NEW YORKER: The Gift of Laughter.
My first piece for the New Yorker is up today!
Happy Fall!
It’s Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers.
MCSWEENEY'S: A step-by-step guide to building a tiny fucking ship inside a tiny fucking bottle.
Before you get started, make sure that you have a clean workspace and that there isn’t a single other fucking thing you’d rather do besides this nautical disaster of a hobby.
MCSWEENEY'S: An Automated Conference Call Moderator Gets Real.
The host has not yet arrived, please continue to hold, your conference will begin momentarily. The sound of a beep will signal the host’s arrival. That same beep will act as a Pavlovian trigger catapulting your mind through the succession of terrible decisions that led you to this place, this job, this cubicle, that haircut, those pants.
from THE ULTIMATE GUIDE TO WRITING BETTER THAN YOU NORMALLY DO by Colin Nissan, via McSweeney’s
WRITE EVERY DAY
Writing is a muscle. Smaller than a hamstring and slightly bigger than a bicep, and it needs to be exercised to get stronger. Think of your words as reps, your paragraphs as sets, your pages as daily workouts. Think of your laptop as a machine like the one at the gym where you open and close your inner thighs in front of everyone, exposing both your insecurities and your genitals. Because that is what writing is all about.
DON’T PROCRASTINATE
Procrastination is an alluring siren taunting you to Google the country where Balki from Perfect Strangers was from, and to arrange sticky notes on your dog in the shape of hilarious dog shorts. A wicked temptress beckoning you to watch your children, and take showers. Well, it’s time to look procrastination in the eye and tell that seafaring wench, “Sorry not today, today I write.”
MCSWEENEY'S: I'm the Distorted Security Code Standing Between You and this Web Page.
“I’m like the three-headed dog guarding the gates of Hades, except instead of Hades, it’s Diapers.com, and instead of a dog, I’m a dyslexic computer program with a messed up vocabulary and every goddamned funhouse font in the book.”
MCSWEENEY'S: The Ultimate Guide to Writing Better Than You Normally Do.
“Beware of muses who promise unrealistic timelines for your projects or who wear wizard clothes. When honing in on a promising new muse, also be on the lookout for other writers attempting to swoop in and muse-block you.”
MCSWEENEY'S: James Joyce Orders a Shamrock Shake.
“Dublin moans ‘neath the merciless weight of noontide hunger, a gnawing in the bellies of man, a thirst burning in their barren gullets, while I, alone, must navigate the further indignity of an ill-scheduled 1 PM meeting, looming before me like the trained bow of Artemis.”
VICE MAGAZINE: Seven Ways to Put the Heat Back in Your Beat.
“Drive to a beautiful scenic overlook along a mountain road. Get out and find a nice, older couple to take a picture of you. When they look at the screen of your camera, they’ll see an earlier picture you took of yourself masturbating. When they look up, you’ll actually be masturbating. A healthy mix of mountain air and exhibitionism can really do the trick.”
MCSWEENEY'S: Who's Your Ear Nose & Throat Doctor?
“You know what that certificate on the wall means? Not the one that says MAYOR OF LARYNXTOWN, the other one, from the college. It means that I can flush your earwax with one hand tied behind my back. That I can radiate your thyroid with a blindfold on. That I can double-honk your deviated septum before you have time to hop up on the examination table. Don’t fucking test me. You will get double-honked.”
MCSWEENEY'S: Welcome to Paradise.
“You’ve made a very wise decision in choosing our all-inclusive resort, a secluded tropical oasis where luxury meets opulence, opulence meets extravagance, extravagance meets excessiveness, excessiveness meets recklessness, recklessness meets madness and madness meets a passing wave of shame.”
EATING WELL MAGAZINE: Odes to the Things I Can No Longer Enjoy on My Damned Diet.
“Goodbye, mysterious vending-machine baked good. I will never forget your number, E5, but I must forget you. I must forget the throat-burning sweetness of your frosting, and the faded mystery of your expiration date. While I may still stop by your machine on occasion, it will be only to press my hand against the glass in a gesture of longing. If you had a hand, I know you’d do the same.”
MCSWEENEY'S: Coat Drive.
“Remember, this isn’t just about reaching into your closets, it’s about reaching into your hearts and finding me something that will go with these new burgundy linen pants, because so far I’m completely striking out. I know what you’re thinking: If I’ve got money for new burgundy linen pants, why can’t I get my own coat? Because I didn’t buy these pants, I acquired them during the Pant Drive I held last month.”
