This is a short and quick 70-pager (at least in the version I read). It truly gives the impression of being an extension of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, with its tone and abundant use of quotes and anecdotes. The only real difference is that this work focuses more (and at times less) on writing.

There are a few interesting points. Dillard has little inclination towards using brand names in writing. She seems to believe that it undermines the chances of achieving classic status when you incorporate things that are bound to become outdated. She also advocates a variation of the "you are what you eat" philosophy, stating that your writing is what you read (oh, how I wish!). If you aspire to be a novelist, you should read novels for the sheer pleasure of it. If you want to be a poet, you read poems because you can't resist. Otherwise, in my words, you're a poser, and for some reason, the writer pose is one that a certain type of person can't help but strike.

I'll leave you with some Dillard-style advice:

Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. This is, after all, the case. What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?

Write about winter in the summer. Describe Norway as Ibsen did, from a desk in Italy; describe Dublin as James Joyce did, from a desk in Paris. Willa Cather wrote her prairie novels in New York City; Mark Twain wrote Huckleberry Finn in Hartford, Connecticut. Recently, scholars learned that Walt Whitman rarely left his room.

Which is all fine and good, except that Mark Twain actually wrote HF in Elmira, NY, at his wife Livy's parents' place. They were extremely wealthy (coal being the source of the wealth), and had an outdoor cabin at the edge of a field overlooking the woods where Clemens escaped to write every day.

Speaking of which, Dillard also insists that you avoid a view. Position your desk to face the walls or, if a window is nearby, let it overlook ugly roof lines. The view has to be mental, in other words, so go for it. Every day. And good luck. The life of a (true) artist is neither simple nor swift.

Amen.

I made several missteps as a reader with this book.

First of all, I chose to read this particular work by Annie Dillard before delving into anything else she had written. My original plan was to begin with "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek," but unfortunately, that one is in hardback format. In today's digital age, reading actual books doesn't occur as frequently as it once did. I really must correct this oversight.

Secondly, I opted for the audiobook version, and the narrator didn't seem to be a good fit at all. She sounded too youthful and, well, more like someone who might be better suited to reading fantasy, science fiction, or crime fiction.

I picked up this book mainly because it was short. Sometimes, I find myself falling into the trap of being overly concerned with keeping up with my reading numbers. There are just so many books that I渴望 to read, but as we all know, there's only a limited amount of time. Social media seems to be consuming far too much of it.

I should probably mention that the writing in this book was, of course, excellent. However, what Dillard emphasizes throughout is that writing is a miserable, demanding, and unrewarding craft when a writer actually sits down to do the work. She discussed this in many different ways. It wasn't exactly what I had expected from a book on the subject, but it was honest, that's for sure.

One gets the sense that Annie Dillard writes not with the intention of imparting wisdom in a traditional way, but rather to engage in a kind of intellectual dance, running circles around the rest of us.

Somehow, incidentally, along this meandering path of her writing, her unique outlook on life manages to shine through. It is a perspective that is at once cynical, perhaps a reflection of the harsh realities she has witnessed, and yet also joyfully observant, able to find beauty and wonder in the most unexpected places.

This outlook is not something that comes easily; it is an undeniable, hard-won truth that she has arrived at through her own experiences and reflections.

As she herself says, "I do not so much write a book as sit up with it, as with a dying friend. During visiting hours, I enter its room with dread and sympathy for its many disorders. I hold its hand and hope it gets better." This quote gives us a glimpse into the deeply personal and almost spiritual connection she has with her writing, as if it were a living, breathing entity that she is nurturing and caring for.

It is this combination of skill, perspective, and passion that makes Annie Dillard's writing so captivating and unique.

Annie Dillard's description of her relationship and struggles with the writing process is brutally honest. Instead of the typical advice like "show, don't tell" that seems to be etched in my mind, as I read "The Writing Life," I was compelled to copy its poetic quotes onto note cards to use as bookmarks.

