Macmillan, British Prime Minister from 1957-1963, once remarked that he felt he had to contend with two types of “anti-Britishness” among Americans, and especially among US officials…
Twenty-three years ago this morning, July 14, 1995 (yes, yes, that was indeed before some of you were born), in Paris I was standing along the Champs Elysées…
Seeing that post from her made me smile.
But there are always idiots out there, of course. Minutes after the defeat, I got a Twitter reminder.
My guess is I have a modest flow of new novel readers only because as I have kept writing books I have also made sure I have regularly posted on my blog here: the two go hand in hand.
Cricket and baseball may have evolved from the same source(s), but they are now distinctive games and are in fact national cultural emblems of sorts.
Am I just ridiculously sentimental? That’s probably why I’ve become a writer. I suppose we all are sentimental in some form or another.
I never outright count words, but based on my experience I would say a good start is just give yourself a recurring and rational goal you feel you can reach: “I’ll get a decent page done daily.”
What Americans celebrate today is not national perfection, but independence as a nation-state.
A “sea lion” fights always to get in the last word ON YOUR SITE; you can’t end an exchange, the “sea lion” must.
He thought reading reviews is usually unhelpful to a writer. Bad reviews are likely to discourage you without actually providing much help for future writing; on the other hand reading good ones might go to your head and bring on a sense of complacency.
Ironically in the 1780s and 1790s Americans here in England, or in France, or in Spain, or in the Netherlands, often mixed in such places for the first time with fellow Americans from other US states.
Here’s a suggestion of something to try if you are one of those and still claim you don’t know what you want to write about.
Another case in point: my friends and I watched Friends, first run, when it was brand new…
It had been built in the 1870s by a minor “gentry” family that lived in it until the 1920s. Learning that, suddenly I wasn’t thinking about the 1940s. About now, the writer in me also emerged.