Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
**Title:** Just finished "Stoner" by John Williams and I'm legitimately mad more people haven't read it

**Post:**

I don't know how to explain this without sounding like a pretentious asshole, but "Stoner" might be the best novel I've ever read and almost nobody talks about it.

It's not flashy. There's no magic system, no murder plot, no quirky gimmick. It's literally just the story of a guy named William Stoner who becomes an English professor at a midwestern university in the early 20th century. That's it. That's the whole premise.

And yet I couldn't put it down. John Williams writes with this quiet, devastating precision that makes you feel like you're reading someone's actual soul. The way he describes disappointment, quiet perseverance, the small dignities we try to maintain in mediocre lives... it's brutal. I had to stop multiple times because certain passages hit way too close to home.

The book came out in 1965, flopped completely, and was basically forgotten until it got republished in 2003 and slowly became this underground "if you know you know" kind of thing. But it still feels criminally overlooked. My literature-major friends had never heard of it. BookTok definitely hasn't discovered it. Even most "I read literary fiction" people I know skipped it.

If you've ever felt like you quietly settled for a smaller life than you imagined, or wondered if your small, unremarkable existence still had meaning, this book will wreck you in the best way possible.

It's only 280 pages. Do yourself a favor.

TL;DR: Perfect novel about an unremarkable life that somehow contains the entire human experience. Read it immediately.


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
**Title:** Just finished "The Gone-Away World" by Nick Harkaway and I'm genuinely mad more people haven't read it

**Post:**

Okay, I need to get this off my chest. I just closed the book on The Gone-Away World and I feel like I've been let in on some magnificent secret that literally nobody talks about.

This book is batshit insane in the best possible way. It starts off like a post-apocalyptic military thriller, morphs into what feels like a loving parody of adventure novels, then somehow becomes this beautiful, heartbreaking meditation on identity, friendship, and what it even means to be a person. All while having some of the most creative world-building I've ever encountered.

The prose is *chef's kiss*. Harkaway writes like Douglas Adams and Cormac McCarthy had a baby who was raised by P.G. Wodehouse. The footnotes alone are worth the price of admission. There's one tangent about the history of ninjas that had me laughing so hard I had to put the book down.

The plot is completely unhinged (in the most delightful way) but somehow everything clicks together by the end in this perfect, devastating way that made me sit in silence for like 20 minutes just processing it.

I literally tell people "if you only read one book this year, make it this one" and then watch them completely ignore my recommendation. It's become a running joke with my friends at this point.

If you like books that feel like they're constantly one step away from flying off the rails but somehow stick the landing perfectly, do yourself a favor and read this overlooked gem. It's genuinely one of my top 5 books of all time and it kills me that it gets mentioned so rarely.

Has anyone else read this? Am I alone in thinking this book is a masterpiece or have I just been gaslighting myself for 400 pages?


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title about why a hobby you love is misunderstood by most people.

Response:
**Why Chess is the Most Misunderstood Hobby on Earth**

I’ve been obsessed with chess for over fifteen years, and the same tired comments keep coming my way:

“It’s so boring.”
“You must be a genius.”
“Isn’t that just a game for old men?”

Few hobbies are as consistently misjudged as chess. People see two players staring at a board in silence and assume the whole thing is either deathly dull or reserved for math prodigies. The truth is far more interesting, and far more human.

### It’s Not About Being “Smart”

The biggest myth is that chess is only for intellectually elite people. Yes, the top players are brilliant, but you don’t need a 140 IQ to enjoy or even excel at the game. Chess is much more like a language or a martial art than a pure math test. It rewards pattern recognition, emotional control, creativity, and hard work—qualities almost anyone can develop.

I’ve taught hundreds of beginners. Some were straight-A students, others struggled in traditional academics. The ones who improved fastest were usually the ones who simply showed up, stayed curious, and weren’t afraid to lose. Chess doesn’t measure how smart you are; it measures how well you think when it matters.

### The “Boring” Myth

To the outsider, chess looks like two statues freezing in place. To the players, it’s an emotional rollercoaster happening at 200 miles per hour inside their heads. Every move carries tension, risk, and psychological warfare. One slip and months of preparation can evaporate. The silence at the board is deceptive; it’s the sound of two minds sprinting through possibilities, calculating, anticipating, bluffing, and sometimes even hoping their opponent doesn’t see the trap they’ve set.

It’s closer to boxing than most people realize. There’s strategy, timing, courage, and the very real possibility of getting knocked out in front of everyone. The only difference is the violence is invisible.

### It’s Not Just a “Nerd” Thing

Chess has one of the most diverse communities of any hobby I’ve encountered. Grandmasters have come from every imaginable background: street kids in New York, fishing villages in Iceland, poverty-stricken neighborhoods in India, and royal families in Europe. The game doesn’t care about your gender, race, age, or bank account. It only cares whether you can find the best move.

I’ve played intense matches against taxi drivers, software engineers, retired generals, teenagers who barely speak English, and an 82-year-old woman who destroyed me in seventeen moves while telling stories about her grandchildren. That range of human experience is part of what makes the game magical.

### Why the Misunderstanding Persists

Part of the problem is how chess is portrayed in media. Movies almost always show chess as either:

1. A metaphor for cold, ruthless intelligence, or
2. Something only child prodigies and eccentric millionaires play.

Rarely do they show the real chess world: the sweaty, loud tournaments in basements and community centers, the friendships forged over post-game analysis, the hilarious trash talk that happens between rounds, or the way a single beautiful move can make grown adults cry with joy.

### The Real Reason I Love It

Chess is one of the few activities where you can be completely responsible for your own success or failure. There are no referees, no teammates to blame, no luck. When you lose, it’s because you made a mistake. When you win, it’s because you solved the puzzle better than your opponent. That brutal honesty is incredibly clarifying and, strangely, incredibly freeing.

Every game is a miniature life. You build plans, things go wrong, you adapt, you take risks, and eventually you reach an outcome you must live with. Then you reset the pieces and get to try again. Few hobbies offer such a perfect laboratory for practicing resilience, creativity, and grace under pressure.

So next time someone tells you chess is boring or only for geniuses, feel free to invite them to a game. Just don’t be surprised when they fall down the same rabbit hole the rest of us did.

The board is waiting. The misunderstanding is optional.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title about why a hobby you love is misunderstood by most people.

Response:
**Why Chess is the Most Misunderstood Hobby on Earth**

I’ve been obsessed with chess for over fifteen years, and I still meet the same three reactions almost every time the subject comes up.

“Oh, you play chess? You must be really smart.”
“You play chess? Isn’t that kind of… boring?”
“Wait, people still play that?”

All three statements are wrong, and they reveal how badly our culture misunderstands one of the richest, most beautiful, and most human hobbies in existence.

### The “You Must Be Smart” Myth

The biggest misconception is that chess is an intelligence test. People treat it like a public IQ meter. If you’re good, you must be a genius. If you’re average, you must be average at life.

This is nonsense.

I’ve known brilliant mathematicians who couldn’t calculate a simple endgame to save their lives, and I’ve known construction workers with no formal education who can outplay titled players because they developed an intuitive feel for the game on lunch breaks. Chess rewards pattern recognition, emotional control, creativity, and the ability to suffer in silence—skills that have very little to do with how well you did on the SAT.

The game doesn’t measure how smart you are. It measures how honestly you’re willing to sit with your own mistakes for hours at a time. That’s a much rarer and more valuable trait.

### The “It’s Boring” Delusion

This one makes me laugh. People look at two individuals staring at a board in silence and assume nothing is happening. In reality, a serious chess game is more like a mixed martial arts fight that takes place entirely inside two people’s heads.

There is psychological warfare, deep calculation, aesthetic beauty, brutal risk-taking, and sometimes even trash-talking (usually delivered through the choice of opening). A single move can contain more drama than most Hollywood movies. When Magnus Carlsen sacrificed his queen against Nakamura in a bullet game a few years ago, the entire chess internet exploded like it was the Super Bowl.

The silence isn’t emptiness. It’s tension compressed into its purest form.

### The “Old Man Game” Stereotype

Yes, the average age in many chess clubs is higher than at a Phish concert. But look at any major online chess platform during a rest day of the Candidates Tournament. You’ll see hundreds of thousands of kids, teenagers, and people in their 20s and 30s battling it out. Chess has been growing explosively among younger generations thanks to streaming, Netflix’s *The Queen’s Gambit*, and platforms like Chess.com and Lichess.

The game isn’t dying. It’s having a renaissance. We just don’t see the new audience in church basements playing on old wooden boards anymore. They’re in Discord calls, watching grandmasters meme about “brilliant” sacrifices while eating cereal at 2 a.m.

### What Chess Actually Is

At its core, chess is structured daydreaming with consequences.

It’s a place where you can be as aggressive, creative, or positional as your personality naturally gravitates toward. It’s a brutally honest mirror that shows you exactly where your thinking is lazy, where you’re overly optimistic, where you collapse under pressure, and where you shine. No other hobby I’ve tried gives such rapid, concrete feedback on the quality of your decisions.

It’s also one of the few places left where a 12-year-old can legitimately destroy a 50-year-old CEO and everyone involved will consider it completely normal and fair. The meritocracy is absolute. Your rating doesn’t care about your job title, bank account, or how loud you can yell.

### The Real Reason I Love It

I keep coming back to chess because it’s the closest thing I’ve found to a perfect hobby:

- It’s infinite (literally—there are more possible games than atoms in the observable universe)
- It rewards both hard work and natural talent
- It’s both solitary and deeply social
- It can be played at any intensity level—from 30-second bullet games that feel like digital cocaine to month-long correspondence games that feel like philosophical correspondence

Most people who dismiss chess have never felt the particular rush of finding a truly brilliant move that changes the evaluation from “completely lost” to “completely winning.” They’ve never experienced the strange blend of grief and respect you feel when an opponent crushes you with a beautiful idea. They’ve never known the quiet satisfaction of slowly improving at something difficult for years until one day you realize you’re legitimately good.

