The spoken word and the written – there is an astonishing gulf between them. There is a way of turning sentences that completely reverses the original meaning.
Let us leave it to the reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure, and over every new novel to talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which the press now groans. Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body.
While l am writing, I’m far away; and when I come back, I’ve gone.[Mientras escribo estoy ausente y cuando vuelvo ya he partido.]
When writing a novel a writer should create living people; people not characters. A character is a caricature.
Tell, rather than write, because I have nothing to write with and writing is in any case forbidden. But if it’s a story, even in my head, I must be telling it to someone. You don’t tell a story only to yourself. There’s always someone else.
Even when there is no one.
So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.
Nothing turns out quite in the way you thought it would when you are sketching out notes for the first chapter, or walking about muttering to yourself and seeing a story unroll.
I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.[Very often misquoted as:]For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.
A short story is a different thing altogether – a short story is like a quick kiss in the dark from a stranger.