Tag Archives: Writers Resources

Capitalism Falls as ‘Free’ Climbs

Capitalism tombstone

Are WordPress writers, YouTube musicians & Instagram photographers the new generation of starving artists or the pioneers of a new economic system? As some of you already know, I’m completing some research on the whether blogging devalues the written word[1]. However, I’ve come across an interesting article[2] that suggests that they might instead be the first ‘chosen few’ onto the proverbial Arc as it were, while capitalism is swept away in the flood leaving the earth cleansed.

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The cost of the typed word

Bitcoins

So everyone, I’m starting a project about writers blogging and the potential for devaluation of intellectual property. I think that this must be an issue at the back of every blogger writers mind. We blog for exposure, for pleasure and to connect with people; this seems needless to say. Further, not everything we produce could be said to have a monetary value – this project for example which I am completing for my MA. However, where then, as writers, do we draw the line? That short story you’ve been working on? The novel you’ve just given the final proofread to? The screenplay you’re struggling to find an agent for? Should you post it online for free? Why? Why not?

I think that we all have our own ideas of where exposure – literary or otherwise – turns from the golden tan to sunstroke. In the coming weeks I’ll be delving deeper down the rabbit-hole and asking bloggers and writers how they tread the tightrope between what they should give away and what they expect payment for.

I’m more than happy to hear anyone’s views on this matter so feel free to comment on the post, send me an email: olearyac1@gmail.com or ask for a questionnaire if that helps.

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The Story as an Organism

Story organism

I know this may seem strange, but to me a story is like an organism. It’s alive in itself. I’ve been thinking a lot more about this concept in my work. I don’t feel like I am the person that controls the world, in a way. I’m the one that designs it. However, it’s not really my decision what the characters actually do in the world that I give them. I’m aware of the hypocrisy & ludicrous nature of such a statement. Though, it seems like the most honest way that I can describe the process for me as a writer.

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Sharing a Flaw with Da Vinci

da-vinci-profile

I don’t believe that it’s often people find resemblance between themselves and great men in terms of personality defects. However, in this case I find the comparison quite pertinent. It’s been said of Da Vinci that he often grew dispassionate about some projects once he had fully planned them. This is one reason given for that fact that he didn’t complete many of his projects. His interest was simply drawn to other areas. I must admit that recently – more than ever – I have been identifying with this ‘flaw’ (for lack of a better term to describe it).

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Creativity & Concrete

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I’ve been going through a stage of writer’s block for the last couple of weeks now. I’ve just had no real motivation to write anything. At first I was putting it down to the fact that I’ve started a new job and have been stressed about it. But that’s never really stopped me from writing before. The more I think about it, the more I think that location is at the heart of the problem.

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Reading as a writer

Enjoy the story

Why can’t I read a story for its purpose? Why does everything need to be dissected? This has been something that has been troubling me recently. I’ve been reading ‘How to Write a Novel’ books and reading quite extensively. I’ve been doing this to help me with my novel. These have their value in helping with structuring my own work. However, I’ve been wondering about whether or not I’m removing the joy of a creative work by reducing it to a formula to be studied.  

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Can you ever truly write a memory?

IMG_0219

I was at a family gathering last night back in Ireland. It happened at my late grandmother’s house; the place where I spent some of the best days of my childhood. The nostalgia crept up on me instantly as I walked up to the farm. It was the place where my cousins I and first allowed our imaginations to run wild. They were the days when I created my worlds physically to run amok within. In some ways I suppose it was where my love of the imagination grew from. I don’t think that I’d be a writer today if I hadn’t spent my childhood making stories among those fields. A broken down tractor that became a multi-functional vehicle. A collection of trees that became the set of a million different dramas. The bales of hay that became a wrestling ring. However, when I began to think about writing about what I saw; I couldn’t.

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The Ducks

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I take the pills in a withered hand. It shakes. Not from fear though. It hasn’t stopped since the day you passed. The flask-warmed tea tastes bitter as the pills dissolve within it. The two curdle together in my mouth. Not long now. Or so I hope.

A hole in the moth-eaten tweed draws my brittle fingers toward it. Purple snake-veins protrude from the wrinkled milky waste. I attempt to mask the hole from…from whom? Is there anybody left to even notice and, if they did, to care.

Your duck is still here. He looks unsure of whether to take the crumbs that I throw towards him. Perhaps they were sweeter coming from you. But then again everything was sweeter coming from you. The ground that I walk upon is now worth more than everything and everyone that walks upon it, because you rest within it.

All the ducks seem less eager for sustenance without your presence. For them, the very act of eating has lost all joy, point or purpose. They merely wade aimlessly. The sky above is a dirty blue and the sun stifles the inside of my collar.

The clouds come down upon me all at once. The colours fade to a pureness of white. I see your face. You smile as I reach out to wipe the joyous tear from your cheek.

 

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On Publishing

Publishing

I’ve been thinking more and more about publishing recently; which is strange since I currently have nothing anywhere near publication standards. Yet it seems to be something that needs to always be on your mind as a writer. The entire purpose of writing is to get your work out there and get people reading it. So it seems to stand to logic that how you go about getting your work out there needs to be of central importance. There is a wealth of articles suggesting the best or easiest or newest ways of getting your work published. The general consensus is to self-publish or publish as an e-book.  But where has the physical hardback book gone?

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Milton: The Writer as a Dairy Cow?

Cow

John Milton – after going blind in his later years – was heard to have walked around the house muttering ‘I want to be milked. I want to be milked.’ Though this seems like a symptom of dementia; it was in fact his way of describing his frustration to write when his squire was late to transcribe what he said. However, even with this qualification, the analogy does seem rather ludicrous at first glance. Can the act of writing really be described as the release a cow gains from being milked?

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