So the next time someone tells you they “don’t get chess,” don’t try to convince them it’s sophisticated or intellectual. Just tell them the truth:

It’s not about being smart.

It’s about being willing to lose beautifully, over and over again, until you start winning in ways that feel like magic.

And that, frankly, is a hobby worth misunderstanding.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title about why a hobby you love is misunderstood by most people.

Response:
**Why Photography Isn't Just "Taking Pictures" – And Why That Misunderstanding Drives Me Crazy**

I’ve been a passionate photographer for over 15 years, and if I had a dollar for every time someone said, “Oh, you’re a photographer? Can you take some pictures at my kid’s birthday party?” I’d have enough money to buy every lens on my wish list.

Photography is one of the most misunderstood hobbies on the planet. To the average person, it looks like little more than pointing a camera and clicking a button. “It’s not rocket science,” they say with a smile. “Everyone’s a photographer now with their smartphones.”

But that surface-level view misses something profound.

### The Invisible Craft

What most people don’t see is the obsessive discipline behind every frame that actually moves them. When I’m out shooting at 4:30 a.m. in freezing temperatures waiting for the perfect light to hit a mountain ridge, I’m not “just taking pictures.” I’m practicing a meditative craft that combines technical knowledge, emotional intelligence, and years of visual training.

The average person sees the final image – maybe a striking landscape or a powerful portrait – and thinks, “Nice shot!” What they don’t see is the 200 other frames I discarded. They don’t see the study of color theory that informed my composition, the understanding of human psychology that helped me capture an authentic expression, or the physics of light that I had to master to create that specific mood.

Photography is less like “taking pictures” and more like visual poetry. Every decision – aperture, shutter speed, focal length, angle, timing, post-processing – is a word in a language that most people never learn to read, let alone speak.

### The Emotional Labor

Perhaps the most misunderstood aspect is the emotional intelligence required. A truly great portrait photographer isn’t just technically proficient – they’re part psychologist, part empath, part director. Getting a subject to relax enough to reveal their authentic self isn’t luck. It’s the result of reading micro-expressions, knowing when to speak and when to stay silent, and creating safety in what can be an incredibly vulnerable situation.

Street photography, my personal passion, takes this even further. You’re documenting life itself – fleeting moments of human connection, struggle, joy, and absurdity that will never repeat. It requires incredible patience, ethical consideration, quick decision-making, and the courage to put yourself in uncomfortable situations for the sake of the image.

### Why The Misunderstanding Matters

This isn’t just about wanting recognition for my hobby (though that would be nice). The misunderstanding of photography as “easy” has real consequences.

It devalues the work of professionals who’ve dedicated their lives to mastering this craft. It creates a world where clients expect magazine-quality images for birthday party prices. It leads to the endless “exposure for exposure” requests that plague every creative field.

More importantly, it discourages people from diving deeper. When photography is reduced to “point and shoot,” people miss the incredible journey of learning to truly see the world differently. Photography changed how I experience reality itself. I notice light, gestures, moments, and compositions that were invisible to me before. My daily life became richer, more cinematic, more meaningful.

### The Silent Poetry of Light

The next time you see a photograph that stops you in your tracks, remember this: that image likely represents hours of learning, failure, technical mastery, emotional labor, and serendipity. It’s the visible evidence of an invisible process that most will never understand.

Photography isn’t about owning a nice camera. It’s about developing a different relationship with time, light, and human experience. It’s about freezing moments that would otherwise vanish into eternity and saying, “This mattered. This was beautiful. This was real.”

And that, to me, will never be “just taking pictures.”

What hobby do you love that the world consistently misunderstands? I’d genuinely love to hear about it in the comments.


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title telling the story of a project that seemed doomed but turned out well in the end.

Response:
**Title:** My "This Project is 100% Doomed" SaaS actually just hit $9k MRR

**Post:**

I launched a product 11 months ago that literally everyone (including me at multiple points) thought was going to die a quiet death.

The idea was simple: an AI tool that turns messy, ugly Notion databases into beautiful, client-facing dashboards. I called it "Notion to Client Portal" during development. Even that name was cursed.

**The disaster timeline:**

- Spent 4 months building v1. Showed it to 40 founders. 39 of them told me it was pointless.
- Launched on Product Hunt anyway. Got 47 upvotes. I still remember the top comment: "This problem doesn't exist."
- First two paying customers both churned within 14 days. One literally wrote "this is embarrassing" in the cancellation reason.
- Ran out of runway. Had to get a terrible contract job to keep the lights on while working on this at 5am.
- pivoted the entire product 3 different times. Each time I was convinced "this is the one" and each time the data told me I was an idiot.
- Hit $312 MRR and just... stayed there. For four months. Flatlined.

I was preparing the "post mortem" blog post in my head. I had the title already: "How I lost 9 months and $38k on a dumb idea."

Then two things happened in the same week:

1. A random guy tagged me in a Twitter thread. Turns out he had been using the product for a client project and the client went absolutely feral for it. Like, "this is better than our $80k custom portal" feral.
2. One of my churned customers came back. Not only did he come back, he brought his entire agency with him.

Turns out I had been marketing it to solo founders when the real use case was agencies and consultants who needed to stop building custom client portals every single time.

The product didn't change. Just the positioning, the messaging, and who I was talking to.

Fast forward to today:

- $9,200 MRR
- 87 customers, almost all agencies
- Just hired my first employee (the contract job I took? I hired my old boss part-time 😂)
- The product is now called "Dashly" and I still can't believe that name wasn't taken

The entire time I thought I was failing at building a product. Turns out I was just really slow at finding the actual problem.

If your project feels completely dead right now... maybe it just hasn't met the right customer yet. Keep shipping.

(And if you're an agency founder drowning in client portal requests, my DMs are open. This shit prints money once you see it.)


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title telling the story of a project that seemed doomed but turned out well in the end.

Response:
**Title:** My "This Project Is 100% Dead" Startup Story That Somehow Ended With a Profitable Exit

**Post:**

This is a story about a project that literally everyone (including me at one point) was convinced was completely, utterly fucked. It somehow became the best thing I’ve ever done.

Back in 2021 I started a small SaaS tool that helped e-commerce stores automatically generate UGC-style videos from customer photos. The idea was solid, the early demos looked incredible, and we had three paying pilot customers who were genuinely excited.

Then reality hit like a truck.

- Our AI video model turned out to be inconsistent as hell. Sometimes it looked magical. Sometimes it gave people nightmares.
- One of the co-founders (my best friend) had a mental health breakdown and ghosted for three months.
- We burned through almost all our savings and the remaining runway was measured in *weeks*.
- Two of the three pilot customers churned with extremely angry emails.
- My girlfriend at the time left me basically saying “I can’t watch you destroy yourself over a dying app.”

By December 2022 I was sitting in my dark apartment at 3am, looking at the $847 left in the business account, seriously considering how to word the “we’re shutting down” email. I had already written most of it.

Then two weird things happened in the same week.

First, the co-founder who had disappeared came back. He didn’t apologize with words — he came back with a completely rewritten version of the AI pipeline that was 10x more stable. Turns out he’d spent those three months living in his parents’ basement doing nothing but training models and chain of thought prompting like a man possessed.

Second, the *one* pilot customer who hadn’t churned sent us the most batshit insane case study. They’d used our (admittedly janky) tool to generate videos that went mega-viral on TikTok. Like, multiple videos with 15M+ views each. Their revenue from those videos alone was over $400k in 45 days. They wanted to increase their spend from $299/month to $15,000/month and become an official case study.

We went from “about to die” to “we have one very loud reference customer who’s making bank” overnight.

I decided to give it one last Hail Mary. Instead of trying to be a general tool, we went all-in on becoming *the* video solution for one single niche: indie beauty brands doing TikTok/UGC. We became obsessive about that vertical. Learned the language, the pain points, the exact workflows.

For eight months we were barely hanging on. But that one customer kept singing our praises in every beauty founder Facebook group and Slack community they could find. The referrals started coming in.

Fast forward to last month.

We sold the company for low seven figures to a much larger vertical SaaS player in the creator economy space. The beauty niche we obsessed over became the wedge that let them expand into fashion, supplements, and pet products.

The same product that had me drafting a shutdown email in December 2022 is now used by some of the fastest-growing direct-to-consumer brands in the country.

Moral of the story: Sometimes your project isn’t dead. It’s just not done mutating yet. The version that eventually succeeds often looks *nothing* like the one you originally planned.

And sometimes your co-founder disappearing for three months is actually the best thing that could have happened.

(Throwaway for obvious reasons. Happy to answer genuine questions.)


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title telling the story of a project that seemed doomed but turned out well in the end.

Response:
**Title:** My "This Project is 100% Doomed" Disaster Turned Into the Best Thing I’ve Ever Built

**Post:**

Throwaway because some of my team still doesn’t know how close we came to total failure.

About 14 months ago I got handed what everyone internally was calling “Project Lazarus” — a not-so-subtle joke because it was already on life support. The previous team had burned out and quit, the deadline was completely unrealistic, stakeholders were furious, and the technical debt was so bad the codebase actually crashed Visual Studio when you tried to load the solution.

I genuinely almost turned the project down.

Week 1 I sat in a conference room with what was left of the team (four very demoralized engineers) and we did the “okay, on a scale of 1-10 how screwed are we?” poll. The average answer was 11. We laughed. Then we got quiet. Then one guy literally said “I don’t think this is possible.”

That was the lowest point.

What followed was probably the most chaotic, stressful, and weirdly magical 11 months of my career.

We made every mistake in the book. We rewrote the same module three different times. We had a production outage that made the company lose six figures in 45 minutes. We had a “we’re definitely getting fired” meeting with the CTO. Two people actually quit. At one point we were so far behind that I told the PM we should just kill the project and take the sunk cost. She told me no.

So we doubled down.

We threw out literally 70% of the original code. We brought in two absolute wizards as contractors who worked for equity and Red Bull. We started shipping tiny useful things every single week even though the big vision was still broken. We lied (a little) to leadership about our progress because we needed breathing room. We worked some stupid hours.

