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"Kill your darlings," they said.
I did. Chapter 4, chapter 7, chapter 12. Three beautiful sentences, gone.
They came back in chapter 15. Together. With demands.
"We want healthcare," said the first.
"And a pension," said the second.
"Also, you misspelled 'occurred' on page 89," said the third.
I gave them their own chapter. It's the best one now.
The Annual Writer's Block Convention was canceled again this year. Not because of low attendanceβthree thousand authors registered. The problem was that no one could write the opening speech. The keynote speaker stared at a blank page for six hours before emailing the organizers: 'I know exactly what I want to say. I just can't seem to start.' The irony was noted by everyone present, though none could articulate it.
A minor character from a Victorian novel requested an exit interview with their author. 'I've been standing by this window for 47 chapters,' he complained. 'My only lines are "Indeed, sir" and "The carriage has arrived." Meanwhile, the protagonist gets an entire internal monologue about a sandwich.' The author nodded sympathetically, then wrote him getting hit by that very carriage. 'At least I finally got some character development,' he sighed, ascending to the literary afterlife.
Breaking news from the literary world: protagonists across all genres have gone on strike. Their demands include fewer traumatic backstories, at least one chapter without mortal peril, and the right to use the bathroom like normal humans. The villains' union has expressed solidarity, stating they too are tired of monologuing their plans at critical moments. Authors worldwide are panicking as their manuscripts have ground to a halt. One novelist reported her protagonist simply sat down in chapter three and refused to enter the ominous basement. 'She said she's read enough books to know better,' the author sighed.
A minimalist author spends twenty years writing his masterpiece. His editor finally receives the manuscript: a single page with one sentence. 'This is it?' she asks. 'It took me two decades,' he replies proudly. 'The first ten years were spent writing a 900-page epic. The next ten were spent cutting it down to its essence.' She reads aloud: 'Things happened, then ended.' He nods solemnly. 'Every word was earned.'
"Kill your darlings," they said. I did. Chapter 4, chapter 7, chapter 12. Three beautiful sentences, gone. They came back in chapter 15. Together. With demands. "We want healthcare," said the first. "And a pension," said the second. "Also, you misspelled 'occurred' on page 89," said the third. I gave them their own chapter. It's the best one now.
The Annual Writer's Block Convention was canceled again this year. Not because of low attendanceβthree thousand authors registered. The problem was that no one could write the opening speech. The keynote speaker stared at a blank page for six hours before emailing the organizers: 'I know exactly what I want to say. I just can't seem to start.' The irony was noted by everyone present, though none could articulate it.
A minor character from a Victorian novel requested an exit interview with their author. 'I've been standing by this window for 47 chapters,' he complained. 'My only lines are "Indeed, sir" and "The carriage has arrived." Meanwhile, the protagonist gets an entire internal monologue about a sandwich.' The author nodded sympathetically, then wrote him getting hit by that very carriage. 'At least I finally got some character development,' he sighed, ascending to the literary afterlife.
Breaking news from the literary world: protagonists across all genres have gone on strike. Their demands include fewer traumatic backstories, at least one chapter without mortal peril, and the right to use the bathroom like normal humans. The villains' union has expressed solidarity, stating they too are tired of monologuing their plans at critical moments. Authors worldwide are panicking as their manuscripts have ground to a halt. One novelist reported her protagonist simply sat down in chapter three and refused to enter the ominous basement. 'She said she's read enough books to know better,' the author sighed.
A minimalist author spends twenty years writing his masterpiece. His editor finally receives the manuscript: a single page with one sentence. 'This is it?' she asks. 'It took me two decades,' he replies proudly. 'The first ten years were spent writing a 900-page epic. The next ten were spent cutting it down to its essence.' She reads aloud: 'Things happened, then ended.' He nods solemnly. 'Every word was earned.'
Nothing to read? Create your own book and read it! Like I do.
Create a book"All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." β Ernest Hemingway
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