I’m having trouble getting through King's 'The Gunslinger'. Not because the story is bad, but because I’m only on page 61 and already the treatment of women is deeply shitty.
I feel honoured. Like, I actually understand what that feeling is now, and it’s a beautiful thing.
The primary message seems to be this: a literal lie, told solely for the joy of telling it and hearing it, can be a beautiful thing.
There’s a little voice in my head saying “Why bother? It’s a lot of effort and they’ll never pick you”, but I am flipping that little voice the bird and forging ahead.
In his darkest hours he'd always found comfort in the thought that the world itself might just be a particularly vivid dream in the mind of some ageless sleeper. But, as he heard footsteps approaching outside the hut, the thought seemed dry and impotent against this wet morning that lay quiet before him, in wait for his blood.
Carlin was arguing the a boy who thought that now would be sent to a psychiatrist. That boys these days grew out of all that. That didn’t quite ring pure to me.
Lately I've been trying to find motivation, so I've been playing with gamification. That rhymes.
While watching Sarah slaughter a whole family of cave dwellers, after losing her own child earlier in the film, I had to wonder: is having kids a really bad idea?
Rather than bore you with the mind-numbing, sometimes infuriating, crap that has been getting in my way I just wanna celebrate the fact that I'm back to writing almost daily. IT FEEL GOOD, REAL GOOD!
This book is groan-with-pleasure-out-loud. Like, you know when you take a bit of some fancy food and it's so delicious and surprising and rare that you actually cumgroan? I did that many, many times whilst reading The Passion.