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4. “trying to get rid of 2 strokes tix radio city—best offer”

For years, I kept a Post-It note above my desk. WORK, NOT LOVE! was what it said. It seemed a sturdier kind of happiness.
Jenny Offill, Dept. of Speculation (a brilliant, beautiful novel)

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From Harry Stephen Keeler’ THE CASE OF THE WOODEN SPECTACLES (1941)

"O-kay!" replied the other, manifestly a bit irritated at Silas Moffit’s peremptoriness. Adding, a bit defiantly—or seemingly so: "And I’m Fred Mullins—for many years the Judge’s court clerk. But now acting as his man, here at the house. And"—he set the two chairs down in the great hallway—"just arranging," he explained curtly, "the big drawing-room for a trial—the Judge, you see, is going to hold special court here to-night because—but I’ll take you up, Mr. Moffit, and—however," he broke off again, "maybe you’d just as soon go up by yourself—since you’ve been here before? For we’ve no maid or anything here; just Judge and I live here alone, you know, and——"

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jingweinews:

A pair of New Yorker illustrations to end 2013: one for a year-end wrap up and one for tonight’s festivities around the city. Huge thanks to Jordan Awan and all the amazing ADs I’ve been lucky enough to work with this year. Looking forward to 2014!

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"Dear Friend." 
The Shop Around The Corner (1940)

(Source: marycrawley)

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The novel, like all art, reaches for immortality, but the unfinished novel is bound up with mortality and the limits of time. In my view, that makes it even more beautiful than a finished novel. We’re left to imagine the completion that is forever suspended. How was the writer ever going to tie up such a complicated plot? What was he or she going to do with all those characters and their noisy, difficult yearnings? And what was it all supposed to mean? As we circle these questions, the author becomes paradoxically more and more present to us in the work left behind. We feel his or her humanity because we see the traces of mortality everywhere on the page. These books are marked by the rush to finish coupled with the wish to never end. —Robert Siegel, “The Unfinished Novel,” Bookforum (online), 7/24/13

I also recently noticed how many unfinished novels have been important to me: Musil’s, Kafka’s, Mervyn Peake’s Gormenghast trilogy, Christina Stead’s “I’m Dying Laughing.” Reading around in Ellison’s “Three Days Before the Shooting . . . ”; I bet I’d like that thing in Salinger’s safe. —Jonathan Lethem, “By the Book,” NYTBR, 8/29/13

So what was I doing here? What was I going to do in the office at half past four in the morning? Write? Do today what I had not succeeded in doing for the last five years? –Karl Ove Knausgaard, My Struggle (Vol. 1)

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"As a young man, I was so enamored with Elmore Leonard that when I tried to write stories, I named my early protagonists Elmore, Elwood, Elvin. The hero of my first unpublished novel was Elliot, and then finally Leonard (with a nod to Mr. Bruce). Unfortunately, I ran out of variations long before I got published, and even now, my two books make me a mere amateur compared to Leonard, who died Tuesday at 87 having penned countless books and screenplays. I looked up to him, as did so many – he’s one of those masters who make writers a little hysterical. As for readers, they must be beyond reckoning by now."

dadushin:

Drew a small portrait of the Light Industry guys for the New Yorker.




My heroes!

dadushin:

Drew a small portrait of the Light Industry guys for the New Yorker.

My heroes!

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