#18. Motivation. Writers on writing.

Stephen King: I am the literary equivalent of a Big Mac and fries.

Ernest Hemingway:  Write drunk, edit sober.

Hunter S. Thompson:  The only thing to be said this time about Fear & Loathing is that it was fun to write and that’s fair, for me at least because I’ve always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. 

Elmore Leonard:  I try to leave out the parts that people skip.

Isaac Asimov:  If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn’t brood.  I’d type a little faster.  

Moliere:  A writer is congenitally unable to tell the truth and that is why we call what he writes fiction. 

William Faulkner:  Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.

Robert Frost:  Poets need not go to Niagara to write about the force of falling water.

Flannery O’Connor:  Everywhere I go I’m asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them.

Robert Benchley:  It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up because by that time I was too famous.

George Orwell:  In certain kinds of writing, particularly in art criticism and literary criticism, it is normal to come across long passages which are almost completely lacking in meaning.

Steven Wright:  I’m writing an unauthorized autobiography. 

William S. Burroughs:  In my writing I am acting as a map maker, an explorer of psychic areas, a cosmonaut of inner space, and I see no point in exploring areas that have already been thoroughly surveyed.

Gustave Flaubert:  The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.

Click here to see some of the photos from our New York trip.

Finally saw Invictus on the plane back from New York. I liked it well enough. However I still don’t understand rugby and it was clear that Clint Eastwood didn’t care.

#14 in progress. Read Foer’s novel, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close. Great writer, but ultimately I was a little cold on the nine year old narrator.

Last late night meal. Virgin Pina Coladas and mashed potatoes at Rockefeller Plaza.

Grand Central. 

Shopping on 5th Ave.

Belvedere Castle overlooking Turtle Pond.

Zabars picnic in the park.

Walking in Central Park.

Times Square.

2am shopping at Forever 21 in Times Square. Brittany can’t contain herself. 

1am Cheesecake.

Eating Machines.

Washington Square Park.

Statue of Liberty.

Me at Battery Park.

#41 Done. So good.

Swept away at Battery Park.

At New York’s first public park, Bowling Green.

At the wrong end of the Bull.

Happy Birthday, Pa. I hope you have a day only a dangerous evolutionary such as yourself deserves.

City Lights.

#42 Done. Took the girls to see Blue Man Group in NYC. Always a good time.

Hot Dogs de la cart.

Rush Hour.

California girl, New York attitude.

Walking it out.

Enjoying the view.

On Top of the Rock in NYC.

Woke the neighbors up with that finish. Loving this Cup. Bryant Gumble had a good final thought on the latest Real Sports.

“Finally tonight, a few words about this year’s World Cup. I confess that I love everything about it, particularly, those aspects that many Americans are whining about. Where the game is concerned, I love that they have running time and don’t compromise the flow for the sake of TV commercials.

I love that the referees don’t stop the action to let replays warp their beautiful game and I love that their announcers, unlike Americans, don’t feel the need to characterize everything that’s surprising as also unbelievable.

As for the players, I love how they mimic NBA stars and go down dramatically, as if they have been shot whenever they are fouled. I love the single names: Ronaldo, Kaka, Drogba — all of which sound a lot more elegant than Manny, Pudge and Big Baby.

And, I love the national pride that is shown each game. It’s real and it’s genuine, the kind the Olympics tries to force on us every four years.

Off the field, I love how the crowds never stoop to something as silly as ‘the wave.’ I love the purity of their sidelines — no hangers on, no mascots and best of all, no cheerleaders. I even love the vuvuzelas. Yes, they are noisy, but they are preferable to the deafening din of the weekly Billy Bob 500, or the phony piped in efforts at U.S. arenas, where choreographed chants of ‘dee-fense’ pass for originality.

Lastly, I love that at the World Cup, there are sporting people representing cultures from all over the world and befitting grownups, not a one of them seems obsessed with what conference Texas plays in, whether Brett Favre ever comes back, or where LeBron James ultimately goes. At least we’ve one pocket of sanity, if only for two more weeks.”

Happy Birthday, Madre!

Enjoyed a sunset drive along the PCH.

He wasn’t always a dad.  

The Glamorous Fashion World

California Girl

Lakers viewing party. 

Saw Iron Man 2. A worthy sequel. 

Happy 70th birthday to my Aunt Ona. While my friends went to summer school or camp, I got to go to Aunt Ona’s where the motorcycles were always gassed and pyromania was encouraged.  Best summers of my life.

#15 in progress. Finally finished London: The Biography after starting it before our trip.  

Visited Sean at his soda pop and candy store today where my brother George and sister Rosie are now employed.  Brittany was like a kid in a…