I’m starting to see patterns in the different styles of writing I really enjoy. Hearing similar tones in the sentences that make me smile from Dickens and Mike Skinner. I’m not sure how either one would feel being compared to the other.
“The little narrow, crooked town of Dover hid itself away from the beach, and ran its head into the chalk cliffs, like a marine ostrich.”
“Her eyes rolled like a fruit machine not paying out” The Streets.
I haven’t started this yet but I think what has made it particularly intriguing is the fact that it references the exposure of artists, when it seems that if one has an online presence of nearly any kind there is a level of exposure that comes with that… and perhaps, an associated spiral of self-doubt, because “why are you there?” Is a natural follow on from having a platform when you have done nothing to get it.
This lead to more thoughts around the way exposure can now be a given following ones prolific use of social media and self promotion, not necessarily earned as it may have previously needed to be.
Do you ever really know?
Can you ever really know?
You’re the one who listens to it.
Said if me and her threw our problems on a stack
I would see hers and I would want mine back
He could not make them shut up. They were worse than women. They had not brains enough to be introverted and repressed.
turn the season 