Follow along with the video below to see how to install our site as a web app on your home screen.
Note: This feature may not be available in some browsers.
Café Life is the Colony's main hangout, watering hole and meeting point.
This is a place where you'll meet and make writing friends, and indulge in stratospherically-elevated wit or barometrically low humour.
Some Colonists pop in religiously every day before or after work. Others we see here less regularly, but all are equally welcome. Two important grounds rules…
We now allow political discussion, but strongly suggest it takes place in the Steam Room, which is a private sub-forum within Café Life. It’s only accessible to Full Members.
You can dismiss this notice by clicking the "x" box
I write for the pleasure of writing and part of that pleasure is being read. Who wants to be the tree that falls in the forest when no one hears?Soory, not making myself clear. What I'm trying to say is that he can get all of the satisfaction of writing without going through the pain of publishing. He could just write, enjoy the catharsis or whatever, and put the MS in a drawer. Or indeed, burn it. If he really didn't care about being read -- i.e. if the act of writing was sufficient in itself -- why would he publish what he writes? The act of publishing seems to imply the published work is intended to be read.
You're presuming that at least some of the contributors to this forum are sane. Seems a bit presumptious.I write for the pleasure of writing and part of that pleasure is being read. Who wants to be the tree that falls in the forest when no one hears?
But I'm not serious, as in SERIOUS about writing. Flippancy is one of my defining characteristics and part of what keeps me sane. Don't others feel this way?
And there are those who do. Michail Bulgakow wrote "Master and Margarita" without any intention of publishing it. First of all he was smart enough to know that the soviets would never allow it, but besides that, he just didn't believe that anyone would read his shit. His wife managed to get it published after his death, a heavily censored version at first. And now? It's acknowledged as one of the most notable novels of the XX century. I can't recall a writer who would burn his books, but Shuman did that with his notes (granted, he was mentally unstable).He could just write, enjoy the catharsis or whatever, and put the MS in a drawer. Or indeed, burn it.