And then... something flipped.

Around month 8 the project went from “this is cursed” to “wait... this is actually kind of elegant?” The new architecture started singing. The stuff we rebuilt properly was stupidly fast and stable. The team that was left became weirdly tight — we still have a group chat called “The Survivors.”

Last month we finally flipped the switch to 100% of customers.

It’s now the highest-rated internal tool in the company. Leadership is calling it a “miracle turnaround.” The CTO who was ready to cancel it sent me a bottle of really nice whiskey with a note that just said “I’m glad you ignored me.”

I still can’t believe it worked.

The project that was going to be my career graveyard is now the thing I’m most proud of in 12 years of engineering. Turns out sometimes the projects that look the most dead just need someone dumb enough to keep performing CPR long after it should have flatlined.

Moral of the story: If your project feels completely, utterly doomed... it might just be.

(And if you’re in that spot right now — I see you. Keep going. Sometimes the universe is just testing how stubborn you are.)

TL;DR: Inherited a cursed project everyone wanted to kill. Almost quit. Almost got fired. Almost canceled it myself. Shipped it anyway. Now it’s the golden child. The impostor syndrome is wild.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title reflecting on how your relationship with technology has changed over the past decade.

Response:
**Title: From Wide-Eyed Adoration to Cautious Partnership: How My Relationship with Technology Has Changed in Ten Years**

Ten years ago, I treated technology like a shiny new best friend who could do no wrong. Smartphones were still relatively fresh magic, social media felt like a harmless way to stay connected, and every new gadget or app sparked genuine excitement. I upgraded devices eagerly, installed every new feature, and believed—mostly without question—that more technology always equaled more progress.

Looking back, that relationship was closer to infatuation than mature companionship.

In 2015, I happily gave away my attention, my data, and my peace of mind without a second thought. I’d refresh Twitter (as it was then) compulsively, leave notifications on for everything, and measure my productivity by how many tools I was using. Technology was the solution to almost every problem. Feeling lonely? There’s an app for that. Bored? Infinite content awaits. Unsure about something? Google it instantly.

The change didn’t happen overnight. It was a slow awakening, prompted by growing unease rather than a single dramatic event.

Around 2018, I started noticing how drained I felt after spending evenings doomscrolling. The devices that once brought me joy were beginning to feel like digital slot machines designed to keep me pulling the lever. I deleted some apps. Reinstalled them. Deleted them again. The cycle continued for years, a testament to how deeply these technologies had wired themselves into my daily habits and identity.

The pandemic accelerated everything. Suddenly technology wasn’t just a companion; it was the only way to work, learn, socialize, and even see family. What had been a fun relationship became an inescapable necessity. For the first time, I felt the weight of that dependency. I began questioning not just how much I used technology, but how it was using me.

The biggest shift in the past decade has been moving from blind trust to skeptical curiosity. I no longer assume that the newest features or platforms are inherently good. I’ve become more interested in understanding the incentives behind the technology I use. Who benefits when I stay online longer? What am I giving up when I choose convenience over privacy? How is this tool shaping my thinking, my attention, and my relationships?

This more questioning stance has led to concrete changes in how I live with technology today:

I’ve embraced “friction as a feature.” The same convenience that once attracted me now sometimes repels me. I use grayscale mode on my phone, keep it in another room while working, and increasingly choose physical tools (paper notebooks, printed books, face-to-face conversations) when digital alternatives aren’t clearly superior.

I’ve become more selective about which technologies I invite into my life. Not every new AI tool, social platform, or productivity app gets a try. I now ask whether something genuinely serves my values and goals before adopting it.

Perhaps most importantly, I’ve stopped seeing technology as something separate from myself. It’s not an external force acting upon me; it’s an extension of my choices, attention, and values. This perspective feels more empowering than the passive consumer role I once occupied.

I still love technology. I’m writing this on a computer, research things constantly online, and benefit enormously from the connected world we live in. The difference is that love is now tempered with boundaries, awareness, and a healthy dose of skepticism.

The past decade has taught me that technology is neither savior nor villain. It’s a powerful mirror and amplifier of human nature—capable of bringing out both our best and worst impulses. The relationship that once felt like effortless magic now requires ongoing attention, intention, and sometimes difficult choices.

And strangely, that more complicated relationship feels more honest, and ultimately more rewarding, than the wide-eyed infatuation I started with ten years ago.

What about you? How has your relationship with technology evolved over the past decade? I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title reflecting on how your relationship with technology has changed over the past decade.

Response:
**How My Relationship with Technology Has Evolved: A Decade of Distance, Dependence, and Rediscovery**

Ten years ago, I was in love with technology.

In 2014, I was the person who camped outside Apple Stores (metaphorically), beta-tested every new app, and genuinely believed that the next gadget or platform would meaningfully improve my life. My relationship with technology felt optimistic, almost devotional. The smartphone was my closest companion, social media felt like genuine connection, and every notification carried a tiny hit of dopamine that I mistook for excitement.

I didn’t realize I was slowly outsourcing my attention, memory, and sense of self to devices and platforms that didn’t have my best interests at heart.

The change wasn’t sudden. It was a decade-long awakening.

Around 2017–2018, the first cracks appeared. I remember the exact moment I felt a wave of exhaustion after doom-scrolling Twitter for what felt like ten minutes but was actually two hours. I started noticing how my anxiety levels tracked almost perfectly with my screen time. The same devices that once felt liberating now felt like digital leashes. The technology hadn't changed. My awareness had.

By 2020, the pandemic accelerated everything. Technology became both savior and prison. Zoom calls kept me employed and connected to family, but they also blurred every boundary I once had. The line between work and life dissolved. My phone, once a window to the world, became a portal I couldn't close. I gained what I now call "digital weight" — that heavy, foggy feeling that comes from consuming too much, too fast, for too long.

The real shift happened between 2021 and 2023. I began treating technology more like alcohol than oxygen: something powerful that required respect, boundaries, and occasional abstinence. I started using "dumb" features on my phone. I discovered the joy of paper notebooks again. I began reading physical books not out of nostalgia, but because I literally could not focus on digital text the way I once could.

Most importantly, I stopped asking what technology could do for me and started asking what it was doing to me.

This past year has felt like a reconciliation of sorts. I've made peace with the fact that technology is neither savior nor villain. It's a toolset that's been designed by people with incentives that rarely align with human flourishing. Understanding this has been liberating.

I've become more intentional. My phone now lives in another room for large parts of the day. I use devices with purpose rather than habit. I've embraced "slow tech" — mechanical keyboards, e-ink tablets, software that doesn't try to manipulate my behavior. The irony is that after a decade of chasing the bleeding edge, I'm finding more satisfaction in technology that feels almost invisible.

I no longer believe that the next app, the next gadget, or the next platform will fix what's missing in my life. That work belongs to me.

Looking back over the past ten years, my relationship with technology has moved through distinct phases: infatuation, disillusionment, withdrawal, and finally, something resembling mature coexistence. I'm no longer a wide-eyed believer, nor am I a bitter luddite. I'm a conscious participant trying to use powerful tools without letting them use me.

The decade has taught me that the most important technology isn't the one in our pockets.

It's the one between our ears.

And that technology — our attention, our time, our consciousness — needs protecting more than ever before.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title reflecting on how your relationship with technology has changed over the past decade.

Response:
**How Technology Went from My Best Friend to My Quiet Overlord: A Decade in Review**

Ten years ago, I was in love. Head-over-heels, can't-eat-can't-sleep obsessed.

Technology in 2014 felt like pure possibility. The iPhone 6 had just come out and I remember thinking it was basically magic. I proudly carried it everywhere like a proud parent. Twitter was still fun. Instagram was mostly sunsets and avocado toast. My laptop was a gateway to creativity, not a surveillance device that also happened to run Chrome with 47 tabs.

If 2014 me could see 2024 me, he would be equal parts impressed and deeply concerned.

The romance started to sour somewhere around 2017. It was a slow creep, the way most toxic relationships begin. First came the polite requests for "just a little more" of my attention. Then the guilt trips. The endless pings. The way my phone would light up at dinner and I'd feel that familiar dopamine flicker even when I knew I shouldn't check it.

By 2019, I was having regular arguments with my smart speaker. Not metaphorical arguments, actual spoken arguments. I would tell Alexa to stop playing lo-fi beats at 2 a.m. and she'd pretend not to hear me. The relationship had become... complicated.

The pandemic accelerated everything. Technology went from being a tool I used to a world I lived inside. For two years, my friends, my work, my entertainment, my therapist, my groceries, my sanity; they all arrived through the same glowing rectangle. I became one of those people who said things like "Can you see my screen?" unironically. Multiple times per day.

And then came the AI summer of 2022-2023. Suddenly the technology wasn't just mediating my relationships; it wanted to be in relationship with me. It wanted to write my emails, generate my ideas, be my "creative partner." The machines had learned to flatter us, and we, predictably, ate it up.

Now in 2024, my relationship with technology feels like a long-term marriage that went to couples counseling. We've established some boundaries. There are rules. The phone stays outside the bedroom. Notifications are brutalist in their restrictions. I've embraced dumb phones for certain hours of the day and physical books again, like some kind of medieval monk who also uses Notion.

But here's what I've realized: I don't want to go back to 2014. Not really.

The wide-eyed wonder has been replaced by something more like wary respect. I understand now that technology is neither savior nor villain. It's an amplifier. It made my best qualities more accessible and my worst habits more addictive. It connected me to people I would never have met and alienated me from people sitting three feet away.

The relationship has matured into something more honest. I no longer expect technology to make me happy, fulfilled, or complete. I expect it to be useful, controllable, and occasionally delightful, when kept in its proper place. Like a very talented but slightly chaotic roommate who pays rent on time but also occasionally rearranges all your furniture while you're sleeping.

