The Tale of the Broken Hand

One Sunday in early November, someone in Tulsa was driving downtown when he saw a yellow light. The same question crossed his mind as crosses mine when I encounter a yellow traffic light: Do I stop or do I go? He chose to speed up. The light turned red before he hit the intersection. He had misjudged the light's timing. A blue Honda barrelled towards him.

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Why I Hate Writing by Hand

I've been doing a lot of self-improvement lately. You know, trying to become more productive and what not. Part of this process has involved journaling, which I'm told is supposed to be awesome. Moreover, I've been told how wonderful writing by hand can be for—well, just about everything. One of my friends has shocked and awed us with the fact that he writes all of his novels' first drafts by hand. To the point that he's convinced others to try it too.

I hate it.

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