meatandsarcasmguy:

Lizzy and Chris are getting married today.

:)

Some friends and I were talking tonight about the things that scare us in movies or books. We were all struck by how often the things that are most terrifying about a story or an idea don’t rest in the actual content of a plot — the horrors lie in the ambiguity of the world, on the edges of the map.

We fear silences more than sounds, and we fear dissolving edges more than dead ends. Tonight after everyone else went home, I cleaned up and put things away and left more lights on than I usually do. I’m not a particularly easy-to-scare person, but I was struck by the quality of the silence in the room, and I got to wondering why it unnerved me so.

And as I crept through the house, turning off the lights behind me, knowing intellectually that nothing at all was wrong, I felt the press in my head of things unknown, the wondering of those half-imaged dark places on the edges of more well-contained moments in the daylight.

Now settled into my room and comfortable, it occurs to me that perhaps we are scared most by silences and holes we need to fill because it’s in those moments when we find small, but undeniable tests of faith. Perhaps in the end we are so often afraid of ambiguity because it must be fought not with physical courage, but with trust.

We seem to be scared most of our own minds. I suspect my lingering fear of silence is, in the end, mostly fear of what I will put into that silence, and what it will say back to me once it’s there.

inatoms:

There are two people you’ll meet in your life.  One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest.  The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired them most.  You will meet these two people; it is a given.  It is the third that you’ll never see coming.  That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book. 

(via meatandsarcasmguy)

baliset:

ain’t no party like a Gatsby party because a Gatsby party don’t stop until at least two people are dead and everyone is disillusioned with the jazz age as a whole

(via meatandsarcasmguy)

One of the real, genuine advantages of beginning your writing process as a child is that, years later, you have mostly worked out the really terrible writing at just about the same time you have grown into an acutely adult sense of overwhelming shame.