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Category: Books and Writing

  • Book Review — Supremacy: AI, ChatGPT, and the Race That Changed the World

    If you’ve ever wondered what it feels like to watch humanity sprint full-speed into the future while simultaneously tripping over its own shoelaces, Supremacy is your book.

    It’s part tech thriller, part existential meltdown, and part “holy hell, we really built this?”
    And yes, it features the star of modern panic and possibility: ChatGPT, the AI system that somehow became everyone’s therapist, co-worker, sidekick, and occasionally, doom prophecy.

    The Book’s Premise: AI Isn’t a Tool, It’s a Turning Point

    Supremacy dives into the global arms race around AI with the emotional subtlety of a sledgehammer—because honestly, that’s what the world needs right now.

    Governments, startups, billionaires, and bored engineers in hoodies are all chasing one thing:
    the algorithmic “supremacy” that gives them the edge over everyone else.

    This isn’t about cool apps anymore.
    It’s about power.
    It’s about leverage.
    It’s about who controls the future—and who gets turned into digital roadkill along the way.

    The ChatGPT Effect: Humanity’s Favourite Frienemy

    The book treats ChatGPT like that kid in school who accidentally became popular because everyone copied their homework.
    Suddenly, it’s everywhere, writing emails, generating code, recommending diets, explaining quantum physics, and occasionally helping someone break up with their boyfriend “professionally.”

    The real point the book makes?
    AI didn’t disrupt humanity. Humanity disrupted itself by over-relying on convenience.

    Supremacy argues that ChatGPT is just the flashpoint—a reminder that we built something powerful enough to reshape how humans think, work, and create… and we didn’t really plan for the consequences.

    Classic us.

    The Race: Not About Speed, but About Control

    This is where the book gets scary in a “maybe we should lie down” kind of way.

    AI supremacy isn’t about who builds the smartest model.
    It’s about who controls:

    • The data
    • The compute
    • The narrative
    • The ability to influence billions silently

    In other words, the real war isn’t fought with missiles or memes; it’s fought with algorithms quietly nudging how you think.

    Sleep tight.

    The Ethical Dumpster Fire

    Of course, no AI book is complete without asking:

    “Are we creating a future that’s brilliant or a future that’s basically a Black Mirror episode we can’t turn off?”

    Supremacy does a great job showing how every major breakthrough in AI also creates a new moral migraine:

    • Who decides what’s “true”?
    • Who polices AI behaviour?
    • What happens when AI replaces not just jobs, but meaning?
    • And most importantly… why do tech bros keep naming their companies after Greek gods?

    The book doesn’t offer easy answers because—spoiler—there aren’t any.

    The Human Element: We’re the Weak Link

    One of the book’s best insights is painfully accurate:
    AI isn’t scary because it’s smart. It’s scary because we’re predictable.

    We panic.
    We overhype.
    We underprepare.
    We mess things up and blame the machines.

    And like all good takeaways, Supremacy reminds us that the real danger isn’t that AI becomes conscious, it’s that humans stop being conscious in the process.

    So, Is the Book Worth Reading?

    Absolutely.

    If you want a clear-eyed, punchy, brutally honest look at the AI revolution—without the blind optimism or the apocalyptic rants, Supremacy hits that sweet spot.

    It’s sharp.
    It’s unsettling.
    It’s wildly informative.
    And it forces you to question not just where AI is going,
    But where are we going with it?

    Because at the end of the day, the race that changed the world isn’t about machines becoming more human—
    It’s about humans deciding what we want to become next.

    And if that feels uncomfortable…
    good.
    It should.

  • Book Review – Verity by Colleen Hoover

    There are two kinds of books in the world.

    1. The ones that politely escort you through a story.
    2. And the ones that drag you by the collar, slap you across the face, and whisper, “You’re not sleeping tonight, buddy.”

    Colleen Hoover’s Verity is definitely the second kind.

    This book is psychological manipulation dressed up as fiction. It’s gaslighting but make it paperback. And like an idiot, you willingly sign up for it.

    The Premise: Simple. The Impact: Emotionally Damaging.

    Lowen, a struggling writer, is hired to finish a bestselling author’s series because the original author, Verity, is basically a vegetable in the house.

    Except—plot twist—nothing in this house is normal.
    Nothing about Verity is normal.
    And certainly nothing inside Lowen’s head remains normal once she discovers Verity’s autobiography.

    Hoover doesn’t write mysteries.
    She writes emotional landmines.
    You step on them thinking you’re safe, and next thing you know you’re questioning the moral compass of every human you’ve ever met.

    The Writing: Fast, Dirty, Addictive

    The writing is pure dopamine, short chapters, cliffhangers everywhere, and just the right amount of “What the actual hell did I just read?”

