Book: Zen in the art of writing books

I learned what was right and all others are wrong, when I was nine and I was in the fourth grade. In that year, there was Buck Rogers, and it was love at first sight. I collected newspaper clippings and went with them. Friends did not understand. Friends laughing. I broke off the comic buck Rogers. Month, I went to school absolutely dead and exhausted. One day I burst into tears and asked myself why I feel so bad and empty. And he himself and said: because of buck Rogers. He disappeared, and life was no longer worth it to live. My next thought was: they're not my friends - those who made me break a comic, and however, break in half and life - they are my enemies.
I went back to collecting buck Rogers. And since then live happily ever after. That began my career as a science fiction writer. I never listened to those who mocked my passion for space flight, circuses or gorillas. If something like this were to happen, I picked up your dinosaurs and leave the room.

Sin is not below the skin to remove and so to dance, dressed only in bone.

We pressed her to the beautiful and noble the phenomena of life to come to terms with the horrors and misfortune, striking us directly, through family or friends or through Newspapers and television.

And what, you ask, teaches writing?
First, it reminds us that we are alive, that life is a privilege and a gift, not a right. If we are gifted with life, it is necessary to serve. Life demands something in return, because that gave us the great benefit of animacy.

So which is better - do not look at night
stealthily, like a Panther, a spark of truth?
Or find her burned and understand
what we must still look for her?

We appear in the works.
We have so much about yourself don't know
not yet the busy and idle living.
Meanwhile everyone inside is hid
big factory of unfinished business.

Nothing is lost, nothing goes unnoticed. If you wandered the vast expanses and dared to love silly things, you will be able to learn something from even the most primitive things tailored in life and set aside.

And let the art cannot, as we would like, to save us from war and privation, envy, greed, old age or death, it can at least give us the strength.

... If you write without passion, without zeal, without love, without joy, you are only half a writer. This means you constantly tap one eye in the direction of the commercial market, or in the direction of avant-garde parties and not myself. You don't even know. Because the writer must be possessed. It should a fever from the heat and delight.

... One man differs from another is the sum of its experience, amount of experience, and deposited in the head, and forgotten. Therefore, even similar events each of us sees is completely different. Someone earlier first encounters with death, and some later. Someone meets the love of someone is waiting longer. Two witnesses to the same accident, as we know, talk about it completely differently, each in their own language, incomprehensible to the other. In the world a hundred items and two billion, and they all exhibit different properties.

You are standing still, you are in the process of development. Failures can not be! The process goes on. The work is done. If the result is good - you learn things. If bad, you learn even more. Job done - is a lesson that must be learned. Until you stopped, failure can not be.

I don't really think about their path in life, I simply lived, did something, and understanding what it is and who I am, came when it was all done. Each story was the opening of the new "me". And every "I" was found today, slightly different from "I" discovered yesterday.

The more I did the more I wanted to do. You are getting greedy. Do you have a fever. You intoxicating work. You can't sleep at night, because the ideas - your own monster ready to bust loose and make you toss and turn from side to side. This is a wonderful way of life.

I want to run, want to catch this time - best time in the history of mankind - to fill them with all of their senses to see and hear him, to touch him, to feel his smell and taste and hope that others will run with me...