Why Writers Can’t Write Alike

Written by Kevin LaTorre

Without a doubt, one of the most mythologized aspects of celebrities today is the strangeness of their preparations. On the basketball court, Michael Jordan slipped into his Tar Heels shorts, and Bill Russell vomited into his toilet bowl. On the ice, Alex Ovechkin made sure to, well, properly relax before and after his hockey games. The quirks of athletes, meant to induce the right mindset for the competition, strike the average person as bizarre. But the daily schedules of writers are no different. Readers marvel at the various oddities of these creatives, and in time, mythologize the myth-makers. Whether writers work early or late, sober or not, readers will always be intrigued by their days’ meticulous arrangements. Why? These men and women have found gold at the end of their constructed rainbows. We, as good little checkers-of-boxes, want to know what it took to climb the dazzling colors. As if it were only a hop, skip, and jump.

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Why Musicals Can’t Keep Their Hands Off of Literature

Written by Kevin LaTorre

Sunday afternoon in the B. Iden Payne Theatre, UT’s Theatre and Dance Department closed The Drowsy Chaperone, its farcical tribute to musical theatre. To the south, across the bridge, the ZACH Theatre continues its run of the musical adaptation of A Christmas Carol until December 31. Live musicals are enduring flights of fancy for theatregoers, as the continued vibrancy of the theatre scenes in Austin, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and London can attest. These days, with the end of the semester nigh, and the holidays just around the corner, I’m feeling a little more reflective than usual. I’m even dreaming of a white Christmas (for one brief Thursday night only!). So, sifting through the long-standing connection between literature and musicals seems appropriate, and finding any explanation may satisfy both my curiosity and procrastination.

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The Good News About Cutting Up Literature for Jewelry

Written by Kevin LaTorre

I ought to begin with a disclaimer: I don’t wear jewelry. I can’t wax anything poetic about the shine or curvature of a particular jewel. Now that I’ve admitted I am unfamiliar with both wearing jewelry and speaking its parlance, I can check that pesky honesty-even-if-it’s-damaging box and proceed.

The paper art of British artist Jeremy May was a strange find online. Seeing the rings, necklaces and earrings that May has been exhibiting the last few years instantly communicated a sense of violation. I don’t usually recoil from quaint articles about artsy endeavors, and yet here I wanted to close the browser.

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