Andy Shauf's "Covered In Dust":
Chuck Wendig's "25 Ways to Write a Real 'Page-Turner' of a Book":
Said it before: the question mark is shaped like a hook. The question (i.e. mystery) is bait. The question mark at the end of a question is the hook that sets in the cheek of the reader and drags them along. Populate the work with mysteries big and small. Mysteries of all types, too — mysteries related to character, to big plot, to subplot, to worldbuilding and metaplot, to backstory, to future happenings, and on and on. Every chapter should contain some iota of mystery, for it is the question that keeps them reading.
Dimitri Tokmetzis' "Here’s Why You Shouldn’t Put Your Baby Photos Online" on Medium is a good heads-up about why you should check your privacy settings where you post and store text and photos. Sites shift what privacy settings mean over time, so now's as good a time as any to recheck them on Facebook, Flickr, and anywhere else you keep stuff.
Yoko Ono's "Don't Stop Me!" at Imagine Peace is killer good, because she's right: "dancing in the middle of an ageism society is a lonely trip."
"William S. Burroughs, The Art of Fiction No. 36", an interview at The Paris Review:
…it is unfortunately one of the great errors of Western thought, the whole either/or proposition. You remember Korzybski and his idea of non-Aristotelian logic. Either/or thinking just is not accurate thinking. That's not the way things occur, and I feel the Aristotelian construct is one of the great shackles of Western civilization.
And the Absurd Height of Creepy Dysfunctionality Award goes to Love's Baby Soft for this 1975 ad: I told Aidan that I'm going to go as the woman in this ad for Halloween and spend the whole night licking my lollipop in that creepy, non-licking way she has. Shudder.
"How to set up Facebook Legacy Contact. And why everyone should do it right now." at Cool Mom Tech problem-solves what will happen to your Facebook account when you die.
Debra Monroe's "‘You’re in Trouble. Am I Right?': My Unsentimental Education" at Longreads:
James had read up. He’d practiced on acquaintances, none of whom he’d loved, he told me. He knew better than I did that delay, a perfectly-timed pause and then another, made fulfillment more intense. I was a host of emotion. I felt self-conscious, grateful, powerful, rattled, languid, necessary. What phrase covered this? I said I love you too, though I’d lately told myself in my room, staring at the ceiling, the unpredictable future, to say so carefully this time.