I've done that quite often, but I've got to be quite honest... as much as you would want to only do one at a time, sometimes projects overlap and there's nothing you can do. Sometimes you to have begin writing a new project just as you're finishing o...
Galloway: Lieutenant, this letter makes it look like your client had a motive to kill Santiago. Kaffee: Gotcha, and Santiago is, who? Galloway: The victim. Kaffee: Write that down.
Talia Concept: Write about how she has sex with her fiance 11 times a day, he's a talented conceptual artist, he covers basketballs with confetti! He's sensational!
Tequila: [to Alan] I hate in-house funerals. I write all the music each time. A cop dies, and I have to play a tune for him. I really don't want to do that for you.
Eric: I got a postcard from Wendy. Neil: I think she's mad at me because I owe her like 3 letters. Eric: Yeah, her last P.S. is "Tell Fuckface to write me."
William of Baskerville: We are very fortunate to have such snowy ground here. It is often the parchment on which the criminal unwittingly writes his autograph. Now, what do you read from these footprints here?
Jurek: [after Dorota meets Wladek] Come on Dorota, you can write him a fan letter later, this isn't the best time. Come on. Wladyslaw Szpilman: Jurek! Where have you been hiding her?
David Larrabee: I've been trying to write a poem to her but I... I can't seem to finish it. What rhymes with "glass"? Linus Larrabee: Glass... Glass... Uh... [snaps fingers] Linus Larrabee: "Alas."
Sabrina: [writing to her father] I have learned how to live, how to be IN the world and OF the world, and not just to stand aside and watch. And I will never, never again run away from life. Or from love, either.
Ruby McNutt: You didn't write to me for over a year. What was I supposed to think? Auggie Wren: Yeah well, I lost my pen. By the time I got a new one, I was clean outa paper.
Philosophy Professor: What you do makes a difference. We should never simply write ourselves off and see ourselves as the victim of various forces. It's always our decision who we are.
If money can't be made reporting and writing articles, then professionals simply can't do it anymore. Unless we adopt the position that the amateur blogosphere is really capable of taking on the role that the 'New York Times' and CNN play, then we do...
You have to live in order to have something to write about - you get caught up in moviemaking and celebrities and money, and it's very intoxicating, but it doesn't give you what you need as a writer. You have to do something else for that.
It's hard to make a living as a novelist. My first novel 'Tapping the Source' made quite a splash in Hollywood, and people started asking if I wanted to write scripts. I quickly realized I could make a lot more money that way.
I'd go to the farmers' market in Santa Barbara, and I'd put out my guitar case, and I'd test out these little ditty songs that I would write, and I would get a couple of avocados, a bag of pistachios, and, like, fifteen bucks. That was a lot of money...
I agree with Balzac and 19th-century writers, black and white, who say, 'I write for money.' Yes, I think everybody should be paid handsomely; I insist on it, and I pay people who work for me, or with me, handsomely.
All I wanted to do was write - at the time, poems, and prose, too. I guess my ambition was simply to make money however I could to keep myself going in some modest way, and I didn't need much, I was unmarried at the time, no children.
Eventually, I decided that if I was going to really write a novel, I couldn't do it in New York City while holding down a job. You need a constant money source to live in New York City unless you're independently wealthy, which I'm not.
A novelist writes a novel, and people read it. But reading is a solitary act. While it may elicit a varied and personal response, the communal nature of the audience is like having five hundred people read your novel and respond to it at the same tim...
When you're writing non-fiction, you go as far as you can go, and then ethically you have to stop. You can't go. You can't suppose. You can't imagine. And I think there's something in human nature that wants to finish the story.
I went to Afghanistan in '96 to write about terrorist training camps south of Jalalabad and Tora Bora, in the mountains. I was there right before the Taliban took over, literally a few weeks before they took Kabul. The frontline wasn't terribly activ...
