ML Hart's journal of observations, obsessions and inspirations
Out with the old notion of the unsociable aesthete, pale and too-thin in a lonely room, huddled next to a stack of books. In with the idea of the reader actively engaged, all senses on high alert, merging body, mind, and spirit, ready to transform to read to an action verb. Reading is now a …
Novelists have the luxury of leading us down the neural pathways of a character’s mind, allowing us to wander the by-ways, stopping at every scenic overlook on our way to Casterbridge, Casablanca, Mordor, Starkfield, the Land of Oz, the epoch of belief, the heart of darkness. We laugh, we cry; we suffer, sympathize and triumph …
Can we manipulate art, words and form into literature? How, exactly, do words become art? When does a story turn into literature? Why don’t we have a checklist of the qualifications and simply figure it out? This is literature, this is not, that might be. I’m not sure how I would begin to define, let alone …
Write what you know, they say. We always answer back: But what about this one, or that one who didn’t exactly know, if you know what I mean—I mean, what about In Cold Blood by Truman Capote? How about Philip K. Dick, whose classic novel was made into a film called Blade Runner? Peter Robb wrote …
In our hurry-up, gotta-have-it, don’t-waste-a-minute world where productivity is the holy grail and idleness is the biggest loser, procrastination and missing a deadline loom larger than original sin. All the excuses in the world cannot expiate the offender. It doesn’t matter how clever, intriguing, original, bizarre or even, in the end, true the excuse may …
Whispers From the Other Side of the World Under slightly more than half a moon, the curve of a bay and a silhouette of rooflines emerge though blue-black-blue darkness. Silence is thick. Only a few stars remain visible with moonset still an hour away. The cool of night’s transition into morning feels heavy on my …
I can get pretty wound up with everything I’m juggling and, every now and then, I need a remedial lesson in breaking through walls and trusting my instincts. A few years back, I got a week-long reminder: There’s an indulgence in letting oneself go, an indulgence we don’t often given in to. Can I creep …
