Artists are not cheerleaders, and we're not the heads of tourism boards. We expose and discuss what is problematic, what is contradictory, what is hurtful and what is silenced in the culture we're in.
Junot DiazRead
'Oscar Wao' for example cohered in a period of terrible distress. All the novels that I wanted to write were not happening.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the struggles and pressures faced by a writer during challenging times.
Junot Diaz expresses the emotional turmoil and sense of frustration that comes with being unable to create, particularly during a difficult period. The mention of 'Oscar Wao' highlights how significant works can emerge from personal distress, suggesting that pain and struggle can serve as inspiration for artistic expression.
In practice
This quote could inspire writers at a literary festival who feel blocked in their creativity.
Artists are not cheerleaders, and we're not the heads of tourism boards. We expose and discuss what is problematic, what is contradictory, what is hurtful and what is silenced in the culture we're in.
Run a hand through your hair, like the white boys do, even though the only thing that runs easily through your hair is Africa.
I can see myself watching him shave every morning. And at other time I see us in that house and see how one bright day (or a day like this, so cold your mind shifts every time the wind does) he will wake up and decide it's all wrong. I'm sorry, he'll say. I have to leave now.
Migration gives a blank cheque to put anything you don't feel like addressing in the memory hold. No neighbours can go against the monster narrative of your family.
We all dream dreams of unity, of purity; we all dream that there's an authoritative voice out there that will explain things, including ourselves.
I think 90% of my ideas evaporate because I have a terrible memory and because I seem to be committed to not scribble anything down. As soon as I write it down, my mind rejects it.
I rose as from the death that wipes out the sadness of life, and then dies itself in the new morrow.
I am grown by sympathy a little eager and sentimental, but leave me alone, and I should relish every hour and what it brought me, the pot-luck of the day, as heartily as the oldest gossip in the bar-room.
The simple life on the farm was everything to me. Nothing was more relaxing after a long plane flight than to reach the winding driveway that led up to my house. The quiet of the night was more soothing than a sleeping pill.
So many amongst us live in the past rather than loving the present and building a brilliant future. Some people stay stuck for years over something they did or a failure they've experienced. Sad. A life is a terrible thing to waste.
We go on in our pleasures thinking they're going to last forever.
What are the best things and the worst things in your life, and when are you going to get around to whispering or shouting them?
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