    It’s like Hoover took a masterclass in psychological warfare and said,
    “Cool, let me weaponize this.”

    There are no wasted words. No filler. Just page-after-page of escalating madness that makes you trust no one—not Lowen, not Verity, not even yourself.

    The Themes: Manipulation, Trauma, and the Dark Side of Truth

    “We’re all screwed up, but Verity shows what happens when someone weaponizes their screwed-up-ness.”

    And honestly? That’s the book.
    It’s about control—emotional, psychological, sexual.
    It’s about how humans distort truth not just to survive, but sometimes just for the thrill of it.

    The line between truth and lies becomes so blurred that by the end, the only thing you’re sure about is that you need therapy.

    The Ending: Colleen Hoover Said ‘Good Luck Functioning’

    Without spoiling it, the ending is the literary equivalent of dropping a bomb and walking away in slow motion.

    It doesn’t give closure.
    It doesn’t even pretend to.

    Hoover hands you a final chapter that basically says:

    “Here’s your existential crisis. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

    And then you sit there staring at the wall, reconsidering every decision you’ve made today.

    Final Verdict: Read It. Then Question Everything.

    Verity is not for the faint-hearted.
    It’s uncomfortable. It’s twisted.
    It punches you in the gut, steals your mental stability, and thanks you for reading.

    But damn, it’s good.

    If you want a thriller that feels like a psychological rollercoaster designed by a slightly unhinged engineer, this is it.

    9/10. Docking one point because I’m still emotionally recovering.

  • Book Review – Originals By Adam Grant

    We love to glorify “original thinkers.” You know, the Teslas, the Musks, the Oprahs, the people who seem to bend the world to their will while the rest of us are just trying to make it through Monday. But here’s the truth Adam Grant spits in Originals: being original isn’t a gift. It’s a goddamn grind.

    This book isn’t about being creative. It’s about having the guts to stay creative when the world keeps telling you to shut up, sit down, and stop rocking the boat.

    1. Creative Destruction: Burning Down the Default

    Grant kicks things off by asking the question most people never dare to: “Why do we accept the world as it is?”
    Because it’s comfortable. Because our brains love defaults. Because questioning the status quo makes you the office weirdo.

    He introduces the concept of vuja de, the opposite of déjà vu. It’s when you look at something you’ve seen a thousand times and suddenly think, Wait, why the hell is it this way? That’s where originality is born — not from random inspiration, but from irritation.

    The boldest takeaway? You don’t have to be a reckless daredevil to stand out. Originals are risk balancers, not risk takers. They hedge their bets like investors, safe in some areas so they can go rogue in others. Because let’s face it, quitting your job to “follow your passion” without a plan isn’t brave. It’s stupid.

    2. Blind Inventors and One-Eyed Investors: The Art of Judging Your Own Ideas

    Here’s the problem with creative people — we suck at knowing which of our ideas are good.
    You think you’ve made the next big thing? Congrats, it’s probably trash.
    The best creators don’t have one brilliant idea; they have a hundred mediocre ones, and one of them happens to stick.

    Grant calls this the “kiss a lot of frogs” strategy, you keep experimenting until something doesn’t croak.
    Also, the people who are best at predicting which ideas will work? Not the “experts.” Not the CEOs. It’s the creators themselves — the ones in the trenches, playing with the clay, making the mess.

    So yeah, trust your gut, but only after it’s been punched in the face by reality a few times.

    3. Out on a Limb: The Science of Speaking Up

    Every original thinker hits that moment when they realize they’ve got something important to say… and no one gives a shit.
    Grant explains why: people hate unfamiliarity. The human brain treats new ideas like viruses.

    So what do you do? You expose people to your ideas slowly — like small doses of caffeine. Repetition builds familiarity. Familiarity builds acceptance. It’s not manipulation; it’s survival.

    He even has a killer concept called The Sarick Effect: lead with your flaws. Admit your weaknesses before anyone else can. It disarms critics and earns credibility. Basically, start your pitch by saying, “This might sound crazy, but hear me out…”

    It works. Try it on your next date. Or PowerPoint. Or both.

    4. Fools Rush In: Why Procrastination Might Save Your Ass

    Mark Twain once said, “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow.”
    Turns out, he was onto something.

    Grant’s research shows that moderate procrastinators are often the most creative people. Why? Because they give ideas time to breathe. They let their brain stew in uncertainty long enough to connect weird dots.

    The trick isn’t procrastination itself, it’s strategic delay. The sweet spot between impulsive action and endless overthinking.
    Da Vinci took 16 years to finish the Mona Lisa, and the dude still nailed it. That’s not laziness. That’s patience weaponized.