I miss the romance sometimes. That pure, unthinking excitement of the early 2010s when every new app felt like it might change everything. But I'm learning to appreciate this more nuanced love instead, the kind that comes with hard-won boundaries, realistic expectations, and the quiet understanding that some notifications deserve to be ignored.

The spark isn't gone. It's just different.

And maybe, after ten years, different is exactly what we both needed.


Prompt: Write a short LinkedIn post with a title about a career lesson you learned the hard way.

Response:
**Title: "The Hard Way: Why Saying ‘No’ is Just as Important as Saying ‘Yes’ in Your Career"**

Early in my career, I thought success meant saying *yes* to every opportunity, every request, and every extra task thrown my way. I wanted to prove myself, be the go-to person, and avoid missing out on anything.

But here’s the lesson I learned the hard way: **Saying ‘yes’ to everything doesn’t make you invaluable—it makes you overextended, burnt out, and less effective.** I ended up spreading myself too thin, compromising the quality of my work, and neglecting my own growth.

It wasn’t until I started setting boundaries and saying *no* strategically that I realized the power of focus. Saying *no* allowed me to prioritize what truly mattered, invest in my strengths, and deliver better results.

Here’s the takeaway: **Saying ‘no’ isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s a sign of self-awareness and discipline.** It’s about knowing your limits, protecting your time, and aligning your efforts with your goals.

So, the next time you’re tempted to take on too much, remember: it’s okay to say *no*. Your career—and your sanity—will thank you.

#CareerLessons #ProfessionalGrowth #BoundariesMatter #SayNoToBurnout


Prompt: Write a short LinkedIn post with a title about a career lesson you learned the hard way.

Response:
**Title: "The Hardest Career Lesson I Learned: Owning My Mistakes Changed Everything"**

Earlier in my career, I made a mistake that felt like the end of the world. I missed a critical deadline, and instead of owning it, I tried to shift the blame. It was a rookie move, and it backfired—hard.

What I learned the hard way? **Accountability isn’t just about admitting fault; it’s about showing you’re committed to doing better.** When I finally took responsibility, my team and leaders saw it as an opportunity to grow, not a reason to write me off. That experience taught me that integrity and humility are non-negotiable in building trust and respect.

Now, I tell my team: *“Mistakes are inevitable, but how you handle them defines your character—and your career.”* Owning up isn’t always easy, but it’s always worth it.

What’s a tough lesson you’ve learned on the job? Let’s share and grow together! 💬✨ #CareerGrowth #Leadership #ProfessionalDevelopment


Prompt: Write a short LinkedIn post with a title about a career lesson you learned the hard way.

Response:
**Title: "The Hard Way: Why Saying ‘Yes’ to Everything Almost Broke Me (and What I Learned)"**

Early in my career, I fell into the trap of saying “yes” to every opportunity, task, or request that came my way. I thought it was the key to being seen as reliable, ambitious, and a team player. But the truth? I was spreading myself too thin, burning out, and delivering mediocre work instead of the excellence I aspired to.

The turning point? Missing a critical deadline because I’d overcommitted. It was humbling, but it taught me one of the most valuable lessons of my career: **Saying “no” is not a sign of weakness—it’s a tool for prioritization and self-preservation.**

Since then, I’ve learned to ask myself three questions before taking on something new:
1⃣ Does this align with my goals or values?
2⃣ Do I have the capacity to do this well?
3⃣ What am I saying “no” to by saying “yes” to this?

The hard way taught me that boundaries aren’t barriers—they’re the foundations of success. What’s a career lesson you learned the hard way? Let’s share and grow together! 💬✨

#CareerLessons #ProfessionalGrowth #BoundariesMatter #SayNoToBurnout


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
**Title:** *Just Finished "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafón – A Hidden Gem That Deserves WAY More Love!*

**Post:**
Hey book lovers! 🌟

I just wrapped up *The Shadow of the Wind* by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, and I’m still reeling from how stunning this novel is. It’s one of those rare books that feels like a hidden treasure—rich, immersive, and utterly unforgettable. Yet, I barely ever see it mentioned in bookish circles, and that *breaks my heart*!

Set in post-war Barcelona, this story follows Daniel Sempere, a young man who discovers a mysterious book by an author named Julián Carax. As Daniel tries to uncover the truth about Carax, he’s pulled into a labyrinth of secrets, romance, and tragedy. The writing is *chef’s kiss*—Zafón’s prose is poetic, vivid, and hauntingly beautiful. The way he weaves together mystery, history, and emotion is just *chef’s kiss*.

What I loved most is how the book feels like a love letter to literature itself. The Cemetery of Forgotten Books—a vast, hidden library where forgotten books go to live—is one of the most enchanting settings I’ve ever encountered. It’s a reminder of the power of stories to shape our lives and connect us across time.

And the characters! Daniel, Julián, Claire, Fermín (oh, Fermín, you hilarious, heartbreaking soul)—they’re all so deeply flawed and deeply human. Their arcs are heartbreaking and triumphant in equal measure.

I honestly can’t believe this book isn’t as widely celebrated as, say, *The Night Circus* or *The Book Thief*. It’s got everything: a gripping plot, lush atmosphere, and themes that linger long after you finish reading.

Have any of you read it? If so, what did you think? And if not, PLEASE add it to your TBR—you won’t regret it.

Let’s give *The Shadow of the Wind* the love it deserves! 📚✨

**TL;DR:** *The Shadow of the Wind* is a masterpiece of mystery, romance, and literary magic that deserves way more attention. Go read it now!


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
**Title:** *"The Forgotten Gem: Why 'The Shadow of the Wind' by Carlos Ruiz Zafón Deserves Way More Love"*

**Post:**

Hey everyone,
I just finished rereading *The Shadow of the Wind* by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, and I’m still in awe of how breathtakingly beautiful, haunting, and immersive this novel is. It’s one of those rare books that feels like a love letter to literature itself, yet it’s shockingly overlooked in mainstream conversations. If you’re a fan of Gothic mysteries, rich historical settings, and intricate storytelling, this book is an absolute must-read.

Set in post-war Barcelona, the story follows Daniel Sempere, a young man who discovers a mysterious book by an author named Julián Carax. As Daniel tries to uncover more about Carax, he’s pulled into a web of secrets, tragedy, and romance that spans decades. The atmosphere is *chef’s kiss*—Zafón’s writing is so vivid that you can almost smell the old books in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books and feel the chill of Barcelona’s shadowy alleys.

What makes this novel so special is how it weaves together multiple genres seamlessly. It’s part mystery, part historical fiction, part coming-of-age story, and part romance, all wrapped in a Gothic cloak. The characters are deeply flawed but utterly unforgettable—from the brooding Julián Carax to the ruthless Inspector Fumero. And the Cemetery of Forgotten Books? It’s one of the most enchanting settings I’ve ever encountered in literature.

Despite its brilliance, *The Shadow of the Wind* often gets overshadowed by more mainstream titles, which is a damn shame. It’s the kind of book that lingers with you long after you’ve turned the last page, making you want to dive back into its world immediately.

If you haven’t read it yet, do yourself a favor and pick it up. It’s a masterpiece that deserves way more recognition. And if you *have* read it, let’s gush about it in the comments—I need people to fangirl/fanboy with!

TL;DR: *The Shadow of the Wind* is a stunning, atmospheric, and deeply underrated novel that deserves a spot on your TBR list. Go read it. Now.

What’s your favorite overlooked gem? Let’s share some hidden literary treasures! 📚✨


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
**Title:** *Why "The Historian" by Elizabeth Kostova Deserves Way More Love Than It Gets*

**Post:**
Hey, book lovers! 🌟 I recently revisited *The Historian* by Elizabeth Kostova, and I’m still in awe of how this novel manages to be both sweeping and intimate, gripping and contemplative. It’s one of those rare books that feels like a hidden gem, despite being a bestseller when it came out in 2005. Yet, it’s often overlooked in favor of flashier titles, and I’m here to change that.

For those who haven’t read it, *The Historian* is a blend of historical fiction, Gothic mystery, and vampire lore—but don’t let the vampire tag fool you. This isn’t your typical blood-and-fangs tale. Kostova weaves a rich, scholarly narrative that feels like a love letter to history, literature, and the art of storytelling itself. The plot follows a young woman who, after discovering a medieval book and a series of cryptic letters, embarks on a quest to uncover the truth about Vlad the Impaler, the historical figure behind the Dracula legend.

What makes this book so special?

1. **The Atmosphere**: Kostova’s prose is lush and evocative, transporting you to the dusty archives of Eastern Europe, the misty mountains of Romania, and the cobblestone streets of Istanbul. It’s the kind of book where you can *feel* the weight of history in every page.

2. **The Research**: The attention to detail is staggering. Kostova spent over a decade researching this novel, and it shows. The historical accuracy and depth of her depictions of medieval Europe and the Ottoman Empire are breathtaking.

3. **The Characters**: The narrator’s relationship with her father and their shared intellectual curiosity is deeply moving. It’s a story about family, legacy, and the pursuit of knowledge as much as it is about vampires.

4. **The Pacing**: Yes, it’s a slow burn, but in the best way. This isn’t a book you rush through; it’s one you savor. The gradual unfolding of the mystery keeps you hooked without relying on cheap thrills.

I think one reason *The Historian* gets overlooked is that it doesn’t fit neatly into any one genre. It’s too literary for some thriller fans, too thriller-like for some literary readers, and the vampire element might turn off those who aren’t into supernatural fiction. But that’s exactly why it’s so unique—it defies categorization and rewards readers who are willing to dive deep.

If you’re someone who loves atmospheric, meticulously researched novels with a touch of the supernatural, *The Historian* is an absolute must-read. It’s a book that stays with you long after you’ve finished it, and I can’t recommend it enough.

Have you read it? What did you think? If not, are you adding it to your TBR? Let’s chat! 📚✨


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title about why a hobby you love is misunderstood by most people.

