oh, UGH. wtf is this shit about you being all 'OMG NERVOUS WRITER AH'? you're ridiculously good at this. AND I KNOW BECAUSE I FIND MYSELF ACTUALLY GIVING A SHIT ABOUT CHARACTERS I DO NOT OTHERWISE GIVE A SHIT ABOUT. (i hated that movie. i'm sorry, but i did. and i will never read the graphic novel because i've picked up about 1.3 books since finishing college (journalism major, btw, if you can believe it) -- awful, but true -- and just, no. GOD. /wig)
anyway.
YOU CAN WRITE. YOU CAN WRITE SO WELL. NOT A WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE CAN. WHICH MIGHT SOUND ASSHOLISH OF ME, BUT I AM AN ASSHOLE -- AND A "BRUTALLY HONEST" ONE, I'M TOLD -- SO THERE.
and on that note, my mom -- i know, i know, BUT GIVE IT A MINUTE -- has this saying about authors she reads & loves. some shit about their stuff reading like a hot knife through butter. (or fucking something.) THIS IS THAT.
[you should know this is going to be forever long, because i'm writing this as i'm only three paragraphs in. just to warn, sorry.]
Trees twinkled at him and storefront signs blinked MERRY CHRISTMAS obnoxiously out into the frozen, white world.
ok, srsly, i know i've said about the you being good at detail thing, but YOU'RE REALLY GOOD AT THE DETAIL THING. it's like xmas in 17 words or less.
He wonders how much of their lives are like that now. Reflexive. Weary. A reaction to remembered affection. He has wondered before if Laurie’s had any affairs since their return to Manhattan. He has also wondered if he cares.
um, yesthis. in fact, i'm going to save this somewhere & just drop it into a fight at random someday. like i do.
in other news, MAN -- and this is based on my assessment of the character from the movie, mind you -- you NAILED that adrian guy's voice. he was... umkay? in the movie, i mean.
i'm terribly impressed by the organization, the style, the shifts in POV, AND HEY DID I MENTION THE WRITING:
Hollis has always said—at least, with some degree of self-deprecating humor—that the world is too big a place for him to really try and think about. Let the philosophers and the theologians and the intellectuals have their existential crises; he wouldn’t pretend to be among their ranks.
-BECAUSE YEAH.
if there was any earthly way i could give you my powers to generate copious amounts of fanfic, i so would. because IT WOULD BE REALLY NICE TO QUIT FICCING & GO BACK TO JUST READING FIC (THAT'S ACTUALLY WORTH READING). and you write that kinda fic.
haha. you write so well it has the power to make me brave fandoms i would otherwise have nothing to do with. it's like the literary equivalent of getting me to listen to yanni without holding a gun to my head. WELL DONE, YOU.
The light hanging over the kitchen table casts a hazy whitish pool, just bright enough to halo the mess of papers strewn over the table’s sturdy surface.
ridiculously. good. at. this.
in fact, i quit. (only probably not, damnit.) BUT STILL. WRITE MORE & I CAN. it'd be a public service.
UGH. AND THE WHOLE PARAGRAPH WITH THE FRIDGE & THE SHIRTLESS YOUNG GUY & THE THINKY THOUGHT-HAVING OLDER GUY & JUST-
seriously? SERIOUSLY? write books, goddamnit. i'd buy them, and make everyone i know buy them, and it would make the world a better place & shit.
for real, though. i'm kinda, like, amazed. this reads like... well, the butter thing. AND IT'S SO UNLIKE THE SHIT I'M USED TO. you don't follow any sorta discernible pattern, like lazy writers (read: erm, me). you've got short, matter-of-fact sentences thrown in with the longer, super linguistically pleasing & thoughtful sentences. and it's all so VIVID. and i honestly vomit a little in my mouth when i use words like this -- even when i reallyreally mean them, like now -- but you really do have a beautiful way with words. AND THAT MIGHT MEAN MORE IF YOU KNEW HOW PROFOUNDLY ISSUE-RIDDEN I AM WHEN IT COMES TO SAYING SHIT LIKE THAT, BUT WHATEVER.