I anticipate that the gems within this work will inspire and educate me as I come across them in the days ahead. Quotes such as Michelangelo's note to his apprentice, "Draw, Antonio, draw, Antonio, draw and do not waste time," and "Throw out the beginning; the book begins in what you thought was the middle. It can take years and heartbreak to see that..." are truly profound.

Annie Dillard defines an important point. She states that the writer must solve two problems: Can it be done? and, Can I do it? Every book has an intrinsic impossibility that the writer discovers once the initial excitement fades. Yet, he writes in spite of that, finding ways to minimize the difficulty, strengthening other virtues, and cantilevering the whole narrative into thin air, making it hold. If it can be done, then he can do it, and only he. This idea of "minimizing the difficulty" motivates me to attend writing seminars and read how-to writing books.

Other notable points include the current tendency and pressure on writers to produce several books per year. Dillard argues that putting a book together is difficult and complex and should engage all of the writer's intelligence. Freedom as a writer is not "freedom of expression in the sense of wild blurting; you may not let rip." While I aim to complete one book per year, Dillard believes that writing a book full time takes between two and ten years.

I also tend to rewrite repeatedly as I write, but Dillard advises the opposite. She says, "The reason not to perfect a work as it progresses is that original work fashions a form the true shape of which it discovers only as it proceeds, so the early strokes are useless, however fine their sheen."

Finally, there is this word of warning: "The writer is careful of what he reads, for that is what he will write. He is careful of what he learns, because that is what he will know."

These insights from Annie Dillard offer valuable perspectives on the writing process and serve as a source of inspiration and guidance for me as I continue on my writing journey.

Some books don't have an ending.

What they have to say will linger on and surround you like a mental landscape. Annie Dillard's impassioned plea for the writing life is both hypnotic and tangible. She will transport you to writing desks in remote cabins and isolated studies (keeping the world out as much as possible) to evoke the various stages of writing, such as elation, excitement, despair, immobility, and doubt.

Time will slow down and expand in electrified sentences that you'll want to highlight and write down word for word in your own writing notebooks. Her uses of metaphor will thrill you to bits and stretch your understanding of the craft in ways you never thought about before. As you toil away on the page, she'll become a little ghost sitting on your shoulder, her lines so haunting.

Some books are written to be reread.

Line by line, paragraph by paragraph, Annie Dillard distills the elements that make writing as alive, elemental, and necessary as it can be.

It's a literary call to arms.

As a writer who has only one published novel, I am constantly eager to learn more about the writing life. I am always seeking to refine my skills and make improvements. I had high hopes of obtaining some unique insights into how to write skillfully from Dillard's writing.

This 111-page book took me three days to read. Normally, I would have finished it in just 30 minutes. However, I was determined to soak up every precious gem of knowledge. So, I read intently, taking breaks in the hope that it would get better the next time I picked it up.

Most writers seem to spend an excessive amount of time doing anything to avoid writing. Dillard, on the other hand, seemed to spend most of her time avoiding writing about writing. And if that wasn't frustrating enough, I was longing for the good stuff. The little time she did spend on the writing life was so disheartening that if I had been reading this book with the aspiration of becoming a writer, I might have seriously considered self-harm.

In conclusion, this book was a complete waste of time. It failed to meet my expectations and left me feeling disappointed and disillusioned. I had hoped for so much more from Dillard's work, but unfortunately, it did not deliver.

I do not, nor do I aspire to live "The Writing Life." However, due to the requirements of my degree, I recently found myself in a writing class. And I have been truly horrified by the enormity of the task of writing something, anything, without feeling like a complete fool!

I came across this book at a used store. I picked it up because my brother had been trying to get me to read Dillard for a while.

I immediately loved it for her brutally honest words of reality. After sitting in the class where I have to listen to a circle of people nod their heads in affirmation at the completely unoriginal garbage that is being produced week after week. I wonder if I'm the only one who wants to scream, "Are you serious?! Did you just end your story with the line 'at least I'm not alone'?" Or if it should be legal to let someone insert the phrase "I'd have to draw you a picture" at any point, in any story, under any circumstances. And what about using the phrase "crazy Jim"? Wouldn't it be kinder in the end to tell this student that saying "Crazy Jim" makes him sound like a "lame-o writer"?

