Nighttimes became torturous. As I laid in bed, I’d look first at my bedroom window, then at the window down the hall, waiting to see the giant bat scratching at the window or the claw-like fingers forcing the window open, followed by a lithe figure slithering its way into the house.
I’m one guy. I can’t singlehandedly excise the many poisonous ideas that have tainted the Christian faith down to its deepest roots.
Sincerity, kindness, and selflessness beget sincerity, kindness, and selflessness.
Even if making douchebag content doesn’t land you in a prison cell, a hospital bed or a casket, it’s still effectively a Faustian bargain.
For my own sake, I have to close the door to those spirit worlds.
We’re seeing the consequences of writers playing hooky from the Wattpad/AO3/Fanfiction.net School of S—ty First Drafts.
I hedged my bets that the curriculum decision-makers are some species of otherworldly creature with only vague understanding of human affairs.
Katie, John the Baptist, Caleb, Destiny, Emily, and Cailynn are all in engineering. I should probably let them know I have aspirin and a stress ball in my room if they need it.
In truth, he devoted his life and his organization’s resources and influence to making America worse in every conceivable way.
American society has a contradictory relationship with sexuality, one that manages to be simultaneously horny and prudish.
If I told other people this, that’s not me being vulnerable. That’s me unlearning what “inside thoughts” are.
I assured her I wasn’t taller—there was so much Mormonism in the Utah air that it somehow made her shrink.
This is an honor bestowed upon them, rather than one they invoke.
I wish I didn’t have to wait months at a time to see Hannah. I wish I could have been there to congratulate Katherine on the baby. I wish I could be in two places at once: my church and house church with Luke and Lauren.
How many times can we say “this isn’t who we are” before we realize that, unless something changes, yes, this is exactly who we are?
My fourth confession: I don’t talk about this.
There’s some aspect of being human, some primal need for face-to-face connection and physical contact that no amount of DMing, texting, or phone calls can fill.
The story’s incoherent, the characterization paper-thin, and a potentially compelling mystery reaches a breathtakingly unsatisfying conclusion.
The next books in the series were improvements, in the same way that breaking a finger is an improvement over breaking your spine.
“Come on, bro, the Internet doesn’t have enough photos of people with twelve fingers, bro.”
You and I likely were taught the same things about masculinity growing up.
I introduced myself and finally learned my inverse’s name: Brooke.
Did you notice a few lines back I said “horrific tragedy”?
I write about how much I miss a recently-defunct business because the Gathering, to myself and many, many people, was more than a place to get a good chai.
The fact that a stereotypical English major job—or any job, for that matter—didn’t fall in my lap right after graduation isn’t my problem. The mixed messages are.
What should we do with good art made by bad people?
When I lost count of the congregants who had taken the mic to say a word, I did give my watch more than one glance.
Call it karma or the consequences of multiple dumb decisions crashing down all at once, but definitely call it multiple facets of Hollywood showing their butts.
Is it a universal experience that the school year after you graduate high school there’s a huge status quo change?