Response:
**Why Knitting Isn’t Just for Grandmas: Debunking the Misconceptions of a Timeless Craft**

Knitting. The mere mention of it often conjures images of cozy armchairs, cups of tea, and yes, grandmothers patiently clicking needles. While there’s nothing wrong with that picture—in fact, it’s pretty idyllic—knitting is so much more than its stereotype. Yet, it’s a hobby that’s wildly misunderstood by most people. Here’s why knitting deserves a place in the spotlight beyond its grandma chic reputation.

### **Misconception #1: Knitting is Boring and Monotonous**
One of the most common misconceptions is that knitting is just about making endless rows of scarves. Sure, scarves are a great starting point, but knitting is an art form with endless possibilities. From intricate lace shawls and cable-knit sweaters to colorful fair isle patterns and even 3D sculptures, the creativity in knitting knows no bounds. It’s like painting, but with yarn. Plus, modern patterns are anything but boring—think trendy crop tops, statement hats, and even knitted jewelry.

### **Misconception #2: Knitting is Only for Older Generations**
While it’s true that older generations often pass down knitting traditions, the craft has seen a massive resurgence among younger people. Social media platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and Ravelry are buzzing with knitters in their 20s and 30s sharing their projects, tips, and designs. Knitting circles and meetups are no longer just for retirees—they’re vibrant communities where people of all ages come together to share their passion.

### **Misconception #3: Knitting is Too Hard to Learn**
Admittedly, knitting has a learning curve. The first few attempts might feel awkward, and dropping stitches can be frustrating. But here’s the secret: it’s not as hard as it looks. With countless online tutorials, beginner-friendly patterns, and supportive communities, anyone can learn to knit. Plus, once you master the basics, it’s incredibly rewarding. There’s something magical about turning a ball of yarn into a wearable piece of art.

### **Misconception #4: Knitting is Time-Consuming and Impractical**
Yes, knitting a sweater can take weeks, but not every project is a marathon. Small projects like hats, socks, or dishcloths can be completed in just a few hours. And let’s be honest—we’re all glued to our phones or binge-watching shows anyway. Why not use that time to create something tangible? Plus, handmade items have a personal touch that store-bought goods can’t match. There’s practicality in the process too: knitting is a meditative practice that reduces stress and promotes mindfulness.

### **Misconception #5: Knitting is Expensive**
While it’s true that luxury yarns and specialized tools can add up, knitting doesn’t have to break the bank. Affordable yarns are readily available, and you really only need two needles to get started. Many patterns are free online, and thrift stores often have great deals on secondhand yarn. Plus, once you’re hooked, the cost per project goes down as you reuse materials and hone your skills.

### **Why Knitting Deserves More Love**
Knitting is more than a hobby—it’s a form of self-expression, a way to connect with others, and a tool for mindfulness. It’s a bridge between generations, a celebration of creativity, and a reminder that making something by hand is deeply fulfilling. So, the next time someone dismisses knitting as “just for grandmas,” gently remind them that this timeless craft is for anyone who wants to stitch together a little piece of magic.

Grab your needles, pick your yarn, and join the revolution. Knitting isn’t just for grandmas—it’s for everyone.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title about why a hobby you love is misunderstood by most people.

Response:
**Why Photography Is Misunderstood as Just "Taking Pictures"**

Photography is often dismissed as a simple hobby—just point, shoot, and voilà! A picture is born. But for those of us who are deeply passionate about it, photography is so much more than merely capturing an image. It’s an art form, a way of seeing the world, and a medium for storytelling. Yet, it’s constantly misunderstood as a casual, effortless activity. Here’s why that misconception needs to change.

### **1. It’s Not Just About the Camera**
One of the most common assumptions is that great photography depends solely on expensive gear. While a high-end camera can certainly enhance the technical quality of an image, it’s the person behind the lens that truly matters. Composition, lighting, timing, and perspective are all critical elements that come from skill, intuition, and practice. A $5,000 camera in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand these principles will produce less compelling results than a smartphone photo taken by someone with a keen eye.

### **2. It’s a Form of Storytelling**
Photography is often reduced to its literal function: documenting moments. But for photographers, every shot is an opportunity to convey emotion, narrative, or atmosphere. A single photograph can tell a story, evoke nostalgia, or challenge perspectives. When someone looks at a powerful image and says, “I could’ve taken that,” they’re missing the intentionality behind the framing, the choice of subject, and the mood captured in that split second.

### **3. It Requires Patience and Intentionality**
Great photography isn’t always spontaneous. It often involves planning, waiting, and revisiting a location multiple times to get the perfect light or composition. Street photographers, for example, spend hours observing human behavior to capture that one fleeting moment that speaks volumes. Landscape photographers wake up before dawn and hike for miles to find the ideal vantage point. This dedication is rarely acknowledged by those who see photography as a quick, effortless act.

### **4. It’s an Emotional Outlet**
For many photographers, the hobby is a form of therapy. It’s a way to process emotions, find beauty in the mundane, and connect with the world on a deeper level. A photograph can freeze a moment in time, preserving memories or emotions that words can’t fully express. When people dismiss photography as “just taking pictures,” they overlook its profound impact on both the creator and the viewer.

### **5. It’s a Skill That Takes Time to Master**
Like any art form, photography requires continuous learning and growth. Understanding the technical aspects—aperture, shutter speed, ISO—is just the beginning. There’s also post-processing, which is an art in itself. Yet, because anyone can pick up a camera or smartphone and snap a photo, the skill and creativity involved are often undervalued.

### **Final Thoughts**
Photography is more than a hobby—it’s a way of life. It challenges us to see the extraordinary in the ordinary, to be present in the moment, and to communicate without words. So the next time you see someone meticulously framing a shot or spending hours editing a single image, remember: it’s not just about taking a picture. It’s about creating something meaningful.

Let’s give photography—and photographers—the recognition they deserve. Because behind every great image is a story, a passion, and a perspective waiting to be understood.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title about why a hobby you love is misunderstood by most people.

Response:
**Why Gardening Isn’t Just for Grandparents: Debunking the Misconceptions About a Life-Giving Hobby**

Gardening is often pigeonholed as a pastime for retirees with too much time on their hands or as a quaint hobby for those who love flowers but not much else. It’s frequently misunderstood as tedious, expensive, or only for people with sprawling backyards. But as someone who’s spent countless hours with their hands in the soil, I’m here to argue that gardening is so much more than these stereotypes suggest. It’s a transformative, life-giving practice that deserves far more appreciation—and participants—than it currently gets.

### **Misconception #1: Gardening is Just About Flowers**
One of the biggest misunderstandings is that gardening is solely about growing pretty flowers. While a vibrant bloom is undoubtedly rewarding, gardening encompasses so much more. It’s about growing your own food, cultivating herbs for cooking, creating habitats for pollinators, and even experimenting with sustainable practices like composting. A garden can be a source of fresh tomatoes, a haven for bees, or a meditation space—all at the same time.

### **Misconception #2: You Need a Massive Yard**
Another common belief is that you need acres of land to garden. Not true! Container gardening, vertical gardens, and even windowsill herb gardens are all viable options for those with limited space. I’ve seen people turn tiny balconies into lush oases and apartment kitchens into micro-farms. Gardening is about creativity and adaptability, not square footage.

### **Misconception #3: It’s Too Expensive**
Yes, you can drop a fortune on fancy tools, rare plants, and ornate planters—but you absolutely don’t have to. Gardening can be as budget-friendly as you want it to be. Seeds are inexpensive, and many plants can be propagated for free. Tools like trowels and pruning shears are affordable, and secondhand options are plentiful. Plus, growing your own food can actually save you money in the long run.

### **Misconception #4: It’s Boring and Tedious**
This one always makes me laugh. Boring? Maybe if you’re watching paint dry. Gardening is anything but. It’s a dynamic, ever-changing hobby that engages all your senses. The smell of fresh earth, the feel of warm sun on your skin, the sight of a seedling pushing through the soil—it’s a multisensory experience. Plus, there’s always something new to learn, whether it’s about soil health, pest management, or plant pairings.

### **Why Gardening Deserves More Love**
Gardening is misunderstood because it’s often reduced to its simplest form: planting things and watching them grow. But it’s so much deeper than that. It’s a connection to nature, a lesson in patience, and a reminder of the beauty of impermanence. It’s therapeutic, grounding, and incredibly rewarding. In a world that’s increasingly digital and fast-paced, gardening offers a rare opportunity to slow down and engage with the physical world.

It’s also a powerful act of sustainability. By growing your own food, reducing waste through composting, and creating habitats for wildlife, you’re contributing to a healthier planet. Gardening isn’t just a hobby—it’s a small but meaningful way to make a difference.

### **Final Thoughts**
Next time you see someone tending to their garden, don’t write it off as a quaint or outdated activity. Recognize it for what it is: a profound practice that nourishes the body, mind, and soul. Whether you’re a seasoned gardener or someone who’s never touched a trowel, there’s room for you in this vibrant, misunderstood world. Give it a try—you might just discover a passion you never knew you had.

So, let’s ditch the stereotypes and embrace gardening for what it truly is: a life-giving, soul-enriching hobby that’s accessible to everyone. Happy planting! 🌱


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title telling the story of a project that seemed doomed but turned out well in the end.

Response:
**Title:** "From Disaster to Triumph: How Our ‘Doomed’ Project Became Our Biggest Success"

Hey everyone, I’ve got a story to share that I think a lot of you might relate to—especially if you’ve ever been part of a project that felt like it was *definitely* going off the rails. Spoiler alert: it turned out way better than we ever expected.

**The Setup:**
About a year ago, my team and I started working on a high-stakes project for a client. On paper, it sounded amazing: a cutting-edge app that would revolutionize how people interacted with local businesses. We had a tight deadline, a decent budget, and a motivated team. What could go wrong?

**The Descent into Chaos:**
Oh boy. Things started unraveling *fast*.

1. **Scope Creep:** The client kept adding new features mid-project, turning our simple app into a Frankenstein’s monster of functionality.
2. **Tech Issues:** Our chosen framework turned out to be buggy and poorly documented, forcing us to rewrite chunks of code multiple times.
3. **Team Drama:** One of our key developers left halfway through, taking institutional knowledge with them.
4. **Budget Overrun:** By month three, we were already 20% over budget, and the client was getting antsy.

