk losing his honour, almost like an exchange of blows in a fight (or in a “beheading game”). The poem revolves around two games: an exchange of beheading and an exchange of winnings. These appear at first to be unconnected. However, a victory in the first game will lead to a victory in the second. Elements of both games appear in other stories; however, the linkage of outcomes is unique to Gawain.
