For creative people with Mon-Fri day jobs, weekends are their only opportunity to unlock their mind and let inspiration in. In this weekend’s quest to find something exciting to drag my creativity away from the norms, I came across Garip Ay’s ebru art.
The Jarawa are one of the indigenous people of the Andaman Islands in India and their population is estimated in between 250 and 400. They are considered the purest genetic stock of the earliest humans known to have inhabited these islands, as they migrated from Africa over 60,000 years ago. This makes them one of our few remaining living links to the ancestors of the human race.
Bukowski is probably one the most abused poets on the internet. His verses are taken out of context and are quoted by people who can barely understand his capability to decompose the world. You should read Bukowski only after you have dropped your judgemental ignorance and embraced the beauty of raw talent.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez: “I realized I wanted to be a writer and that nobody could stop me and that the only thing left for me to do was to try to be the best writer in the world.”Books . English . Writing
I still remember the moment I finished reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. It was an easy summer afternoon and I was feeling blown away. I could not move. I could not do anything apart from looking at the wall mesmerized. It was the best thing I had ever read.
When he died, on 17th April 2014, I felt like I had lost my grand master. At least I was lucky enough to have been born while he was still alive.
This is an interview he gave to Peter H. Stone in the late 70s. From time to time, I like to read it to draw some inspiration. I’ve only included some of my favourite parts, but you can read it in whole on The Paris Review.
Before the interview begins, Stone sets the scene:
García Márquez was sitting at his desk at the far end of the studio. He came to greet me, walking briskly with a light step. He is a solidly built man, only about five feet eight or nine in height, who looks like a good middleweight fighter—broad-chested, but perhaps a bit thin in the legs. He was dressed casually in corduroy slacks with a light turtleneck sweater and black leather boots. His hair is dark and curly brown and he wears a full mustache.
How did you start writing?
One visit to London’s Imperial War Museum is far from enough. I spent there four hours today and I only managed to see a small fraction of its collections. Here are the five exhibits I found most interesting:
As of today, I’ve been living in the UK for 5 years. 60 months. 1,826 days. Did I make each one of them worth it? No. But I did make enough of them.
I don’t intend to write a full retrospection, like I did in my three year anniversary. I just want to write down a few thoughts, scattered and perhaps not that meaningful.
We have already seen it all in politics. Corrupt, naive, stupid, popular, populistic, incapable, and all the possible combinations of all of them, and still, besides all that, there has not been any political party or government to apply and design a strategy combining economic growth with a substantial and effective social state. Wonder why…
Visionary economist, organist and politician José Antonio Abreu started Venezuela’s “El Sistema” in 1975, with five children in a parking garage.
Almost four decades down the line, some half a million children, most of them from communities living below the poverty line, have grown up in the orchestras of El Sistema.
There is definitely a huge market out there profiting from aspiring authors: creative writing seminars, how-to-write-a-novel books, editing services, marketing tools, pitch writing services, self-publishing consultancies, review writing agencies, book fairs, writing conferences etc.
I have been attending the London Book Fair for the past three years, but other than that, I have not invested any money in anything else. I’ve been lucky enough to be traditionally published in Greece and disciplined enough to have self-published in English.
What made the difference for me in the last fifteen years was reading Stephen King’s “On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft”; and it only cost me $9 as I bought it for my Kindle app.
Today it’s been 3 years I’ve been living in the UK; an immigrant, just like my grandparents back in the 50s. The following story is an account of these years, but, at the same time, a confession of things that only few people know about me.
I decided to leave Greece when I started feeling sorry for myself. I was 26 years old, I had just completed my military service, I was living again with my parents and I had spent my whole summer working as a waiter at our family-run restaurant, which we had to close down a year later, unable to cope with the economic crisis and the consequences of all-inclusive tourism.