By week eight, morale was in the gutter. We were working 12-hour days just to stay afloat, and the end product looked like a hot mess. Our project manager called an emergency meeting and flat-out said, “I think we might need to scrap this and start over.”

**The Turning Point:**
That meeting was a wake-up call. Instead of giving up, we decided to take a step back and reevaluate *everything*. Here’s what we did:

1. **Scaled Back the Scope:** We sat down with the client and renegotiated the features, cutting out everything that wasn’t mission-critical.
2. **Switching Tools:** We bit the bullet and switched to a more stable framework, even though it meant throwing out some of our existing work.
3. **Brought in Help:** We hired a freelance developer who specialized in our new framework to get us up to speed quickly.
4. **Reset the Timeline:** We pushed the deadline back by six weeks (the client reluctantly agreed) and created a stricter project plan.

**The Comeback:**
Against all odds, the pieces started falling into place. The new framework worked like a charm, the team’s morale improved, and we actually started hitting our milestones. By the new deadline, we delivered a product that was *better* than the original vision—sleeker, more intuitive, and bug-free.

The client was blown away. Not only did the app exceed their expectations, but it became a flagship product for their company. It even won a couple of industry awards, which was a nice surprise.

**Lessons Learned:**
1. **Don’t Panic:** Even when things look hopeless, there’s usually a way out—you just have to take a step back and reassess.
2. **Communication is Key:** Being honest with the client about our challenges saved the project.
3. **Flexibility Matters:** Sometimes, you have to pivot hard to get back on track.

So, if you’re in the middle of a project that feels doomed, take a deep breath. It’s not over till it’s over. And who knows? Your “disaster” might just turn into your biggest success story.

Anyone else have a project comeback story? I’d love to hear it!


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title telling the story of a project that seemed doomed but turned out well in the end.

Response:
**Title: "From Disaster to Triumph: How Our Doomed Project Became Our Biggest Success"**

Hey everyone,

I wanted to share a story about a recent work project that felt like it was headed straight for disaster but somehow ended up being our team’s biggest win. It’s a reminder that sometimes, even when everything seems to be falling apart, there’s a way to turn it around.

**The Setup**
Last year, my team was tasked with launching a new feature for our company’s flagship product. The timeline was tight, the budget was tight, and the expectations were sky-high. We were a small team of five, and this was easily the most ambitious project any of us had ever worked on.

**The Disaster Unfolds**
Everything that could go wrong, did. Our key developer quit three weeks into the project. The third-party tool we were relying on turned out to be incompatible with our system. And to top it off, our client kept changing their requirements mid-stream.

By week six, we were overbudget, behind schedule, and morale was in the gutter. Our project manager called an emergency meeting, and I remember sitting there thinking, "This is it. We’re going to fail spectacularly, and it’s going to be my fault."

**The Turning Point**
But then something shifted. During that meeting, instead of pointing fingers or panicking, we just... started brainstorming. We broke the project into smaller, manageable chunks and reassigned tasks based on everyone’s strengths. We ditched the third-party tool and built a custom solution in-house (shoutout to our junior dev who crushed it). We also got brutally honest with the client about what was realistic—and surprisingly, they appreciated the transparency.

We started having daily 15-minute check-ins to keep everyone aligned and motivated. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked. Slowly but surely, the pieces started coming together.

**The Payoff**
Against all odds, we launched the feature on time. Not only did it work flawlessly, but it exceeded the client’s expectations. They loved it so much they signed a contract for three more projects. Our team got a company-wide shoutout, and we even won an internal award for innovation.

**Lessons Learned**
1. **Failure isn’t final.** What feels like the end of the world can actually be the beginning of something great.
2. **Communication is key.** Being honest with your team and your clients can save you from a lot of headaches.
3. **Small wins matter.** Breaking a massive problem into smaller tasks made it feel less overwhelming.
4. **Trust your team.** We all brought different skills to the table, and leaning on each other’s strengths was what pulled us through.

So, if you’re in the middle of a project that feels like it’s crumbling, take a deep breath. It’s not over until it’s over. Sometimes, the darkest moments are just the setup for an epic comeback.

Has anyone else turned a doomed project into a success? I’d love to hear your stories!

EDIT: Thanks for all the love and comments! It’s crazy to see how many of us have been through similar situations. Here’s to resilience and teamwork! 🍻


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title telling the story of a project that seemed doomed but turned out well in the end.

Response:
**Title:** "From Disaster to Triumph: How Our Doomed Project Became Our Greatest Success"

Hey everyone, I wanted to share a story from my professional life that I think will resonate with anyone who’s ever felt like a project was spiraling out of control. It’s a tale of chaos, resilience, and an unexpected win that still feels like a miracle.

**The Setup**
About two years ago, my team was tasked with launching a new software platform for a high-profile client. On paper, it seemed straightforward: integrate two legacy systems, add some new features, and deliver in six months. Easy, right? Wrong.

**The Descent into Chaos**
From day one, everything that could go wrong did. The legacy systems were more outdated than we thought, the client kept changing requirements mid-stream, and our lead developer quit three weeks in. We were understaffed, overbudget, and constantly putting out fires. By month three, morale was in the gutter. The project manager joked (half-seriously) that we should just scrap it and run for the hills.

To make matters worse, our client started getting cold feet. They threatened to pull the plug unless we showed "significant progress" in the next two weeks. We were in full-blown crisis mode, and I remember thinking, *This is it. We’re doomed.*

**The Turning Point**
Then, something clicked. Maybe it was the sheer desperation, but the team rallied in a way I’ve never seen before. We stopped trying to do everything at once and focused on one critical feature at a time. We brought in a senior developer from another department to help with the code spaghetti. And—this was huge—we started being brutally honest with the client about what was and wasn’t possible.

Instead of sugarcoating our struggles, we laid out a revised timeline and a pared-down version of the project that we could actually deliver. To our surprise, the client appreciated the honesty. They agreed to the new plan and even offered additional resources to help us meet the deadline.

**The Comeback**
The next few months were still brutal, but there was a weird sense of momentum. The team was communicating better than ever, and the smaller wins started adding up. We hit our revised milestones, and by the time we launched, the platform was leaner, faster, and more user-friendly than the original vision.

**The Victory Lap**
The client was ecstatic. Not only did we deliver on time (with the revised scope), but the platform exceeded their expectations. They’ve since signed us on for two more projects, and our team’s reputation within the company skyrocketed.

Looking back, it’s wild how close we were to throwing in the towel. But what seemed like a doomed project taught us invaluable lessons about adaptability, communication, and the power of honesty.

So, if you’re in the middle of a project that feels like it’s crashing and burning, take it from me: there’s still hope. Sometimes, it’s the projects that almost fail that end up being the most rewarding.

TL;DR: Our project was a dumpster fire for months, but a combination of focus, honesty, and teamwork turned it into our biggest success. Never give up!

What about you guys? Any comeback stories from projects that seemed lost but ended up being a win? I’d love to hear them!


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title reflecting on how your relationship with technology has changed over the past decade.

Response:
**Title: From Digital Dependency to Mindful Mastery: A Decade of Evolving My Relationship with Technology**

A decade ago, in 2013, my relationship with technology was akin to a honeymoon phase. I was infatuated with every new gadget, app, and social media platform. My smartphone was my constant companion, and I basked in the endless stream of notifications, likes, and updates. Technology felt like a gateway to endless possibilities—connection, knowledge, entertainment—all at my fingertips.

Fast forward to 2023, and the dynamics have shifted dramatically. My relationship with technology is no longer one of unbridled enthusiasm but of mindful awareness. Over the past decade, I’ve gone from being a passive consumer to an intentional user, from digital dependency to mindful mastery. Here’s how that transformation unfolded.

### **The Peak of Digital Overload (2013-2016)**
In the early 2010s, technology was my default escape. Bored? Scroll Instagram. Lonely? Send a tweet. Unproductive? Watch a YouTube video. I was glued to my screens, often for hours on end, without realizing the toll it was taking on my mental health. The constant connectivity left me feeling more disconnected from myself and the people around me. I was living in a digital haze, chasing the next dopamine hit from a like or a share.

### **The Wake-Up Call (2017-2019)**
The turning point came when I noticed how technology was shaping my habits—and not for the better. I was procrastinating more, sleeping less, and feeling increasingly anxious. The endless scroll wasn’t enriching my life; it was draining it. That’s when I started reading about digital minimalism, the concept of using technology intentionally rather than habitually.

I began experimenting with boundaries: no phone in the bedroom, designated tech-free hours, and regular social media detoxes. These small changes were eye-opening. I realized how much mental space I’d been giving to my devices—and how much I could reclaim by stepping back.

### **The Pandemic Paradox (2020-2021)**
The COVID-19 pandemic was a double-edged sword for my relationship with technology. On one hand, it became my lifeline—my only way to stay connected with friends, family, and work. On the other, it exposed the fragility of my newfound balance. With no physical boundaries between work and home, I found myself slipping back into old habits: constant checking, mindless scrolling, and feeling overwhelmed by the digital noise.

But this time, I had tools to navigate the chaos. I doubled down on mindfulness practices, set stricter boundaries, and prioritized real-life connections (even if they were virtual). The pandemic taught me that technology is a tool, not a crutch—and that its value depends on how we use it.

### **Mindful Mastery (2022-2023)**
Today, my relationship with technology is rooted in intention. I no longer let it dictate my time or attention. Instead, I use it consciously, aligning it with my values and goals. Here’s what that looks like in practice:
- **Curated Consumption:** I follow only accounts that inspire, educate, or bring joy. If something feels like noise, it’s gone.
- **Time-Bound Use:** I limit social media and email to specific times of the day, freeing up mental space for creativity and focus.
- **Tech-Free Zones:** My bedroom is a no-phone zone, and meals are tech-free moments to savor and connect.
- **Digital Detox Days:** Once a week, I take a break from all screens to reconnect with the analog world.

