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Write something pithy to engage readers.
Nah. They can find someone else to impose their perceptions upon.
The purpose of the Not Very Helpful Self-Help Book is clear from its title.
Abject failure explains why it’s best to have no aspirations whatsoever.
The author has scoured his mind to produce dull contemplations on life that are bound to disappoint rather than inspire.
The purpose here, as it is in any cult, conclave, coven and crowd, is to deflate the individual so much that they cannot refuse joining the melee of very stupid shit from believing in a god or gods, to expecting the government to work in your best interest.
Life is difficult, so get over it.
Most folk are burdened with debt, unable to afford health insurance and can barely make ends meet despite holding multiple jobs.
That’s the American way: Rack up massive credit card debt; endure greedy insurance companies; play the mortgage game; and raise ungrateful children.
The NVHSH book has no pithy insights to help ease suffering because the author has failed to finish reading every single self-help book he has ever purchased.
Those tomes weren’t very helpful, and life isn’t fair, and my mother didn’t love me enough, and the economy sucks, and I’m getting older faster and … and … I offer the Not Very Helpful Self-Help Book, a compendium of all the failures I’ve endured, all the unrequited loves I’ve suffered, and all the pointless jobs I’ve worked.
Because, well, I’m feeling it.
Donations encouraged
Chapter 0
Turns out, if you’re not motivated, you’re a perfect mark for my products which promise you change but puts it all on you.
The world spins faster faster as electrons fly from computers, cellphones, monitors, e-cars, radios, and brains.
Thumbs and thoughts evolve to text like mad the mad thoughts of meandering mensch in a world spinning as faster as a cosmic Dervish.
Philip L. Watness invites readers to peruse his fiction, photography and occasional feature article or news item.
People are asked to register to engage with Watness. They can submit questions, news briefs, photos, etc.
Watness has three decades of journalism experience. He retired in early May 2024 as the editor of the Skamania County Pioneer after nearly 13 years at the helm of the small, community newspaper.
As Watness eases into retirement, he plans to use Whatnews.Ink to supplement his limited income. He asks that readers subscribe to his various products.
“Those who no longer ask the questions are the truly enlightened.” The Sa’an spouted the saying in his sleep – over and over and over again until he awoke those of us who weren’t too besotted and still somewhat conscious. Rollo kicked the Sa’an to shut him up but he continued babbling the inane words over and over. Rollo shook his shoulders, trying to awake the sleeping Sa’an. The saint snored between words, struck in some dungeon of his mind where nothing existed beyond the prison bars of his dreams. Rollo cursed and spat on the pavement. He considered gagging his drunk friend to stop his words but decided to move far enough away that the mumbled worlds sounded like a gurgling stream. Rollo slept fitfully nonetheless and even as he drifted into sleep, the Sa’an’s words seared into his mind. “What questions? He wondered. “Why the hell l would I want to be enlightened? What time is it?" Dawn yawned to life.
Big Goof yawned widely, nearly locking his jaws as he shook off the night’s tremors. He rolled over, trying to stir his bones. The night chill had seeped up his arms and down his legs. He groaned as he pushed against the ground, lifting his mass from the damp ground. He shook his limbs as he stood, trying to combat the chill. His breath fogged in the cold air as he exhaled. He came eventually to know that he must’ve dozed off for a few dozen years. He had awoken with matted fur and sore bones, and he remembered the last time that had happened, he’d slept from the new moon to the half. He thought he was an eagle for some time as he dozed, then a bear, and much later, an otter. No, perhaps a seal or a salmon or the wind. Yes, he was the wind for some while over the moons, wandering voraciously over the land but somehow always winding up where it began to blow. .
Fill Wantless didn’t want much. He just wanted a little bit. A little bit of love, a little bit of respect, a little bit of money and a little bit of life. He was apparently unaware that all these things come from within, not without, but Wantless was constantly looking to the world askance, unaware that what he thought of himself, no one else did. Some disliked him for his loud guffaw amidst a high school basketball game while others endured his long, tedious and nearly pointless stories of his Norwegian ancestors. A few loved him deeply, madly blah blah blah, truly, but never once let him know.
Older than dirt
A dog in cat's body
Because