What’s on the other side of completism? Isn’t it a little sad to discover there’s nothing left to find? This may do nothing for my film-critic cred, but I’m glad there are, for instance, Alfred Hitchcock films out there I’ve never watched. I’ve seen most of them and there’s an excellent chance I’ll get around to catching the rest one of these days, but it makes me happy to know they’re out there waiting for me.
“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”—Ira Glass (via nefffy)
“My inhability to start in time is crippling. Any social event - people’s birthdays, drinks with friends, family dos, anything - gets swept aside and cancelled, because there’s this voice inside my head screaming, “I HAVEN’T STARTED WRITING!” I wake up, shower, have a coffee, watch telly, go to town, buy some food, putter about, buy a magazine, come home, e-mail, make phone calls, watch more telly, and it goes on and on and on until I go to bed again, and a whole day’s gone. It’s just vanished. Every single minute of day, every single sodding minute, is labelled with this depressing, lifeless, dull thought: I’m not writing. I make the time vanish. I don’t know why I do this. I even set myself little targets. At 10am, I think, I’ll start at noon. At noon, I think, I’ll make it 4pm. At 4 pm, I think, too late now, I’ll wait for tonight and work till late. And then I use TV programmes as crutches - ooh, must watch this, must watch that - and then it’s 10pm and I think, well, start at midnight, that’s a good time. A good time?! A nice round number! At midnight, I despair and reckon it’s too late, and stay up despairing. I’ll stay that way till 2 or 3am, and then go to bed in a tight knot of frustration. The next day, the same thing. Weeks can pass like that. I’m wondering if describing it to you might break the cycle. Probably not.”—Russell T. Davies, The Writer’s Tale
“I enjoy being indoors. I enjoy laying on couches, snacking, and reading (watching TV). Summer sucks because it is the only season when, if I want to do this in the middle of a gorgeous day, people (my children) look at me like I’m a disgusting person. Well, guess what? It’s 90 degrees out there, it’s 68 degrees in here, and this episode of The Bachelorette isn’t going to watch itself.”— Adam Scott, on why he hates summer (via sinisterlava)
1. Worry with a purpose, don’t just worry over little things. 2. Imagine the best case scenario. Things don’t always go bad. 3. Do what you can do today. Don’t procrastinate. 4. Give yourself a pep talk. A little encouragement is all you need. 5. Find something better to do than sit and wallow in…
“My cousin Helen, who is in her 90s now, was in the Warsaw ghetto during World War II. She and a bunch of the girls in the ghetto had to do sewing each day. And if you were found with a book, it was an automatic death penalty. She had gotten hold of a copy of ‘Gone With the Wind’, and she would take three or four hours out of her sleeping time each night to read. And then, during the hour or so when they were sewing the next day, she would tell them all the story. These girls were risking certain death for a story. And when she told me that story herself, it actually made what I do feel more important. Because giving people stories is not a luxury. It’s actually one of the things that you live and die for.”—Neil Gaiman