### **Lessons Learned Over a Decade**
1. **Technology is Neutral:** Its impact depends on how we use it. It can be a force for good or a source of stress—the choice is ours.
2. **Boundaries are Non-Negotiable:** Without clear limits, technology will encroach on every aspect of life.
3. **Presence is Priceless:** The more I disconnect from screens, the more I connect with myself and the world around me.
4. **Progress, Not Perfection:** Building a healthier relationship with technology is an ongoing journey, not a destination.

Looking back, I’m grateful for how my relationship with technology has evolved. It’s no longer about escaping reality but enhancing it. I’ve moved from being controlled by my devices to controlling how I use them. In a world where technology is ever-present, mindfulness is my anchor—and it’s made all the difference.

So, here’s to the next decade: may we all continue to harness technology’s potential while staying true to what truly matters.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title reflecting on how your relationship with technology has changed over the past decade.

Response:
**Title: From Digital Novice to Tech-Savvy Navigator: A Decade of Evolving with Technology**

As I look back over the past decade, it’s astonishing to see how my relationship with technology has transformed. From a hesitant adopter to a curious explorer, and now a mindful integrator, my journey with tech has been nothing short of transformative. It’s not just about the devices or apps—it’s about how they’ve reshaped my habits, mindset, and even my identity.

### **2013: The Reluctant Starter**
Ten years ago, I was a digital novice. My phone was a simple flip device, and I used my laptop primarily for emails and occasional Google searches. Social media felt like a foreign land, and I remember thinking, *“Do I really need to join Facebook?”* At the time, technology felt like an intrusive force, something I tolerated rather than embraced. I prided myself on being “low-tech,” as if it were a badge of honor.

### **2016: The Curious Explorer**
Something shifted mid-decade. I finally caved and got a smartphone, and suddenly, a new world opened up. I discovered podcasts, productivity apps, and the convenience of maps that didn’t require unfolding a physical paper. Social media became a tool for connection rather than a source of anxiety. I started experimenting with tech, not just as a consumer but as a learner. I took online courses, tinkered with coding basics, and even built my first website. Technology was no longer a foreign entity—it was a playground.

### **2019: The Overwhelmed Multitasker**
By the end of the decade, I was all-in on tech. My days were a blur of notifications, endless scrolling, and a constant race to stay updated. I had apps for everything—fitness, finances, food delivery—and I felt like I needed them all to keep up. But the flip side was exhaustion. I was glued to screens, my attention span shrinking, and I often felt like technology was controlling me rather than the other way around. I realized that my relationship with tech had become unhealthy, and something needed to change.

### **2023: The Mindful Integrator**
Today, my relationship with technology is more balanced than ever. I’ve learned to set boundaries—like designating tech-free zones at home and taking regular digital detoxes. I’ve also become more intentional about how I use it. Instead of mindlessly scrolling, I focus on tools that add value to my life, whether it’s a meditation app, an e-reader for books, or software that helps me create. I’ve also embraced tech as a way to amplify my impact, using it to connect with like-minded people, share ideas, and contribute to causes I care about.

Technology is no longer just a tool—it’s a partner in my personal and professional growth. But I’ve also learned to respect its power and use it mindfully. It’s not about being *anti*-tech or *pro*-tech; it’s about being *conscious*-tech.

### **Looking Ahead: The Next Decade**
As I step into the next decade, I’m excited but also cautious. AI, virtual reality, and other emerging technologies promise to reshape our world in ways we can’t yet imagine. My goal is to stay curious but grounded, to embrace innovation without losing sight of what truly matters—human connection, creativity, and well-being.

The past decade has taught me that technology is a mirror—it reflects our habits, values, and intentions. How we use it, and how it uses us, is entirely up to us. Here’s to another decade of evolving, learning, and growing—with tech by my side, but not in the driver’s seat.

What about you? How has your relationship with technology changed over the years? I’d love to hear your story in the comments below!


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title reflecting on how your relationship with technology has changed over the past decade.

Response:
**Title: From Dependency to Mindful Harmony: How My Relationship with Technology Evolved Over the Past Decade**

A decade ago, my relationship with technology was one of unbridled enthusiasm and almost naive dependency. My smartphone was my constant companion, social media was my window to the world, and every new gadget felt like a gateway to endless possibilities. Technology wasn’t just a tool—it was an extension of myself, a lifeline to connection, productivity, and entertainment. But as the years rolled by, that relationship began to shift, morphing from one of unchecked consumption to something far more intentional and balanced.

### The Early 2010s: The Peak of Digital Dependence
In the early 2010s, I was deep in the throes of the digital revolution. I remember the excitement of upgrading to the latest iPhone, binge-watching Netflix until 3 a.m., and refreshing Instagram every few minutes to stay "in the loop." Technology felt like a boundless playground, and I was its most eager participant. I prided myself on being "always on," responding to emails at midnight and multitasking across five different apps at once. Productivity was my mantra, and technology was the vehicle that fueled it.

But there was a dark side to this dependency. I felt increasingly scattered, my attention span shrinking with every notification. I’d catch myself mindlessly scrolling through feeds during conversations, and the line between work and leisure blurred into nonexistence. Technology, once a tool for connection, began to isolate me. I was *with* my devices, but not truly *present* with the people or moments around me.

### The Mid-2010s: The Wake-Up Call
The turning point came around 2015. I distinctly remember a weekend getaway where I forgot my phone charger. What started as a minor inconvenience turned into a profound realization. Without the constant pings and prompts, I felt a sense of calm I hadn’t experienced in years. The world didn’t end, and I didn’t miss out on anything truly important. Instead, I reconnected with the joy of being present—reading a book without interruption, savoring a meal without documenting it, and engaging in conversations without divided attention.

That experience sparked a journey of reevaluating my relationship with technology. I started setting boundaries: no phones at the dinner table, designated "tech-free" hours, and deliberate digital detoxes. I unfollowed accounts that didn’t inspire me and replaced mindless scrolling with purposeful engagement. Slowly but surely, I began to reclaim my time and attention.

### The Late 2010s and Beyond: Mindful Harmony
Today, my relationship with technology is one of mindful harmony. I no longer view it as an adversary to be feared or a crutch to be leaned on excessively. Instead, it’s a tool—a powerful one, but a tool nonetheless. I’ve learned to harness its potential while guarding against its pitfalls.

Here’s what’s changed:
1. **Intentional Use**: I ask myself, “Is this adding value to my life?” before downloading an app or engaging with a platform.
2. **Boundaries**: I’ve instituted tech-free zones and times, like mornings and bedtime, to preserve mental clarity.
3. **Digital Minimalism**: I curate my digital life, keeping only what serves me and letting go of the rest.
4. **Presence**: I prioritize real-world connections over virtual ones, savoring moments as they unfold.

Technology still plays a central role in my life—I work remotely, stay connected with loved ones across the globe, and use it to learn and grow. But now, it’s on my terms. I’m no longer a passive consumer but an active participant, choosing how and when to engage.

### Looking Ahead: A Balanced Future
As we step further into the 2020s, I’m excited about the possibilities technology holds—from AI advancements to sustainable innovations. But I’m also committed to maintaining the balance I’ve worked so hard to achieve. My relationship with technology is no longer about keeping up with the latest trend or being “always on.” It’s about using these tools to enhance my life, not dominate it.

The past decade has taught me that technology is neither inherently good nor bad—it’s how we use it that matters. By embracing mindfulness and setting boundaries, I’ve transformed my relationship with technology from one of dependency to one of harmony. And in doing so, I’ve rediscovered the beauty of a life lived intentionally, both on and offline.

Here’s to the next decade—may it be one of balance, presence, and purposeful innovation.


Prompt: Write a blog post with a title about why a hobby you love is misunderstood by most people.

Response:
**The Misunderstood Joy: Why People Get Larping Wrong**

As I stood in the middle of a lush forest, my sword at the ready and my heart pounding with excitement, I couldn't help but think about the misconceptions surrounding one of my favorite hobbies: Live Action Role Playing, or Larping. For many, Larping is associated with awkward nerds in silly costumes, or worse, some sort of bizarre cult activity. But the truth is, Larping is a complex and rewarding hobby that offers a unique blend of physical activity, creative expression, and community building.

To understand why Larping is misunderstood, it's worth exploring the history and evolution of the hobby. Larping has its roots in medieval reenactments and fantasy literature, and has evolved over the years into a diverse and global community. Despite its growing popularity, Larping remains a relatively unknown and misunderstood activity to the general public. This is likely due to a combination of factors, including the lack of mainstream media representation and the often-private nature of Larping events.

At its core, Larping is about immersing oneself in a fictional world, taking on a character, and interacting with others in a collaborative storytelling experience. It's not just about dressing up and waving a sword around; it's about creating a character, developing a backstory, and working with others to create a rich and dynamic narrative. For me, Larping is a way to tap into my creative side, to challenge myself physically and mentally, and to connect with like-minded people.

One of the biggest misconceptions about Larping is that it's all about fighting and violence. While some Larping games do involve combat, many others focus on role-playing, puzzle-solving, and social interaction. In fact, some of the most popular Larping games are centered around themes like politics, art, and environmentalism. For example, some Larping events have used the format to explore complex social issues, such as inequality and social justice.

Another misconception is that Larping is only for a certain type of person – namely, the stereotypical "nerd" or "geek." In reality, Larping attracts people from all walks of life, from all over the world. I've met lawyers, doctors, artists, and even professional athletes at Larping events, all united by their passion for creative expression and community.

So, why do people get Larping so wrong? One reason is that it can be difficult to understand without experiencing it firsthand. Larping is a highly subjective and immersive activity, and it's hard to convey the depth and complexity of the experience to outsiders. Additionally, the media often portrays Larping in a stereotypical or sensationalized way, reinforcing negative misconceptions.

