At school, I always considered essays on literature to be my “horse”. It’s a great piece of writing based on a book you’ve read. You analyze, fantasize, brazenly lie… and you have a good reason for everything. And at the heart of everything, of course, is a solid work of a classic, and not your unstoppable random number generator.School has long been forgotten, but I haven’t stopped reading books. And periodically I return to the idea of forcing myself to write about every book I read. But somehow everything does not add up and does not add up. Of course, I explained to myself, I was completely lazy. He admitted his defeat and went to read the next book.My own essay “The Invention of a Lie” . It turns out that the creative storm takes possession of me precisely in the process of absorbing a work of art, and not after the book (film) is sent to the shelf.Traditionally, the algorithm is meant: read – thought – wrote. But in practice, few ideas can hold the reader’s attention after the last dialogue has ended. And the point is not in the grinding of ideas, but in the increased density of the information flow. A holy place is never empty. As soon as one speaker leaves, as if on a podium, the next one runs up to the microphones of my consciousness (film, website, novel). And I don’t feel like holding it back. How to write?I see a way out in simplifying the process and transferring it to real-time. It turns out a kind of Twitter:
- “21:30. Reading the 4th chapter of War and Peace – sincerely prus”,
- “22:40. I barely chewed the second part. I won’t be enough for the third – the plot is banal to the point of yawning, although the language is simply charming”,
- “23:15. Well, damn it! It’s all about Gogol!”.
- 23:49 He’s burned out! Stupidly slept like a foolish child. I want to cry, it’s so funny to follow such a mug. The author, I suppose, drew from himself … beautiful.