…is the moment when you’re working on something, and you’re only moments away from cracking it. It’s just THAT close to emerging, fully realized, from your heard.
But you get stuck. And you’re forced to wait and contemplate and try different things until it either comes to you or you are forced to do laundry or read a book or get high or read tumblr or masturbate or whatever you do to distract yourself.
Maybe it’s presumption to assume it will even come. But I haven’t had the spigot been tightened down on me yet. The songs keep coming, thank god or the devil or whatever decides to keep the juices flowing. It just sucks to wait.
Scott Rudin on musical theater.
Newsies is on Tumblr.
It’s not the only culture. Comic books fans could give musical theatre kids a run for their money.
Maurice Sendak (June 10, 1928-May 8, 2012)
There is a sprawling pantheon of picture books, the writers and illustrators who defined my early childhood, whose work I still collect and love: Jane Yolen, Karla Kuskin, David Small, Nancy Willard, the Provensens, Eric Carle, Chris Van Allsburg and dozens more.
And then, above and beyond, there’s Maurice Sendak.
Sendak’s works were thrilling and terrifying, compelling and defining, because, in his words, he refused to “cater to the bullshit of innocence.” He was one of very few children’s book creators who really got the terrifying unpredictability and momentum of the world as children experience it, in all its grandeur and complexity and inhumanity and terrible, fleeting wonder.