(Does anybody but me notice that I'm avoiding sharing any of the horrendous drivel that I've put to paper? Hee-hee. It's my review, people, and I'll do whatever I damn well please.)

And then there is the soul-crushing reality that everything has already been said!

What's this? Oh, another story about breaking up? How refreshing.

What's that you say? When you were in nature, you felt alive? Hmmm, there's a fresh perspective.

And shh, shh, I want to hear this: what truth, what inspiration. To think, children have innocence that adults have lost - I hadn't considered that.

So I sit there in that class and I try to appreciate that my reaction to all of this writing I'm hearing is a harsh and unwarranted critique of a group of people who are sincerely trying to do something they enjoy or feel compelled to do for whatever reason. I smile, I affirm, I point out the things I liked (yes, there are some things I like), and I read my stories as fast as humanly possible and try to avoid follow-up conversation at all costs.

But then I go home and I pick up this little book (111 pages) and I read it. First quietly, then I notice I'm reading it aloud, then I'm laughing and shouting "yes"!

I think I fell in love with the book on page 11 when she talks about the meaningless task of writing compared to shoe sales. A thought she ends with, "If you believed Paradise Lost to be excellent, would you buy it? Why not shoot yourself, actually, rather than finish one more excellent manuscript on which to gag the world?"

YES!

Not to dork out or anything, but seriously - couldn't you pretty much say that about anything you do in life? And the wondering why we do what we do - that's good, but the doing it is better.

So I guess the syrupy, sweet moral of my story is that this book helped me to appreciate my classmates, the writing process, and the amusing trivialities that make our lives what they are.

I have a rather complex relationship with this book, which can be described as a love/hate thing.

On one hand, it is truly a brilliant and poetic evocation of the creative process. The author manages to capture the essence and beauty of that process in a way that is both inspiring and thought-provoking.

However, on the other hand, I find that the process is somewhat overly romanticized. The examples given seem to exalt a rather rarified form of extreme self-sacrifice. This leads me to half-suspect that Dillard might be trying to discourage and/or sabotage future generations.

It's almost like a five-star meal that has a dash of arsenic in it. It looks and tastes wonderful, but there is a hidden danger lurking within.

Therefore, I would highly recommend approaching this book with caution. One must be discerning and not simply accept everything at face value.

While it has its merits and can offer valuable insights, it also has its flaws that need to be carefully considered.

This is my very first encounter with Annie Dillard's book, and it has truly lived up to my expectations.

It is an absolute gem of a book, filled with beautiful excerpts that offer numerous examples related to various aspects of writing. It delves into the questions of how to write, why one should write, and what compels us to put pen to paper, all while emphasizing the significance of words.

The entire book is written in a somewhat monotonous tone, which is perfectly acceptable considering its concise nature. However, I must admit that the last chapter failed to have the same impact on me. In fact, I found myself getting a bit bored while reading it. Nevertheless, aside from that minor drawback, the book is truly epic.

The quotes within the book are also quite profound. For instance, "WHEN YOU WRITE, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner’s pick, a woodcarver’s gouge, a surgeon’s probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory. Is it a dead end, or have you located the real subject? You will know tomorrow, or this time next year." This passage beautifully captures the essence of the writing process.

Another quote that stood out to me was "Who will teach me to write? a reader wanted to know. The page, the page, that eternal blankness, the blankness of eternity which you cover slowly, affirming time’s scrawl as a right and your daring as necessity; the page, which you cover woodenly, ruining it, but asserting your freedom and power to act, acknowledging that you ruin everything you touch but touching it nevertheless, because acting is better than being here in mere opacity; the page, which you cover slowly with the crabbed thread of your gut; the page in the purity of its possibilities; the page of your death, against which you pit such flawed excellences as you can muster with all your life’s strength: that page will teach you to write." It offers a unique perspective on the role of the page in teaching us to write.

