Read This: One Hundred Years of Solitude

One Hundred Years of Solitude

By: Gabriel Garcia Marquez

This book is weird. Like, super, super weird.

I read it years ago and some of it sticks out in my mind in incredibly vivid detail. Some is just a blur of… weirdness.

But it’s all the best type of weirdness. This book is seriously brilliant. Marquez tells the story of several generations of one family living in one house. It all seems pretty normal at first but… well… I can’t even adequately describe the strange, winding path this story and this family take. You wouldn’t think so much could fit into the story of one family in one house, but that is the least of the surprises you’ll discover here.

Experience this book for yourself, but don’t frustrate yourself taking it super seriously and searching for hidden codes and meanings. I think something this modernist and experimental and loose just needs to be taken as it is. Sit back and relax and let your time reading this book be whatever it wants to be. Daydream. Refocus. Be horrified. Be disgusted. Be delighted. And then… let it go.

Wednesday Practice

Write something. Write anything. Smash the keyboard. Anything counts at this point, right?

I need you to be more on your game. A list of excuses I don’t give a fuck about: tired, busy, over it, fatigued.

Set goals. Meet them. Set more goals. Meet those too. No more bullshit.

WAW: Got the fire?

Writing About Writing: A once-a-week post about some aspect of writing. I’m not an expert; I’m just some guy. Take it with a grain of salt.

I totally wrote a post yesterday and due to … internet troubles … I wasn’t able to post it. So here it is.

When I was a kid and teenager, I was obsessed with writing. I stayed up late to write; I woke up early to write. I wrote in school during classes. I wrote every second of every day during summer vacation. I threw a fit when I had to leave the house and go to a party or event or fun day at the beach because it took me away from writing.

It was all I wanted all day, every day.

As an adult, I often wonder what happened to that fire. It wasn’t fickle; it consumed a solid two decades with steady intensity.

So where’d it go? Maybe it’s because it became my job. Maybe I’m just old and distracted and busy. But I know the kid who worked that hard for that long on this one all-consuming thing – well, frankly, she’s pretty disappointed.


None. Go build your fires where you can.


Monday Story: Time

I took a long break to get through a con and move. Things are still chaos, but I gotta force myself to get back to my routine, so here we go.

“Don’t be grandiose,” the technician said.

“I plan to be perfectly selfish,” I said.

“Good,” the woman in the lab coat said. Seriously, though, lab coast? We’ve had time tech for long enough that they don’t need to make it seem mysterious by sticking with the lab coats. What mess are they preventing? Will spare minutes splatter on them?

“…stick to something simple,” she was saying. “You get five minutes so keep it direct. Your past self will probably remember it as a weird dream.”

I tried to focus through the directions. Easier said than done. How many times can you be told not to kill your own grandfather?

Finally, though, I stepped into my childhood bedroom and woke the self sleeping in the bed.

“Listen up, kid,” I said. “I’ve only got five minutes…”

Read This: Disability and Poverty

This Washington Post article about disability and life in a rural, poor community.

The Washington Post has been doing a ton of articles recently about rural America, or “Trump country,” as we now think of it.

This is one I found particularly interesting and eye-opening. This series of articles by the Post hasn’t been preachy or even all that political. This one mostly just follows one guy through his daily routine. And, man, what a day.

I think things like this are important to read. It’s important to develop empathy. Even as a lot of us sit here thinking, “Part of this country absolutely fucking screwed me,” (which, in fairness, is totally true) I still think it’s worthwhile to understand those people’s lives.

More empathy will never be a bad thing, even if it still results in us being irreconcilably different. I’m not about to go move my queer, blue-haired, atheist self to the deep south, but I still appreciate getting this window into lives that are utterly different from my own.

Wednesday Practice: 45 Words

It’s 4/5 so I’m writing exactly 45 words.

The man holding the strings did not need to think. It requires no imagination to see everyone else as outside. Or as not-at-all. He tugged and the world danced into place below him. The puppet’s stomping feet destroyed and oily blood burst from the wounds.


WAW: Read Everything

Writing About Writing: A once-a-week post about some aspect of writing. I’m not an expert; I’m just some guy. Take it with a grain of salt.

I am almost never reading only one book. My current reading list includes a novel, a daily newspaper, a few comic books and a novel in a different language.

I used to get a little down on myself about reading too many things all at once, but I’ve come to realize that’s just what I like to do. It doesn’t confuse or demotivate me and the things I read tend to compliment each other (in my mind). I can’t sit still and watch a movie or TV show while doing nothing else, so why should I expect to do nothing but read a single book?

This will be a short post, but I was thinking about this today, while switching between fiction and journalism during my lunch break. Maybe I’m just a product of my generation, a stereotypical millennial with the attention span of a goldfish. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s fine to read however you happen to read.


Some weird and interesting research on this topic: