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Category: Books and Writing

  • Book Review: Make Time by Jake Knapp & John Zeratsky

    Most of our lives are spent on autopilot. We wake up, check our phones, doomscroll, smash some emails, sit in meetings that could’ve been Slack messages, binge Netflix to “relax,” and then wonder why time feels like it’s slipping through our hands like cheap whiskey at a college party.

    Knapp and Zeratsky’s Make Time is basically an intervention for this shitshow. And unlike most productivity porn (looking at you, 5 AM club bros), this book doesn’t try to turn you into a robotic overachiever who color-codes their sock drawer. Instead, it’s about four simple steps, repeated every damn day:

    Highlight → Laser → Energize → Reflect.

    That’s it. No 67-point morning routine. No 14-hour workdays. Just four things. Let’s break it down.

    Step 1: Highlight

    The book says: pick a bright spot for your day. Not fifty tasks. Not an endless to-do list. Just one thing you actually give a damn about.

    Options?

    • Write it down.
    • Groundhog it (aka: “yesterday worked, let’s do it again”).
    • Rank your life like Spotify Wrapped.
    • Run a sprint.
    • Burner list (what matters, what burns).

    Basically: decide what actually matters, not what your boss’s email makes feel urgent.

    Step 2: Laser

    Now that you know your Highlight, you need to defend it like it’s the last beer in the fridge. And the enemy? Technology.

    These guys call it Infinity Pools, apps and sites that suck you in forever. Instagram, YouTube, news, email… they’re slot machines in your pocket.

    Fix?

    • Log out.
    • Kill notifications.
    • Try a dumb phone.
    • Stay out of morning doomscrolls.
    • Block distraction kryptonite.

    You don’t need to go full caveman (though that’d be badass), but you do need to stop handing over your life to an algorithm.

    Step 3: Energize

    Here’s the kicker, your brain isn’t a machine. You can’t just “optimize” your way to productivity if your body feels like garbage. Make Time gets this.

    Their advice?

    • Move your body. (Walk, run, whatever—just don’t be a potato.)
    • Eat real food. (Not Doritos that glow in the dark.)
    • Sleep in a cave. (Okay, not literally, but blackout curtains and no screens before bed.)
    • Caffeine like a pro. (Not mainlining Red Bulls at midnight.)
    • Spend time with people who don’t drain the life out of you.

    Productivity isn’t about typing faster. It’s about not being a zombie.

    Step 4: Reflect

    This one’s sneaky. You’d think the system ends at “yay, I got shit done.” But no, Knapp and Zeratsky want you to actually reflect.

    • Observe: what worked, what sucked?
    • Guess: why did that happen?
    • Experiment: try something new.
    • Measure: did it work?

    It’s productivity as a feedback loop. Instead of chasing hacks, you’re iterating your own damn life.

    Why Make Time Works

    Here’s the thing: most “life hacks” are just productivity porn. They feel good to read but collapse when life punches you in the face.

    Make Time is different because it’s flexible. You don’t need to meditate at 5 AM or wear the same turtleneck every day like Steve Jobs. You just need to choose a highlight, protect it, keep your body running, and check if it worked.

    That’s it. Four steps. Every day. Over time, that’s where you actually take control of your life instead of defaulting to whatever your phone, your inbox, or Netflix shoves in front of you.

    The Bottom Line

    Knapp and Zeratsky aren’t selling you hustle culture. They’re selling you freedom. Freedom from distraction. Freedom from default. Freedom from wasting another year wondering where the hell your time went.

    If your days feel like a blur of half-finished tasks and half-assed Netflix binges, Make Time is worth the read. Because maybe, just maybe, the point isn’t to do more stuff. It’s to actually do the stuff that matters.

  • The 3 Kinds of Writers (And Why You’re Probably All Three)

    Here’s a dirty little secret about writing: no one really knows what the hell they’re doing. Every writer is just making it up as they go, hoping they don’t look like a complete idiot in the process.

    But over time, you start to notice patterns in yourself. The different “modes” you slip into when you sit down with a blank page and a blinking cursor. And after years of watching writers torture themselves—including myself—I’ve realized there are three kinds of writers.

    And the punchline? You’re probably all three.

    1. The Vomit Draft Writer (a.k.a. The Unhinged Maniac)

    This writer is all adrenaline and panic. They don’t stop to think, they don’t stop to breathe, they just puke words all over the page like their brain is trying to sprint out of their skull.

    The Vomit Draft Writer doesn’t care about grammar. They don’t care if the paragraph makes sense. Hell, they don’t care if you can even read it. All they care about is getting it out before the thought evaporates into the abyss.

    They’ll write sentences like, “The thing about things is that the thing is basically a thing and holy shit coffee is kicking in oh my god I’m a genius.”

    Spoiler: you’re not a genius. But you are making progress.

    Because here’s the truth, every brilliant essay, every moving novel, every “holy shit, that line changed my life” quote… started as an incoherent mess in someone’s notebook. The Vomit Draft Writer is the only part of you that actually creates. They’re messy, but they get the job done. Without them, you’ll be staring at a blank page forever.

    2. The Perfectionist Writer (a.k.a. The Neurotic Editor Who Hates Everything)

    Then there’s the opposite side of you—the Perfectionist Writer. This bastard hates everything you do. They look at the vomit draft and go, What kind of illiterate monkey wrote this trash? Oh right, me.

    This writer obsesses over every comma, every turn of phrase. They’ll spend 45 minutes agonizing over whether to use “but” or “however.” They’ll rewrite a sentence twelve times, then delete it entirely, then bring it back at 2 a.m.

    The Perfectionist is ruthless. They don’t care about fun, they don’t care about flow, they care about not embarrassing themselves in public.

    And as much as it feels like they’re a sadistic little goblin living in your head, the Perfectionist is necessary. They take the pile of incoherent nonsense from the Vomit Draft Writer and shape it into something someone else might actually read without losing brain cells.

    But here’s the problem: if you let the Perfectionist run the show, you’ll never finish anything. You’ll polish and polish and polish until you’ve sanded all the soul out of your writing. You’ll end up with prose so clean it feels like it was written by a tax attorney.

    3. The Bullshit Artist (a.k.a. The Smooth Talker)

    And then… there’s the Bullshit Artist.

    The Bullshit Artist is the part of you that knows how to make things sound good—even if they’re not. They’re the one who drops poetic metaphors about sunsets and broken hearts, who can make a mundane story about buying milk sound like a spiritual journey.

    They write the punchy one-liners. The quotable stuff. The crap people highlight in books and post on Instagram with an inspirational background.

    Sometimes they’re brilliant. Sometimes they’re just spewing nonsense. (“Life is like a sandwich. No matter which way you flip it, the bread comes first.” Yeah, okay, calm down, Plato.)

    The Bullshit Artist is dangerous because they’re seductive. They make you feel like you’re writing something profound, even if you’re actually saying absolutely nothing.

    But they’re also vital. Because without a little flair, your writing is boring. And boring is death. Nobody wants to read an essay that feels like IKEA instructions for the soul.

    Why You’re All Three

    Now here’s the kicker: good writing is impossible without all three of these weird little personalities.

    • The Vomit Draft Writer produces raw material—chaotic, sloppy, but essential.
    • The Perfectionist fixes it, trims it, makes it coherent.
    • The Bullshit Artist makes it pop, gives it rhythm, and makes sure people actually give a damn.

    Take one away and your writing collapses.

    Too much vomit? Your work is a confusing mess.
    Too much perfectionism? Your writing feels sterile and lifeless.
    Too much bullshit? It’s fluff, pretty words with no depth.

    Great writing isn’t about choosing which writer you are, it’s about knowing which one to let speak, and when to tell the others to shut the hell up.

    The Real Struggle of Writing

    See, the real battle isn’t “finding your voice.” It’s referee-ing the chaos inside your own head.

    You’ll start writing and the Vomit Draft Writer will run wild, then the Perfectionist barges in with their red pen, screaming that everything sucks. Then the Bullshit Artist shows up drunk, spouting metaphors about wolves and moons that make zero sense.

    And somehow, you’re supposed to juggle all of this into something coherent.

    Writing isn’t about being one kind of writer, it’s about surviving the war in your brain long enough to hit publish.

    So, next time you’re stuck, ask yourself:

    • Do I need to just vomit this out?
    • Do I need to edit like a psychopath?
    • Or do I need to sprinkle some bullshit magic on top?

    Chances are, the answer is yes. To all three.

  • Book Review – A Wild Sheep Chase by Haruki Murakami

    Haruki Murakami writes novels like your stoner roommate tells stories: weird shit happens, nobody knows why, and yet somehow, you can’t stop listening.

    A Wild Sheep Chase is no different. It’s about a nameless, chain-smoking Japanese guy who gets roped into chasing down a mystical sheep with a star-shaped birthmark. That’s literally the plot. And yes, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds.

    The Sheep Isn’t the Point (Obviously)

    If you’re looking for tidy storytelling where problems get solved and people hug at the end—this ain’t it. The sheep is basically a metaphor grenade. You know it means something, but Murakami’s not going to hand you the pin. Power? Control? Capitalism? The void of modern existence? Take your pick.

    The beauty (and frustration) of this book is that it makes you do the heavy lifting. Murakami doesn’t care if you “get it.” He cares if you sit there scratching your head at 3 a.m., wondering why you suddenly feel existential dread over a goddamn farm animal.

    Characters Who Don’t Care That You Care

    Murakami’s protagonist is aggressively average. He’s not a hero. He’s not even trying to be. He’s just… there. And that’s the point. Life doesn’t always hand the spotlight to extraordinary people. Sometimes, it drops cosmic-level weirdness on a guy who can’t even keep his marriage together.

    Add in a psychic girlfriend with perfect ears (yes, ears are a whole thing here), a mobster with a terminal illness, and a Sheep Professor living in the middle of nowhere, and you’ve got yourself a cast that feels like they walked out of a dream you can’t quite remember.

    The Murakami Effect

    Reading this book is like drinking whiskey at 2 a.m., warm, confusing, a little disorienting, and you’re not sure if it’s making you smarter or ruining your sleep schedule.

    The story meanders, the pace is slow, and yet it’s impossible to look away. Murakami’s writing makes the mundane feel profound. One minute you’re reading about beer and sandwiches, the next you’re staring into the abyss of human loneliness.

    So, Should You Read It?

    If you hate ambiguity, this book will drive you nuts. If you need resolution, you’ll throw it across the room. But if you like stories that crawl under your skin and make you question why the hell you care so much about a sheep—you’ll love it.

    The point isn’t the chase. The point is realizing that the chase itself is life: messy, confusing, and occasionally filled with talking animals that may or may not be manifestations of your subconscious.

    The No-BS Take

    A Wild Sheep Chase is less about the sheep and more about you, the reader stumbling through meaning, looking for answers where there may be none. And if that frustrates you? Congrats, you’ve just experienced the whole damn point of Murakami.

  • From Notes to Newsletter: Writing for the Internet

    Writing for the internet is weird.

    You start with a thought, a deep, maybe even profound idea, jot it down in your notes app, and suddenly you’re spiraling into a Google doc wondering if this is “valuable content” or just digital diarrhea.

    Then comes the existential panic:
    “Should I use bullet points?”
    “Will this go viral?”
    “Is anyone even reading this sh*t?”

    If you’ve ever gone from notebook scribbles to Substack drafts to obsessively refreshing open rates like it’s crypto in 2021, welcome. You’re not alone.

    The Internet Is a Drunk, Distracted Toddler

    The first thing to understand: the internet does not give a flying f*ck about your writing, unless you make it care.

    People are doomscrolling, juggling dopamine hits from memes, texts, and cat videos. So if you want your newsletter to survive, your writing needs to do three things:

    1. Smack readers in the face (metaphorically)
    2. Speak human, not corporate drone
    3. Give a damn about what they give a damn about

    No one’s waiting for your epic essay on “emotional resilience.” But if you start with:

    “I cried in the shower after sending my 47th cold email.”
    Now you’ve got their attention.

    Notes Are Raw. Newsletters Are Cooked (Ideally)

    Your notes app is the unfiltered brain dump, like a drunken conversation with your future self.
    But turning that into a newsletter? That’s cooking a meal.

    And just like cooking, you need:

    • A main idea (your protein)
    • A bit of structure (your seasoning)
    • And most importantly, a sense of who the hell you’re feeding

    If you write like a TED Talk hostage, people click away.
    If you write like a real person with a real story and real stakes?
    People stick around. And maybe even hit “subscribe.”

    Forget Perfection. Embrace Punch

    Trying to sound smart on the internet is like wearing a tux to a bar fight. Not only will you lose, everyone will hate you while it happens.

    Instead:

    • Write like you’re texting a friend.
    • Cut the fluff. (No one cares about your “deep dive” unless it’s deep and human.)
    • Lead with your scars, not your resume.

    People don’t want gurus. They want real. The awkward, uncertain, “WTF am I doing” parts. That’s where trust lives.

    Call to Action? More Like Call to Care

    Don’t end your newsletter begging people to “Like and Share.”
    End it by giving them something that lingers in their brain longer than their morning coffee.

    Ask them something. Challenge something. Flip a script.

    “If you’re feeling behind, maybe the timeline you’re following wasn’t yours to begin with.”
    That’ll do more than 17 bullet points on time-blocking ever could.

    TL;DR (Because of Course)

    • Start messy, edit with intent.
    • Be real, not robotic.
    • Talk to people, not at them.
    • Write like your words matter, because they might.

    Final Thought:

    The internet is noisy, sure. But it’s also full of humans craving something real. If your writing can cut through the crap and speak from the heart, then congratulations, you’re not just writing a newsletter.

    You’re starting a conversation that might actually matter.

    And that’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?

  • Book Review: Atomic Habits By James Clear

    Clear opens with a banger:

    “Habits are the compound interest of self-improvement.”

    Translation: you’re either compounding progress or compounding bullshit. Every tiny decision is a vote for the person you’re becoming. Get 1% better every day, and you won’t recognize yourself in a year.

    But here’s the kicker, focus on identity, not goals.
    Don’t just aim to “run a marathon.”
    Aim to become a runner.
    Don’t “want to write a book.”
    Start being the type of person who writes.

    The real flex isn’t the outcome. It’s the identity you build along the way.

    Four Laws of Not Screwing Up Your Habits

    Clear breaks down behavior change into four simple rules. They sound easy. They’re not. But they’re the blueprint:

    1. Make It Obvious

    Stop relying on “willpower” like it’s some magical superpower. Your environment is running the show.
    Want to read more? Leave the damn book on your pillow.
    Want to stop scrolling? Delete the app. Hide your phone. Set your Wi-Fi on fire.

    Small changes in context lead to massive shifts in behavior over time.

    Also, pro tip: People with high self-control? They just spend less time in tempting situations. It’s not strength, it’s strategy.

    2. Make It Attractive

    Temptation bundling is the art of tricking your brain into doing hard things.
    Pair something you need to do with something you want to do.
    Want to work out? Only let yourself watch Netflix on the treadmill.
    Want to study? Blast your favorite lo-fi beats, light a candle, and act like you’re starring in a productivity montage.

    Make the habit sexy. Because humans are simple, we do what feels good. We avoid what feels awful. Shocking, I know.

    3. Make It Easy

    If it’s hard, you won’t do it. Period.

    Humans follow the Law of Least Effort. We’re all basically water, flowing toward the easiest path.

    Want to start writing every day? Open your document, write one sentence, and close the laptop.
    It’s not about going full Shakespeare. It’s about removing friction so your brain stops whining.

    One-time choices, like buying a decent mattress or automating your savings, are also huge. They’re effort once but deliver returns forever. That’s a win.

    4. Make It Satisfying

    We repeat what feels rewarding. We avoid what feels like punishment.
    That’s why habit tracking works, visual proof = tiny dopamine hit.

    You see a streak? Your brain says, “Hey, let’s keep this going!”
    You break the streak? Your ego cries and you spiral into chips and shame. So… don’t break the streak.

    Also: accountability.
    Have a buddy. Or a coach. Or someone you mildly fear disappointing.
    Because when someone’s watching, you show up.
    Pain of embarrassment > comfort of excuses.

    Bonus Brain Nuggets

    • Reps matter more than time. You don’t need to do it for 21 days. You need to do it enough times that it sticks.
    • Genes matter. If you suck at basketball, maybe stop trying to be LeBron. Instead, double down on what you’re built for.
    • Goldilocks Rule: You’re most motivated when the task is just hard enough to challenge you but not so hard you feel like a dumbass.

    Oh, and the downside of habits?
    They’re so automatic you stop thinking. Which is great until your “autopilot” drives you straight into Netflix-binge-oblivion.
    So check in. Often.

    Final Verdict: Should You Read Atomic Habits?

    Yes. Especially if you:

    • Keep setting goals and ghosting them.
    • Want to change your life but secretly wish it didn’t take effort.
    • Think motivation is your problem (it’s not—it’s systems).
    • Believe you “lack discipline” (spoiler: you don’t, you lack strategy).

    James Clear isn’t selling magic. He’s showing you how to build a life that runs on autopilot in the right direction.

    Bottom Line:

    If your life sucks, it’s probably not because of some giant catastrophe.
    It’s because of a thousand tiny decisions stacked against you.
    The good news? You can flip the script, one habit at a time.

    So go read Atomic Habits.
    Then stop overthinking, and just do the damn thing, consistently