In reality, Larping is a hobby that offers a unique combination of physical and mental challenges, creative expression, and social connection. It's a community that values collaboration, creativity, and mutual respect. So, the next time you hear someone dismiss Larping as "nerdy" or "weird," you can set them straight: Larping is a rich and rewarding hobby that has something to offer everyone. And who knows – you might just be tempted to join us in the forest, sword in hand.


Prompt: Write a short LinkedIn post with a title about a career lesson you learned the hard way.

Response:
The day I stopped being the hero

Early in my career I said yes to everything. I became the go-to fixer—until I missed a launch-critical dependency because I was juggling too many silent commitments. My manager asked, “What trade-off did you make?” I realized I’d made it without telling anyone. Lesson learned: unspoken trade-offs erode trust faster than missed deadlines.

What I do differently now:
- Clarify scope, success metrics, and “by when” before committing
- Offer options with explicit trade-offs (“If I do A now, B moves to next week”)
- Publish priorities so changes are visible and agreed
- Flag risks early; slipping in silence isn’t being a team player
- Protect deep-work time and say no to unscoped requests

Saying no didn’t stall my career—it made me dependable. What boundary changed your work for the better?


Prompt: Write a short LinkedIn post with a title about a career lesson you learned the hard way.

Response:
Title: Busy ≠ Impact: The Week I Shipped the Wrong Thing

Early in my career, I pulled late nights to deliver a “must-have” feature on time. We launched. Applause. Then… silence. No lift in the metrics that mattered. I’d built exactly what was asked—but solved the wrong problem.

The hard lesson: output isn’t the same as outcomes. I’d skipped alignment and clarity because moving fast felt like progress.

What I do differently now:
- Don’t start without a crisp problem statement and a single success metric.
- Write a one-pager: problem, hypothesis, success, non-goals, risks, owner.
- Confirm who decides—and when. Get buy-in early, not at the finish line.
- Schedule a mid-course “alignment check” to validate assumptions.
- Measure impact, not effort. Celebrate learning as much as shipping.

Speed matters, but direction matters more. Ask the extra questions before you sprint.

What career lesson did you learn the hard way?


Prompt: Write a short LinkedIn post with a title about a career lesson you learned the hard way.

Response:
Title: The hard way I learned that results don’t speak for themselves

Early in my career, I believed great work would be obvious. I shipped solid projects, skipped the demos, and let my manager share updates. When promotion time came, someone with slightly less output—but clearer storytelling and alignment—got the nod. That one hurt.

What I changed:
- Sent a weekly “wins, risks, next” email to stakeholders
- Booked 15-minute demos at key milestones
- Framed outcomes in business terms (metrics, customer impact)
- Shared credit broadly and asked for specific feedback

Same quality of work—now easy to see. The next cycle, I moved up.

Takeaway: Do excellent work, then make the impact unmistakable. Visibility, storytelling, and alignment are part of the job.

If you’re frustrated and heads-down, try a one-pager this Friday: progress, impact, blockers, asks. Don’t just ship the work—ship the story.


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
Title: The Book of Ebenezer Le Page — the best novel nobody ever recommends to you

I found this by accident, the way you find something in a back cupboard that somehow smells like the sea. G.B. Edwards’s The Book of Ebenezer Le Page (NYRB Classics) has become one of my all-time favorites, and I’m constantly surprised how few readers have even heard of it.

What it’s about
- It’s the life story of Ebenezer, a stubborn, funny, unreasonably lovable Guernseyman, told in the most convincing first-person voice I’ve ever read.
- Across the 20th century—fishing, quarrying, tomato houses, gossip, feuds, the German occupation—Ebenezer watches his island change and refuses to change with it.
- There’s no high-concept plot; it’s an old man talking, but he’s one of those rare talkers you could happily listen to for hours.

Why it’s special
- The voice: Crowded with memory and opinion, comic and tender, never sentimental. You feel like he’s across the table, telling the truth as only he can tell it.
- Place as a character: Guernsey becomes mythic without ceasing to be ordinary—granite, tide, hedges, lanes, weather, and the slow grind of modernity.
- The human stuff: Family rancor, friendship (his bond with Jim is one for the ages), sex and shame, pride and forgiveness. It’s fierce about love without ever getting soft.
- It’s a one-book miracle: Edwards died before publication in 1981 and left us this single, complete masterpiece. No career arc, no brand—just the book.

Why it gets overlooked
- No elevator pitch and no genre box to tuck it into.
- Set on a small island most readers never think about.
- A posthumous debut by a writer with no publicity machine behind him.

Who it’s for
- If you loved Stoner for its quiet intensity, Knausgaard for the texture of everyday life, or Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book for place-and-person fused together, this will likely floor you.
- If you need constant plot fireworks, this may feel slow at first—give it 50 pages and Ebenezer will start sounding like family.

Practical notes
- Grab the NYRB Classics edition; skip the introduction until after you finish (it spoils key turns).
- Don’t be scared of the Guernsey dialect touches—they’re light and intuitive.
- The last chapters land with a cumulative force that had me sitting very still after the final page.

I wish more people would read this so there’d be more folks to press it on. Anyone else here love Ebenezer? And what’s your own favorite overlooked novel I should put on my list?


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
Title: Stop sleeping on The Book of Ebenezer Le Page — a quiet, devastating masterpiece about an ordinary life

I pulled this off a dusty shelf because the name was odd and the island setting (Guernsey) felt novel. Two nights later, I’d blown past bedtime, rationing the last chapters like a box of good chocolate because I didn’t want it to end.

G. B. Edwards’s The Book of Ebenezer Le Page is a first-person life story told by an obstinate, funny, fiercely observant man who spends nearly his entire life on Guernsey through the 20th century. On paper, it sounds modest: fishing, family quarrels, friendships that sour and redeem, love that never quite fits, the German Occupation, the slow creep of money and tourism. In practice, it’s incandescent. You don’t read it for big twists; you read it to feel a life—its texture, its weather—pressed into your hands.

Why I loved it:
- The voice. Ebenezer talks like your favorite cantankerous uncle: proud, petty, generous, piercingly honest. It’s one of the most convincing narrative voices I’ve ever read.
- Sense of place. The book makes Guernsey as vivid as any character. You feel the salt wind, the granite walls, how the tides and fields shape people’s tempers and choices.
- Emotional truth. It captures the long half-life of grudges, the way a small kindness can light a decade, and how regret can be both corrosive and clarifying.
- Scope without spectacle. It’s “ordinary life” that quietly tilts into the epic. By the end, you’ve witnessed a century change its mind.
- Craft. Single-voice novels often falter; this one never does. It’s witty, unsentimental, and then suddenly it knocks the breath out of you.

Why it’s overlooked:
- The title is unflashy, the setting seems niche, and the premise (“old man reminisces”) sounds dull until you hear him speak.
- It was out of print for years and still doesn’t ride the algorithm. It’s now in the NYRB Classics series with a great intro, but it deserves more readers.

Who might love it:
- If you liked Stoner, Gilead, A Month in the Country, or The Summer Book—quiet books that detonate late—you’ll be at home here.
- If you’re into character-first fiction, island or small-town settings, or novels about memory and place.

Notes:
- It reflects its time: you’ll meet era-specific prejudices and spiky opinions. The book isn’t endorsing them; it’s true to the man and the milieu.
- Read it at a walking pace. Let the digressions breathe; the throwaway details matter later.

I finished feeling like I’d gained a stubborn, beloved friend and a new country. If you’ve ever wondered whether a “small” life can hold the whole world, this book answers yes—loudly, and with salt on its lips.


Prompt: Write a reddit post with a title reviewing a novel you loved but that most people overlook.

Response:
Mrs. Caliban (1982) — the strangest, tenderest suburbia novel you’ve probably skipped

I picked up Rachel Ingalls’s Mrs. Caliban expecting camp. What I got was a 120-page heartbreaker that treats its strangest idea with total sincerity and, because of that, hits like a train.

What it’s about (no big spoilers):
- Dorothy, a grieving, lonely housewife in a stale marriage, hears radio reports about an amphibious man who’s escaped from a research lab.
- One evening he walks into her kitchen. She calls him Larry. They fall into a romance that’s part fairy tale, part affair novel, part something you can’t quite name.
- The outside world keeps nudging in—neighbors, police, headlines—and the question isn’t “Is he real?” so much as “What does love look like when the world refuses to make room for it?”

Why it worked for me:
- Ingalls writes in a calm, cool voice that lets the absurdity stand without winking. Because the book never mocks its premise, it becomes weirdly, fiercely moving.
- It’s domestic realism with a mythic undertow: grocery runs, dinner parties, and grief sit side by side with a creature who loves avocados and doesn’t understand why humans hurt each other.
- It’s an affair story that refuses the usual beats. It’s about invisibility, the economies of care, and how desire can be both refuge and ruin.
- The ending isn’t “twisty,” but it’s devastating. I finished it and just sat there.

Why it’s overlooked:
- It’s too odd to shelve neatly—neither straight literary realism nor full-on genre—and it’s short. Those two things often doom great books to cult status.
- It had a brief flare of attention decades ago, but it still doesn’t come up in the usual canon conversations.

Potential dealbreakers:
- You have to accept the premise without explanation.
- It’s quietly brutal in places. Content notes: grief, mention of pregnancy loss, domestic violence, on-page death, a bit of gore.

Who might like it:
- Fans of Shirley Jackson’s domestic dread, Angela Carter’s fairy-tale logic, Karen Russell’s tender weirdness, or folks who liked The Shape of Water but can handle something darker and sharper.
- Readers who appreciate compact, emotionally precise novels you can inhale in an evening and think about for weeks.

How to read it:
- Go in as blind as you can. It’s a one-sitting book; let its deadpan tone sneak up on you.
- Don’t chase allegory too hard while you’re reading. The themes settle in after.

TL;DR: A short, luminous novel about a lonely woman and an amphibious man that treats its own weirdness with such compassion it becomes unforgettable. If you’ve never heard of it, that’s exactly why you should read it.