Dare to Compose

*Spelunking into the mind for those gems of thought*

I'm an aspiring writer finding himself dazed and confused amongst this horrifying "real world" and barely scraping by in the attempt to keep writing. I'm scatterbrained with a consistent amount of dream dust in my eyes, so it may take a while before I say anything that makes sense.

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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protagonist’s syndrome

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Likes.
by Lucas Felipe.

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Pokérounds.
by Arcanium.

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Reading List: 6 Stories for the Science-Fiction Newbie

Hilary Armstrong is a literature student at U.C. Santa Barbara and a Longreads...

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paulisaverage:

me and my friends.

(via oh-totoro)

incidentalcomics:

There are worlds…

Nothing true about God can be said from a position of defense.

Marilynn Robinson, Gilead

—Currently describes my religious discombobulation.

To write a single line of verse one must see many cities, people, things, one must know animals, one must feel birds flying and know the movements flowers make as they open up in the morning. One must be able to think back to roads in unfamiliar regions, unexpected encounters, and partings which one saw coming long before; one must be able to think back to those days in peaceful and secluded rooms, and to those mornings by the sea, to the sea anywhere, to seas, to nights of travel that swept along high above, flying with the stars; to nights of love and passion. And it’s still not enough. Having all sorts of memories is still not enough. For the memories are not what’s essential. It’s only when they become blood within us, become our nameless looks and signs that are no longer distinguishable from ourselves—not until then does it happen that, in a very rare moment, the first word of a verse rises in their midst and goes forth from among them.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Notebooks Of Malte Laurids Bridge (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via theagonistes)

Depressed, Numb Imagination

Anxious, aware, overwhelmed by my incompetence and unmet desires, I took a deep breath and imagined deathly hard, trying my best to summon concrete images from the gray wasteland of my depressed, numb imagination. In my most difficult mental reach: me, a different, sagely me, capable of producing positivity merely by aura. I am amazing, in this image, a shining beacon of unlimited potential. This thought doesn’t last long, however, as once I try to grasp it I fall back, faceflat, back into my gray wasteland, lost until I find a way to make my dreams reality.

#238

Writers end up writing about their obsessions. Things that haunt them; things they can’t forget; stories they carry in their bodies waiting to be released.

Natalie Goldberg (via annieodair)

(via lightningcollision)

Ramblings #148

Soo…. just registered for a few graduate-level English classes. Shit just got real. The future is knocking on my door and I’m wondering if it’s the pizza delivery guy or some rapist mugger. Uncertainty, doubt, excitement, anxiety are all blending in their own little twisted milkshake right now. I’m definitely going to be massively homesick. I want to plan a schedule in which I’m able to commute home every now and then, perhaps twice a month? Ha, I miss those weekender kind of days.

The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.

David Foster Wallace (via orage)

amandaonwriting:

A Writer’s Rule Book

From Hunter’s Writing

(via teachingliteracy)