    5. Goldilocks and the Trojan Horse: Playing the Long Game

    Being original doesn’t mean being a lone wolf. It means building coalitions with people who don’t think exactly like you.
    Grant calls out the “narcissism of small differences” — our tendency to fight with people who are almost like us instead of teaming up.

    The lesson? Sometimes your biggest ally is your worst enemy. Shared purpose beats shared personality. And if you want your wild idea to succeed, wrap it in something familiar.
    Novelty attracts attention. Familiarity earns trust.
    It’s why the Beatles mixed classical melodies with rock, or why Steve Jobs made futuristic tech look friendly. It’s rebellion wearing a nice suit.

    6. Rebels with a Cause: Parenting, Mentors, and the Art of Growing Weirdos

    Grant’s insights on upbringing hit hard. The most original people weren’t raised by “perfect parents.” They were raised by parents who let them question things, who said why mattered more than what.

    Older siblings get structure. Younger siblings get freedom. Guess which ones grow up to start revolutions?

    Parents, mentors, and teachers don’t need to preach originality. They need to model curiosity. Teach kids how to think, not what to think.

    7. Rethinking Groupthink: The Problem with “Strong Cultures”

    We love the word “culture.” But strong cultures can turn into cults — places where everyone agrees so much that nobody thinks.
    Grant says real innovation needs “disagreeable givers”, people who challenge ideas not to be jerks, but because they care enough to make them better.

    You don’t need more harmony. You need more honesty.

    8. Rocking the Boat Without Sinking It

    Originals aren’t fearless. They’re scared as hell — they just act anyway.
    They feel doubt, anxiety, and imposter syndrome like the rest of us, but they’ve mastered one crucial trick: they use those emotions as fuel.

    When you’re nervous, reframe it as excitement. When you’re angry, channel it into action. When you’re stuck, look at how far you’ve already come instead of how far you have to go.

    Grant ends with this mic-drop insight:

    “Becoming original isn’t the easiest path in the pursuit of happiness, but it leaves you perfectly poised for the happiness of pursuit.”

    Final Thoughts

    Originals isn’t your typical self-help bullshit. It doesn’t tell you to “believe in yourself” or “think outside the box.”
    It tells you to break the damn box, study the debris, and build something no one’s seen before.

    Because originality isn’t about being different for the sake of it. It’s about refusing to settle for a world that makes no sense, and having the courage to make it a little less stupid.

  • Storytelling Myths That Keep Writers Stuck

    Storytelling has become a religion, complete with its own commandments, prophets, and a ton of self-proclaimed gurus selling “The Secret Formula to a Bestseller.”

    And like any religion, it’s built on myths — comforting half-truths that sound sexy on Instagram but keep most writers exactly where they are: stuck, overthinking, and writing the same damn first chapter for the 47th time.

    So, let’s burn a few of those myths to the ground, shall we?

    Myth #1: “Good stories write themselves.”

    No, they don’t. Good stories bleed themselves out of you while you question your life choices and rewrite the same scene at 2 a.m.

    Writing isn’t a spiritual download from the universe. It’s not divine inspiration. It’s manual labor. It’s construction work with a keyboard. You don’t find your story, you build it, one messy paragraph at a time.

    Waiting for inspiration is like waiting for abs to appear while lying on the couch. Spoiler: they won’t.

    Myth #2: “You need to know your audience.”

    Here’s the problem with this advice — most writers twist it into “write for everyone.”
    And when you write for everyone, you end up writing for no one.

    You don’t need to know your audience like some marketing demographic, you need to respect them. The best writing doesn’t pander, it punches. It assumes the reader is smart enough to keep up and curious enough to care.

    Don’t chase what people want to read. Write what you can’t shut up about — and trust that the right people will find it.

    Myth #3: “Follow the formula.”

    You know the one, hero’s journey, three-act structure, save the cat, yada yada.

    Formulas aren’t evil. They’re training wheels. They teach you rhythm, pacing, and payoff. But the problem is, most writers never take the damn wheels off. They treat story formulas like sacred texts — afraid to break them, afraid to get lost.

    But getting lost is how you find your voice. Every story that ever mattered broke some rule. Every writer you admire disobeyed something they were taught.

    So, yes, learn the rules. Then light them on fire and see what still works when the smoke clears.

    Myth #4: “Great writing is about talent.”

    Nope. It’s about taste.

    Most “talented” writers just have better taste — they know when their writing sucks and they don’t stop until it doesn’t. That’s not talent. That’s endurance.

    You don’t become a great writer by being born one. You become one by hating your own words just enough to make them better, again and again and again.

    Myth #5: “Storytelling is about originality.”

    This one’s hilarious.
    Newsflash: nothing is original. Every plot, theme, and twist has been done since humans learned to grunt in patterns.

    What makes your story special isn’t its newness — it’s you. Your weird obsessions, your voice, your worldview. That’s the part nobody can copy.

