1634 Reblog

1 month ago

"Hemingway knew the secret. I mean, he was a lush and a bad man in many ways, but he knew the secret. You get up and, first thing in the morning, you do your 500 words. Do it every day and you’ve got a book in eight or nine months."

Bill Gates’s favorite author, who has published more than 30 books, attests to the power of work ethic, echoing E. B. White’s contention that “a writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word on paper,” Chuck Close’s assertion that "inspiration is for amateurs – the rest of us just show up and get to work."  Tchaikovsky and Jack White would agree.

Or, as Isabel Allende aptly put it, "Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too."

Pair with the daily routines and creative habits of famous writers. 

(via explore-blog)
447527 Reblog

1 month ago

g-a-i-a-g-o-d-d-e-s-s:

You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
169912 Reblog

2 months ago

317163 Reblog

2 months ago

1921 Reblog

2 months ago

cosmic-storm:

~ Janet Mills
69473 Reblog

3 months ago

allonsy-with-a-blue-suit:

unexpectedadventurer:

The moments that melted our hearts. The stories that changed our souls.

It’s almost a rule for me to reblog every time. The hard part is finding the reblog button through my tears.

(via passion-with-life)

198605 Reblog

3 months ago

tertail:

it’s kinda cute how we all celebrate the earth finishing another lap around the sun

(via oregonfairy)

23 Reblog

3 months ago

"Love yourself first, it’s not selfish, it’s sane. Once you have filled yourself with your own love, it can radiate forth."
300586 Reblog

5 months ago

crystal-clefairy:


Stages of Deterioration in the Human Body
The Moment Of Death: 1. The heart stops. 2. The skin gets tight and ashen in color. 3. All the muscles relax. 4. The bladder and bowels empty.  5. The body temperature begins to drop 1 1/2 degrees Fahrenheit per hour. After 30 minutes: 6. The skin gets purple and waxy. 7. The lips, fingernails, and toenails fade to a pale color. 8. Blood pools at the bottom of the body. 9. The hands and feet turn blue. 10. The eyes sink into the skull. After 4 hours: 11. Rigor mortis has set in. 12. The purpling of the skin and the pooling of the blood continue. 13. Rigor continues to tighten muscles for another 24 hours or so. After 12 hours: 14. The body is in full rigor mortis. After 24 hours: 15. The body is now the temperature of the surrounding environment. 16. In males, the semen dies. 17. The head and neck are now a greenish-blue color. 18. The greenish-blue color spreads to the rest of the body. 19. There is a pervasive smell of rotting meat. After 3 days: 20. The gas in the body tissues forms large blisters on the skin. 21. The whole body begins to bloat and swell grotesquely. 22. Fluids leak from the mouth, nose, vagina, and rectum. After 3 weeks: 23. The skin, hair, and nails are so loose they can easily be pulled off the corpse. 24. The skin bursts open on many places on the body. 25. Decomposition will continue until the body is nothing but skelital remains, a process that can take a month or so in hot climates, and two months or more in cold climates.
This is actually pretty interesting.
Important for writers…helps avoid either walking in and knowing someone died moments ago “from the smell” (unless that smell is piss and shit), or finding someone dead for a week that “looks like they’re sleeping.”
Reblogging for reference.
591991 Reblog

5 months ago

mattg124:

angrynerdyblogger:

straight-up-juggahos:

kendralynora:

buginateacup:

jaydenw:

whitepajamas:

automatonic-absinthe:

isaia:

rosswoodpark:

time-for-maps:

this changes everything oh my god

do you understand why it trips me out that people can drive 45 minutes and be in aNOTHER COUNTRY?I drive for 45 minutes and im like
a city over 

I live in “Italy” and took a day trip to go to “Austria” and “Germany”

 #it is literally impossible to leave texas #you will be in texas #FOREVER

Chums, that’s sweet, and all, but Australia just ate Texas for breakfast. 


If you drive for 45 minutes in Australia you aren’t a city over, you’re just 45 minutes away from the city.

If you drive for 45 minutes in Australia you may not even leave the cattle station.


If you drive for 45 minutes in Canada you may not even leave your driveway.

If I drive 45 minutes in the us I’m just at another mcdonalds

If I drive for 45 minutes in Northern Ireland I’m 10 minutes into the sea.

I can’t drive. 
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