The Writing Life by Annie Dillard

“There is no shortage of good days. It is good lives that are hard to come by. A life of good day lived in the senses is not enough. The life of sensation is the life of greed; it requires more and more. The life of the spirit requires less and less; time is ample and its passage sweet. Who would call a day spent reading a good day? But a life spent reading–that is a good life.”ーAnnie Dillard, The Writing Life
 
How to live? Perhaps one would never get a precise answer to this question. As when a similar question asked, how to write? This thought flew over my head while I read The Writing Life. I had such a meditative conversation with Annie Dillard reading about her life led with creativity, the writing life, the life spent with words. I was captured by her eventful life and floated with the simplicity of her writing. It made me imagine of my own small cottage. Spend the day alone doing things that is not only writing but living. Although I don’t plan to be a writer but I do love to listen to (read) my favorite writers talk about their writing life. This book is such a small joy that inspires tremendously about the art of living and writing. For me, it is also a great intro to Dillard and I’m eager to read more of her works.
I can not decide which are my favourite lines because all of them, in fact every pages are just pure charm and delightful.
“It is life at its most free, if you are fortunate enough to be able to try it, because you select your materials, invent your task, and pace yourself.”
“Go to work. Your work is to keep cranking the flywheel that turns the gears that spin the belt in the engine of belief that keeps you and your desk in midair.”
“A well-known writer got collared by a university student who asked, “Do you think I could be a writer?”
“Well,” the writer said, “I don’t know…..Do you like sentences?”
The writer could see the student’s amazement. Sentences? Do I like sentences? I am twenty years old and do I like sentences? If he had liked sentences, of course, he could begin, like a joyful painter I knew. I asked him how he came to be a painter. He said, “I liked the smell of the paint.”
 
 
 
 
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