adoration.
I am just a girl trying to write herself into existence.
Farah Gabdon
Farah Gabdon
-
Writing requires discipline, but disciplined writers are not necessarily prolific. Most good work gets produced over time, sometimes many years, allowing the writer to grow with the material, to allow her world, her command over craft, and her psychological maturity to coalesce at just the right moment to produce something of value. This process often involves dreadful periods of not writing, or, worse, periods of writing very badly, embarrassingly badly. As time passes in a writing life, the writer learns not to fear these arid periods. The words come back eventually. That’s the real discipline: to train the mind and heart into believing that words come back.
…
Be willing to wait. In the meantime, write when you don’t feel like it. If you can’t write, read.Monica Wood, The Pocket Muse (masculine pronouns changed to feminine)
I needed to hear this today.
(via savetheteaboy)
And again today.
(via one-bite-at-a-time)
(See also: the Law of Undulations)
YES!
(via miguu)
via rosy-blur➜ -
➜
every time something i post
gets a lot of attention (likes/reblogs)
it frightens me a little. it’s as if,
all these people are taking a little
part of me and claiming it for themselves.
and i don’t know, maybe i’m afraid
once all the little parts of me have been taken,
there’ll be nothing left for me to hold on to.
because how do you collect the pieces of a body
once its been cremated and scattered?
-
➜
who thinks
about love
and writes
about love
but avoids
all the boys
she could
fall in love
with,
then
wonders
why
she is
always
alone.
-
➜
do not try and look into me,
do not attempt to read me too much
nor too long.do not ponder excessively over my words,
nor gaze too hard at my silhoutte.sometimes, i will say mezmerising things
wear beautiful clothes;
and dance,
an intoxicating smile on my face.and i am aware
how easy it is
to fall in love with me then,
how very easy.but darling,
do not fall for me too hard,
because soon
you will realise
how hollow
i truly am. -
➜
what if i told you that every ending
is only ever the start of a new beginning?
and every new beginning is an opportunity to see things
from a new perspective?what if i said that every perspective is relative?
and every relative an individual,
that every individual has a heart and every heart is afraid?what if i told you that fear is an illusion?
and every illusion is shattered in the light?
what if i said that the light we’re all looking for, isn’t as bright as we’d like?what if i said its hidden in the darkness?
what if what we’d like isn’t always what we need?
and what if what we need is to fall,
because every fall is only ever meant to teach us how to rise?and what if i told you the sun fell?
and even the moon?and what if i said look,
just look!look at the moon,
la luna never fails to rise,
however often she falls,arise,
this is your time now,
arise. -
➜
you must
stop
fixating
on people.fixate on objects.
books.
films.
never people.
people do not stay. -
So my mom and I have been working the same waitress job for 5-6 years now. She had been waitressing years before, but this is recently. Anyway, about… 15 minutes ago this guy she waited on left and told her to take care. Just that. Prior to this she had talked to him about Italy. Her people are from Florence, this and that, and she said she’s never been. She’s got 8 years of art education and she’s working a waitress job. It’s pretty… Sad and disappointing, I guess. Her and my father divorced 6 years ago and she hasn’t had a real job ever. Just been stuck in a small town she’s not from.
This man who we have never seen before tipped her 1000 dollars for a trip to Italy. Walked out, not another word.
…you know. Just when I start to lose faith in humanity….Hm.
because things like this make it all feel worthwhile.
(via substancesauce)
via casualcynic➜ -
➜did our mothers invent loneliness or did it make them our mothers? were we fathered by silence or just looking to explain away this gaping quiet? is it wasteful or wistful to pray for our brothers in a language they never learned? whose daughters are we if we grow old before our mothers, or for their sake? they called our grandfathers the january children, lined up by the colonizer and assigned birth years by height. there is no answer because we come from men who do not know when they were born, because they married women shown to them in photographs, because their children left the country and tried for romance and had daughters full of all the wrong language.
