#run run shaw

LIVE

“Ideas come to those who work hard on them.

As for Matthew Boroson, he reads a lot.

He reads all sorts of obscure books on Chinese mythology, culture and history and no few biographies. Hundreds of books, tens of thousands of pages. He talks to people about their folklore and mythology, religion and belief systems. All the stories, all the time. Sometimes he even watches Run Run Shaw movies.

“Write what you know” is easy advice to bandy about. But what do you know?

No, really. What do you know that is interesting, that you are passionate about, that you are an expert about?

Boroson wrote this crazy story about a young Chinese exorcist in San Francisco’s Chinatown; he wrote what he knew.

His ideas came from a little bit of inspiration. His passion drove him through enough research for a couple of masters degrees. No muses that need bribery with chocolate. Probably a few dreams induced by living in dusty books. No tragedy or trauma meant to create sympathy. Hard work.

The result is actually a pretty great book.

The Girl with Ghost Eyes reads easily. The stakes are clear in the first few pages and keep escalating all the way. The lead character (Xian Li-Lin) is heroic not because she is imbued with super powers but because she is willing to risk everything. The story even has important existential dimensions…

This is the result of work and it comes with my hearty recommendation.”

fromhttp://anewdomain.net/where-does-inspiration-come-from-the-girl-with-ghost-eyes-review/




I don’t actually agree with everything psychology professor Jason Dias said in this article. (For one thing, I prefer Golden Harvest and Cinema City over the Shaw Brothers.) But his ideas about inspiration are compelling, and rooted in the reality of my experience. I would love to read books by authors who are completely in love with their material, who live and breathe their research, whose knowledge permeates their dreams, whose dialogue is inflected with the voices of the hundreds of people they interviewed.

loading