All Quotes By Tag: Writing

“Bad writing is more than a matter of shit syntax and faulty observation; bad writing usually arises from a stubborn refusal to tell stories about what people actually do― to face the fact, let us say, that murderers sometimes help old ladies cross the street.”

“Collect books, even if you don’t plan on reading them right away. Nothing is more important than an unread library.”

“Don’t get it right – get it WRITTEN!”

“To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the music the words make.”

“Writing is something that you don’t know how to do. You sit down and it’s something that happens, or it may not happen. So, how can you teach anybody how to write? It’s beyond me, because you yourself don’t even know if you’re going to be able to. I’m always worried, well, you know, every time I go upstairs with my wine bottle. Sometimes I’ll sit at that typewriter for fifteen minutes, you know. I don’t go up there to write. The typewriter’s up there. If it doesn’t start moving, I say, well this could be the night that I hit the dust.”

“Good fiction creates its own reality.”

“You know, it’s a funny thing about writers. Most people don’t stop to think of books being written by people much like themselves. They think that writers are all dead long ago–they don’t expect to meet them in the street or out shopping. They know their stories but not their names, and certainly not their faces. And most writers like it that way.”

“Do you suffer when you write? I don’t at all. Suffer like a bastard when don’t write, or just before, and feel empty and fucked out afterwards. But never feel as good as while writing.”

“My most important piece of advice to all you would-be writers: When you write, try to leave out all the parts readers skip.”

“Research is formalized curiosity. It is poking and prying with a purpose.”

“The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.”

“I never exactly made a book. It’s rather like taking dictation. I was given things to say. ”

“It is the tale, not he who tells it.”

“Chapter 1.He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion…no, make that: he – he romanticized it all out of proportion. Yeah. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.’Uh, no let me start this over.’Chapter 1.He was too romantic about Manhattan, as he was about everything else. He thrived on the hustle bustle of the crowds and the traffic. To him, New York meant beautiful women and street-smart guys who seemed to know all the angles…’. Ah, corny, too corny for my taste. Can we … can we try and make it more profound?’Chapter 1.He adored New York City. For him, it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. The same lack of individual integrity that caused so many people to take the easy way out was rapidly turning the town of his dreams in…’No, that’s going to be too preachy. I mean, you know, let’s face it, I want to sell some books here.’Chapter 1.He adored New York City, although to him it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. How hard it was to exist in a society desensitized by drugs, loud music, television, crime, garbage…’Too angry, I don’t want to be angry.’Chapter 1.He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved. Behind his black-rimmed glasses was the coiled sexual power of a jungle cat.’I love this.’New York was his town, and it always would be.”

“That’s all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones.”