Overall, I would highly recommend this book to anyone interested in the art of writing.

This is a concise yet profound essay on the art, or as Dillard would term it, the burden of writing that is sure to captivate both readers and budding writers.

Writing is not just a profession but a way of life for Dillard, and her relationship with words is, to say the least, contentious.

Her clear and incisive thoughts on the obsessive nature of those who dedicate their lives to expressing the world in sentences,受限 by expression and linguistic patterns, are as terrifying as they are enlightening.

Far from the romanticized notion of a genius being suddenly struck by inspiration and furiously scribbling away in a transcendent vision, transforming it into polished and well-defined paragraphs, Dillard描绘了作家每天不得不经历的无尽挣扎，只为写下寥寥数句零散的句子。平凡是最大的敌人：不断与分心、身体需求、空白页面的眩晕感或他人期望的沉重压力作斗争；更有关于无法将思想世界的纯净之美捕捉到形式和限制性文字的牢笼中的哲学困境，这些都为Dillard无限的宇宙设定了轨道。

然而。然而。Dillard像魔术师使用魔杖一样使用笔，让读者沉浸在她精神写作的不可抗拒的魅力中。她的个人轶事和对围绕文学构建生活的意义的精妙思考让我想起了梭罗、朱利安·巴恩斯和丽贝卡·索尔尼特等大师，他们将自传与最优质的散文诗融合在一起。

美丽和雄辩不一定相互矛盾；如果你认为它们是矛盾的，请拿起这篇短文，让Dillard的魔法证明你是错的。为盲人准备的烟花。

“我住在海滩上，一只脚踩在致命的咸水里，另一只脚踩在十亿颗沙粒上。那里无限的边缘太像写作的孤独了。每个句子都悬在深不可测的海洋或天空之上，其中包含着所有的可能性，也包含着一无所有的可能性。”

This was not the book that I had hoped for.

In "How to Write an Autobiographical Novel," I truly loved the way Alexander Chee described his writing lessons at Wesleyan with Annie Dillard. His account was vivid and engaging, painting a clear picture of those moments.

However, I found that I preferred his description of her teaching to her actual writing. It's a bit weird, really. I can't help but blame myself for this mismatch.

Dillard is writing here about the process of writing and what a writer's life is like. She does it with great skill and precision.

But for some reason, it just didn't move me. Maybe it's because I was expecting something different, or perhaps my own tastes and sensibilities are not in line with hers.

Nevertheless, I can still appreciate the effort and thought that went into this book, even if it didn't have the impact on me that I had hoped for.

Delightful! (I'm well aware that this is a rather straightforward word to employ, yet it has never been more fitting than it is in this context.) This is a series of essays that revolve around and are related to writing. There are some truly useful analogies within it. The one about creating an exact copy of the view from the window on a screen that is set up to block it (in a room where the author is supposed to be writing) is堪称完美; just as the one about chopping wood is. ("There is another way of putting this. Aim for the chopping block. If you aim for the wood, you will achieve nothing. Aim beyond the wood, aim through the wood; aim for the chopping block.") I couldn't help but contrast these rather sheltered life lessons with those of Ann Quin, who was attempting to block out her nagging landlady while furiously churning out prose in an oppressive frenzy. However, this didn't significantly detract from the overall impact.

'I don't so much write a book as keep vigil with it, much like sitting up with a dying friend. During visiting hours, I enter its room with a combination of dread and sympathy for its numerous disorders. I hold its hand and hope that it will improve.

This tender relationship can change in the blink of an eye. If you miss a visit or two, a work in progress will turn against you. A work in progress can quickly become wild. It reverts to a savage state overnight. It is only minimally domesticated, like a mustang that you once managed to attach a halter to, but which now you can't catch. It is a lion that you cage in your study.

As the work progresses and grows, it becomes increasingly difficult to control; it is a lion that is growing in strength. You must visit it every day and reaffirm your dominance over it. If you skip a day, you are, quite justifiably, afraid to open the door to its room. You enter its room with bravado, brandishing a chair at the thing and shouting, “Simba!”'