    Stop trying to be the next Tolkien or Tarantino. Be the first you, because even if you fail, you’ll fail honestly.

    The Hard Truth

    The real reason most writers stay stuck isn’t lack of talent, ideas, or time — it’s fear.

    Fear of judgment. Fear of failure. Fear that maybe, just maybe, we’re not as special as we hoped.

    But here’s the catch: you don’t overcome that fear by believing in yourself. You overcome it by doing the work, by writing through the discomfort, the doubt, the drafts that make you cringe.

    Because storytelling isn’t about perfection. It’s about truth. And truth is always a little ugly, a little messy, and always worth telling.

  • Why Most “Creative Geniuses” Aren’t Geniuses at All

    Most people who get called “creative geniuses” aren’t geniuses. They’re not chosen ones touched by the hand of God, or enlightened beings who woke up one day with Mozart’s sense of rhythm and Picasso’s imagination. They’re not floating through life on waves of inspiration.

    They’re just people who didn’t quit when the work got boring.

    We’ve mythologized creativity into something divine and unreachable. We look at artists, writers, filmmakers, designers, and innovators as if they’ve been given some secret key to the universe. It’s comforting, in a way. If creativity is a gift, then we don’t have to feel bad for not having it. We can just shrug and say, “Well, I’m not a creative type.”

    That’s bullshit.

    Creativity isn’t magic. It’s repetition. It’s not a lightning strike, it’s friction. The kind you get from rubbing your mind against the same damn problem for weeks, until something finally sparks.

    The Myth of the Genius

    We love the idea of “genius” because it absolves us of effort. It tells us that success, innovation, and art come from a rare kind of human who’s wired differently. But if you peel back the curtain on almost any creative icon, what you’ll find isn’t a gifted soul—it’s a workhorse.

    Beethoven rewrote his symphonies until the paper practically disintegrated. Van Gogh made over 2,000 artworks in a decade, and sold exactly one while alive. Stephen King has written so many books that his own pseudonym became famous.

    You know what all of them had in common? They didn’t stop.

    They weren’t geniuses. They were grinders. They were stubborn enough to keep creating through failure, ridicule, and crippling self-doubt. And that’s the real creative superpower: not brilliance, but endurance.

    Creativity Is Not Inspiration—It’s Iteration

    Everyone loves the romantic image of the artist having an epiphany. The writer in a dimly lit café, the musician scribbling lyrics on a napkin, the coder cracking the algorithm at 3 a.m. But that’s not how it works.

    Real creativity is brutally unromantic. It’s staring at a blank screen, making something terrible, deleting it, and doing it again, ten, twenty, a hundred times—until something clicks. It’s rewriting the same paragraph until you hate it slightly less.

    The difference between a “creative genius” and everyone else is that the genius finishes the damn thing.

    They push through the resistance, the boredom, the voice in their head whispering, “This is stupid.” Because they know that inspiration isn’t the beginning of creativity, it’s the reward for persistence.

    The Hidden Cost of “Talent”

    Here’s another uncomfortable truth: the idea of natural talent is mostly a comforting lie. Sure, some people have a head start—better genetics, exposure, mentors, resources, but talent only takes you to the starting line. The marathon is still 42 kilometers long, and talent can’t run it for you.

    When you rely on talent, you plateau early. You stop growing the moment things get hard. When you rely on process, you evolve. You build the creative muscle to keep producing even when motivation dies.

    And that’s why most “creative geniuses” are just people who’ve done the same thing a thousand times longer than anyone else could stand to.

    The Boring Secret: Discipline

    There’s a saying: amateurs wait for inspiration, professionals just show up.

    Discipline is the least sexy word in creativity, but it’s the backbone of everything. If you only create when you feel inspired, you’ll never create enough to get good. The muse doesn’t visit lazy people—it visits the ones already working.

    If you want to create, you need to treat creativity like brushing your teeth: you do it every day, not because it’s fun, but because you know the alternative is decay.

    The Real Genius Is Consistency

    Most people underestimate how much can happen in ten years of consistent work. They look at someone who’s “blown up overnight” without realizing that the “overnight” part took a decade.

    The so-called geniuses didn’t have special access to the creative gods. They had calendars, deadlines, and an uncomfortable tolerance for sucking at something long enough to get better at it.

    Because that’s what genius really is, an accumulation of effort, disguised as talent.

    So next time you see someone’s work and think, “Wow, they’re a genius,” remember: you’re not looking at a single spark of brilliance. You’re looking at the ashes of thousands of failed attempts that burned before it.

    And maybe, just maybe, the difference between you and them isn’t talent. It’s that they kept creating long after most people would’ve given up.

    The real genius isn’t born—it’s built. Brick by boring brick.