David Moldawer

A friend who reads the newsletter recommended Geeta Dayal’s entry in the 33 1/3 series on Brian Eno’s Another Green World [https://bookshop.org/books/brian-eno-s-another-green-world/9780826427861]. I didn’t know the album, but Dayal’s book, he wrote, is “not just about the recording but about

When I’m established, when I’m recognized, when I’m financially secure, when I’m famous, when I have a thousand followers—ten thousand—a hundred thousand. Then! Then I’ll put in the work. Then I’ll do it for real. When the time comes, I’ll be

Mathematician Dan Rockmore, who, judging from all the bodybuilding and powerlifting in his essay in the New Yorker [https://www.newyorker.com/culture/annals-of-inquiry/the-myth-and-magic-of-generating-new-ideas] , must be a pretty “swole” for a mathematician—just Googled him, he’s not—uses exercise to spark ideas, as when he and his colleagues

The kids and I have been laying down tracks for an album during quarantine, my daughter providing lyrics and vocals, and my son playing guitar. Music production isn’t my area of expertise, but GarageBand makes it pretty easy to assemble something coherent and euphonious. And, despite its shallow learning

Part of you thinks that you just need to get organized. If you only knew where that one outline was, you’d be able to make a little progress. Sure, you found an outline in an old folder, but you’re pretty sure that’s not the most up-to-date version.

If you’re stuck, you probably just need something to work with. Start somewhere. Get anything down. The mind can work with anything: “That isn’t right. But you know what might be…” Nothing, on the other hand, is paralyzing. You can’t get anything done with nothing. The blank

More from Martha Graham: > There is a wonderful Icelandic term: “doom eager.” You are doom eager for destiny no matter what it costs you. The ordeal of isolation, the ordeal of loneliness, the ordeal of doubt, the ordeal of vulnerability which it takes to compose in any medium, is

In her memoir, Blood Memory, the choreographer Martha Graham writes about Louis Horst, one of her key collaborators. She first encountered Horst in Ruth St. Denis’s dance company. At Denishawn, Graham was a promising young dancer and Horst, the musical accompanist: > [Horst] would give an edge to a

This passage, from Martha Graham’s memoir, Blood Memory, seems like an appropriate start for the final essay of a very tough year. Graham laments the loss of the suppleness of her youth even as she continues to choreograph other dancers: > I don’t demand, at the beginning, any

There’s a point at which everything comes together. Always. Persevering to that point is the central challenge of being a writer. Throughout the week, I assemble scraps of ideas for this newsletter. By Thursday or Friday, thematic connections have formed, seemingly of their own accord. When it’s time