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Dom Czapski
Jun 13, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
Paul Bae (screenwriter) on failure  content media
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Dom Czapski
May 06, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
"The unhappy person is one who has his ideal, the content of his life, the fullness of his consciousness, the essence of his being, in some manner outside of himself. The unhappy man is always absent from himself, never present to himself. But one can be absent, obviously, either in the past or in the future. This adequately circumscribes the entire territory of the unhappy consciousness." "The unhappy one is absent. But one is absent when living in the past or living in the future. The form of expression is important, for it is evident, as philology also teaches us, that there is a tense that expresses present in the past, and a tense that expresses presence in the future; but the same science also teaches us that there is a pluperfect tense in which there is no present, as well as a future perfect tense with the same characteristics. These are the hoping and remembering individuals. Inasmuch as they are only hoping or only remembering, these are indeed in a sense unhappy individuals, if otherwise it is only the person who is present to himself that is happy. However, one cannot strictly call an individual unhappy who is present in hope or in memory. For what one must note here is that he is still present to himself in one of these. From which we also see that a single blow, be it ever so heavy, cannot make a person the unhappiest. For one blow can either deprive him of hope, still leaving him present in memory, or of memory, leaving him present in hope." - Kierkegaard (Found on Brain Pickings: https://www.brainpickings.org/2014/05/05/kierkegaard-on-presence-unhappiness/?mc_cid=ba67bb2263&mc_eid=1a9434ef39)
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Dom Czapski
Apr 28, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
Beautifully written piece in Irish Times by Kevin Powers about the delusions we create for ourselves about what it means to "be a writer" (or any other kind of artist, for that matter) "2010: I wrote most of a play about the Irish financial crisis. (It ended, or was supposed to end, with Brian Cowen and Enda Kenny dancing a waltz across the stage to the tune of The Offaly Rover. Oh, dear.) 2011: I tried to write a novel about the family of a disgraced banker. 2012: I cranked out 200 crazed pages about a south Dublin rugby schoolboy on a business junket to Serbia (where I had spent a weird week promoting my book a few years previously). 2013: I wrote most of a novel loosely based on the murder of Meredith Kercher (an attempt, hideously misguided, to recapture whatever magic had animated Bad Day). All of these projects consumed endless hours of my time and remained unfinished, unreadable, hopeless, dead. Now, of course, I can see what all of these unfinished projects had in common, which is that they were impersonal, written not out of an honest attempt to understand my own experiences and to communicate that understanding to others, but out of ambition, undiluted: the ambition to be a writer. I was unable to write about the things that had happened to me (growing up; falling in love; flailing around in college and after: all the stuff usually taken by young novelists as their material) because I never thought about the things that had happened to me. I was too busy trying to be a writer." https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/books/kevin-power-my-first-novel-was-a-hit-i-could-write-full-time-and-that-made-me-angry-1.4543526
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Dom Czapski
Mar 29, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
Good to see you all last night! Funnily enough after our chat I came across this article about a writer I had never heard of called Tillie Olsen (b. 1912) who wrote, among other things, an essay on the difficulty of writing as a mother of four children... Link below. 'In other words: How will you not be worn out? How will you not succumb? The moral and existential danger of tiredness is a widespread modern malady, but an unusual literary subject. The 20th-century novel is enchanted by ennui and seduced by alienation, perpetually fascinated by the stultifying, dehumanizing effects of modern life. But exhaustion of the kind that these women contend with — the everyday burden of their unending busyness — is rarely represented in fiction. The reason is suggested on the first page of “I Stand Here Ironing”: “And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to estimate, to total?”' https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/25/books/review/Tillie-Olsen-tell-me-a-riddle.html?referringSource=articleShare
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Dom Czapski
Feb 01, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
Hi everyone, Improbable are doing another online Devoted and Disgruntled event this weekend, entitled "What the f**k are we going to do about theatre and the performing arts now?" It is all online, pay what you can and throughout the whole weekend (turn up whenever you like but best be there for the start at least)... For anyone who hasn't heard of D&D or Open Space events, it's basically an opportunity to get together with a whole bunch of theatre practioners and speak out/share/listen/scream/cry/laugh, it's whatever you want it to be. If you work/want to work/have worked/wish you worked/will work someday in theatre, it's probably your kind of event. More deets here (but book fast - only 50 places left I think): https://www.devotedanddisgruntled.com/Event/devoted-disgruntled-2021 xxD