(p.s. i'm going to pretend this comment never happened. just so you know.)
no subject
anyway.
YOU CAN WRITE. YOU CAN WRITE SO WELL. NOT A WHOLE LOT OF PEOPLE CAN. WHICH MIGHT SOUND ASSHOLISH OF ME, BUT I AM AN ASSHOLE -- AND A "BRUTALLY HONEST" ONE, I'M TOLD -- SO THERE.
and on that note, my mom -- i know, i know, BUT GIVE IT A MINUTE -- has this saying about authors she reads & loves. some shit about their stuff reading like a hot knife through butter. (or fucking something.) THIS IS THAT.
[you should know this is going to be forever long, because i'm writing this as i'm only three paragraphs in. just to warn, sorry.]
Trees twinkled at him and storefront signs blinked MERRY CHRISTMAS obnoxiously out into the frozen, white world.
ok, srsly, i know i've said about the you being good at detail thing, but YOU'RE REALLY GOOD AT THE DETAIL THING. it's like xmas in 17 words or less.
He wonders how much of their lives are like that now. Reflexive. Weary. A reaction to remembered affection. He has wondered before if Laurie’s had any affairs since their return to Manhattan. He has also wondered if he cares.
um, yesthis. in fact, i'm going to save this somewhere & just drop it into a fight at random someday. like i do.
in other news, MAN -- and this is based on my assessment of the character from the movie, mind you -- you NAILED that adrian guy's voice. he was... umkay? in the movie, i mean.
i'm terribly impressed by the organization, the style, the shifts in POV, AND HEY DID I MENTION THE WRITING:
Hollis has always said—at least, with some degree of self-deprecating humor—that the world is too big a place for him to really try and think about. Let the philosophers and the theologians and the intellectuals have their existential crises; he wouldn’t pretend to be among their ranks.
-BECAUSE YEAH.
if there was any earthly way i could give you my powers to generate copious amounts of fanfic, i so would. because IT WOULD BE REALLY NICE TO QUIT FICCING & GO BACK TO JUST READING FIC (THAT'S ACTUALLY WORTH READING). and you write that kinda fic.
haha. you write so well it has the power to make me brave fandoms i would otherwise have nothing to do with. it's like the literary equivalent of getting me to listen to yanni without holding a gun to my head. WELL DONE, YOU.
The light hanging over the kitchen table casts a hazy whitish pool, just bright enough to halo the mess of papers strewn over the table’s sturdy surface.
ridiculously. good. at. this.
in fact, i quit. (only probably not, damnit.) BUT STILL. WRITE MORE & I CAN. it'd be a public service.
UGH. AND THE WHOLE PARAGRAPH WITH THE FRIDGE & THE SHIRTLESS YOUNG GUY & THE THINKY THOUGHT-HAVING OLDER GUY & JUST-
seriously? SERIOUSLY? write books, goddamnit. i'd buy them, and make everyone i know buy them, and it would make the world a better place & shit.
for real, though. i'm kinda, like, amazed. this reads like... well, the butter thing. AND IT'S SO UNLIKE THE SHIT I'M USED TO. you don't follow any sorta discernible pattern, like lazy writers (read: erm, me). you've got short, matter-of-fact sentences thrown in with the longer, super linguistically pleasing & thoughtful sentences. and it's all so VIVID. and i honestly vomit a little in my mouth when i use words like this -- even when i reallyreally mean them, like now -- but you really do have a beautiful way with words. AND THAT MIGHT MEAN MORE IF YOU KNEW HOW PROFOUNDLY ISSUE-RIDDEN I AM WHEN IT COMES TO SAYING SHIT LIKE THAT, BUT WHATEVER.
(p.s. i'm going to pretend this comment never happened. just so you know.)
TBC...