i never saw such a bunch of apple eaters. @lucyford - Tumblr Blog

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It just took some people a little longer than others to realize how few words they needed to get by, how much of life they could negotiate in silence.

#the leftovers

#music #wild yaks

austinkleon

“Have you tried making yourself a more interesting person?”

Years ago, at SXSW 2009, I drew a panel called “Try Making Yourself More Interesting”:

It introduced me to this (possibly apocryphal) story about the writer Barry Hannah, told by Rick Bass in his introduction to Boomerang ; Never Die: Two Novels:

I was reminded of this passage when J. Maureen Henderson wrote about the advice she gives to students:

Work on being an interesting person other people want to be around and are willing to open doors for…. There are many roads to becoming an interesting person, but they all involve developing your curiosity and your desire to know and understand — yourself, others, the world around you. You can read. You can pursue a new activity like knitting or rock climbing. You can volunteer. You can commit to asking three people a day an open-ended question about themselves and really listening to their responses. You can share your information and connections freely.

My friend Jessica Hagy wrote a whole book called How To Be Interesting (In 10 Simple Steps).

I touched on the topic in my own book, Show Your Work!:

Filed under: career

#work #barry hannah #austin kleon #interesting

Chills every time.

#father john misty

waxenneat

The thing about beating depression once is that you think you’re better. The thing about beating it two, three, four, five times is that you think this time will be it. You will have risen above, once and for all. You have learned so many coping mechanisms, taken such good care of yourself, cried in front of your therapist, reconnected with friends and family, remembered to take your vitamins, maybe even dragged yourself to yoga class.

And then it starts to slip. And at first you think you’ve just got your toe in it. That you’re just seeing what it’s like to paint with a little black paint to remind yourself how wonderful all of the colors are. And then you’re drowning. And then everything’s black.

It really is that simple. It truly is that complicated.

When I was living in Seattle I walked to the Volunteer Park Water Tower on a cold morning. My knuckles were raw and my coffee was cold when I reached the top. I took photos of how beautiful the room was, looked out at the panoramic views of the city skyline through the windows, saw mountain peaks in the distance, thought about how I was the only one sitting just there, just then, and I did not smile. I thought I was happy. I thought the fact that I was moving and looking at something nice meant I was happy. I felt nothing.

I was just sitting and eating a cupcake made to look like a bat that one of students made and I realized I was happy. Smiling for no real reason happy. My back doesn’t ache, I didn’t dread waking up, and another person saying hello to me doesn’t feel like an accusation anymore. I’ve been back on medication since July and I no longer hate the sound of the pills in my bag. They are no longer a reminder of failure or giving up. I can go up the winding staircase thoughts, not down them, and see life from the top, where there are bright windows and there is fresh air.

I can smile. I can feel.

lucyford

This.

#depression #life

bookavore

I want to write a book where every sentence is beautiful. Where every single sentence is beautiful. It prevents me from putting down bullshit. But it also kind of stifles me, because it stops me from getting involved in the messy stuff. I’m never like, Let me slap this down and get on to this other thing and worry about that later. I’m so concerned with every single sentence that it’s kind of troubling.

Excellent interview with Mitchell S. Jackson at The Paris Review. I just finished The Residue Years yesterday and almost felt bad about how much I liked it. Every single sentence is beautiful, as is the relationship between the mother and son at its center. The book is set in Portland, during the crack cocaine epidemic of the 90s, and crack is the narrative engine of the book, so there’s an inevitable tragedy to the story that led me to feel voyeuristic by the end. But the novel’s cadence is so sure, and the sentences so beautiful, that I kept reading through the discomfort, reading some sentences over and over. I hate to have loved a story so sad so much, but I suppose since the author did it on purpose I will stop feeling guilty about it. OR SHOULD I? (via bookavore)

#writing #lit

nevver

Knock loud, I’m home.

#treehouse

laughingsquid

The Incredible Humans Who Take Humane Action to Quell the Population of Feral Cats in New York City

Weehouse

A few months ago, I emailed Natalie Olsen, my favourite designer in the country, and asked if she was interested in helping me make something kind of… unusual. To my surprise, she said yes right away, and within hours we were already getting started trying to figure out how to make it happen.

We made it happen.

Presenting the 2015 Short Story Advent Calendar, a series of 24 individually bound stories that readers open, one by one, on the mornings leading up to Christmas. More than 500 pages in total, plus a gorgeous full-colour slipcase and lid to keep them looking sharp on your shelves for years to come.

Contributors? Oh, I don’t know. Ever heard of Jess Walter (author of Beautiful Ruins)? How about Heather O’Neill? Pasha Malla? Richard Van Camp? Zsuzsi Gartner? Or [redacted x 19]?

This is a one-time, limited-edition print run, so once these copies are gone, they’re gone for good. Most of the stories have never appeared in a book before. Some are 100% new.

The calendar is officially on sale today. I hope you consider it as a gift for the bookish people in your life, or maybe as a seasonal treat for your own self. I’m proud as hell of it.