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Dom Czapski
Jan 09, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
This is one of those texts I keep going back to when creative juices are low and when I get sick of my day job. It's a beautiful preface George Saunders wrote for his first short story collection, CivilWarLand in Bad Decline (for anyone here who hasn't read Saunders yet - I don't think I'm being controversial by saying it's brilliant), about his experience raising a family before he was even published, juggling writing in his spare time and a dreary daytime corporate job... --- “Capitalism plunders the sensuality of the body,” wrote Terry Eagleton, and that was certainly true of my body at that time. It was being plundered of its sensuality every day. I had an engineering degree but was working as a tech writer. I had earned a reputation as the go-to guy where document covers were concerned. I was good at taping figures into place on frame sheets. I spent a lot of time at the photocopier, producing copies of the reports I had just edited, so we could send them to Kodak or the New York Department of Environmental Conservation, who, we suspected, often filed them without having read them. I was gaining weight, losing energy, had grown a consolation ponytail, would go home sore in my ankles and knees from walking what felt like miles on the thin carpeting that ran over our concrete floors. There was a lot going on at home during those years, too. My wife, Paula, and I had gotten engaged after dating for three weeks. She became pregnant on the honeymoon, then went into labor at four months. She was put on total bed rest and required to take a drug (since outlawed by the FDA) to suppress her contractions. This happened again during her second pregnancy. So, while I was writing this book, we had two baby daughters at home, each made doubly precious by how close we’d come to losing her. We didn’t have any money and were into our thirties and were (maybe, just a little) wondering how it was that we’d missed the boat in terms of this thing called upward mobility. At one point our second car broke and we couldn’t afford to replace it, so I started riding my bike the seven miles to and from work, along the Erie Canal. As winter approached, Paula put together an ad hoc winterproofing ensemble for me: a set of lab goggles, a rain poncho, some high rubber boots that, as I remember, had little spacemen on them. Biking along the canal I’d be composing in my head, and might arrive at work with a sentence or two all worked out. Then I’d dash through the atrium, into the men’s room, and try to get myself cleaned up, while not forgetting those sentences. Ah, those were the days. But seriously: those were the days. Biking back into town after dark, past the cozy colonial houses orange with firelight, I’d think: I have a home. I have people waiting for me, who love me. This is it. This is my life. These are the best years of my life. Full text here: https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2013/01/07/civilwarland-in-bad-decline-preface/
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Dom Czapski
Jan 09, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
Just started Atomic Habits, pretty compelling so far.
"Time magnifies the margin between success and failure" content media
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Dom Czapski
Jan 05, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
"The daily routine of most adults is so heavy and artificial that we are closed off to much of the world. We have to do this in order to get our work done. I think one purpose of art is to get us out of those routines. When we hear music or poetry or stories, the world opens up again. We’re drawn in — or out — and the windows of our perception are cleansed, as William Blake said. The same thing can happen when we’re around young children or adults who have unlearned those habits of shutting the world out."
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Dom Czapski
Jan 02, 2021
In Inspiration & Motivation
Haven't read this one yet but have bought it and a couple of friends have really vouched for it - Atomic Habits by James Clear... “You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.” https://jamesclear.com/atomic-habits --- This one I have read and it's brilliant; a long look at how we direct our attention and the technologies geared towards capturing it - How to do Nothing - Resisting the Attention Economy by Jenny Odell... “What if we spent less time shouting into the void and being washed over with shouting in return - and more time talking in rooms to those for whom our words are intended? If we have only so much attention to give, and only so much time on this earth, we might want to think about reinfusing our attention and our communication with the intention that both deserve.” https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/600671/how-to-do-nothing-by-jenny-odell/
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Dom Czapski
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