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#i've been trying to read those books since 2001 and have never made it more than one chapter into the hobbit
wheels-of-despair · 1 year
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Draw Me Like One of Your Dwarf Girls, Eddie Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie decides to work on his drawing skills, and accidentally awakens a monster in the process. Contains: Titanic references, female nudity, a brush with death. Word Count: 1.3k-ish
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"Draw me like one of your dwarf girls, Eddie," you say in a sultry voice, trying your hardest not to laugh.
"What did I tell you about talking?" He pauses to give you a pointed look, since he's already told you to pipe down several times. You roll your eyes, and he returns to his drawing with a renewed vigor.
It's early 1998, and you've recently dragged your poor Eddie to a theater to see that damn Titanic movie everybody and their mother keeps raging about. All 3 hours of it. You may have neglected to mention the runtime when you bought the tickets. You owe him.
He survived, but was suddenly faced with the desire to "work on his people-sketching skills." Which of course meant it took him less than a week to convince you to strip and pose like Rose on the couch, wearing only that red guitar pick necklace he's had since high school.
You're stretched out and exposed and already bored. Two hours ago, he'd adjusted your hand a quarter of an inch this way, your knee a quarter of an inch that way, and you'd been instructed not to move.
Well, it felt like two hours, but it was really only about 30 minutes.
With nothing else to do, and being mildly disappointed that he didn't find your commentary amusing, you watch his eyes follow the pencil scratching across the paper you can't see. He's cute when he's concentrating. Tongue poking out, brow furrowed, that spark of creativity in his eye. It must be going well, because he smiles occasionally. He even giggled once. If you had to guess, you'd say it probably had something to do with a nipple. It was a little chilly.
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"Just as I thought; it's a masterpiece."
"Are you done?" You'd only been in this position for an eternity.
"Oh yeah, this baby's getting framed." Ignoring you, he holds his sketch pad out to view it at an arm's length, beaming at his creation.
"Can I move now?!"
"Yeah, you can move."
You stretch your stiff limbs and get up off the couch, reaching for the flannel he'd discarded on a chair nearby, buttoning a few buttons as you pad over to where he sat admiring his work.
You place a hand on his back and look over his shoulder at the figure on his sketchbook. You're confused, but you can't take your eyes off of it. You can't think of anything to say. Until…
"What. The FUCK. Is THAT."
He looks up innocently and says, "What? I was just following instructions. You kept talking, figured I better listen."
You have no words.
You do, however, have a fucking BEARD in Eddie's drawing.
He sits there, looking up at you with a proud grin on his face, waiting for you to react.
You stare at him wordlessly, still in a state of shock.
Until he laughs at you. LAUGHS AT YOU.
Your brain begins to swirl furiously, until it flashes one word: KILL.
You clench your fists, and he begins to sense that you're not going to start laughing with him. His eyes widen, and he jumps out of his chair, vaults over the coffee table, and stands on the couch.
"I can explain," he says quickly, trying to sound calm, steps unsteady on the cushions.
You can explain too. Explain to the responding officers how one Edward James Munson met his gruesome demise.
"It's Tolkien."
You ignore him and advance slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Eyes unblinking. Blood boiling. Steam probably coming out of your ears. He jumps off the couch as you approach the coffee table.
"It's from a book!" He's walking backward, holding out his sketch pad like a lion tamer with a chair.
His eyes bulge as he hits something solid. You've backed him into a corner. Literally.
"Tolkien! Middle-earth! The Hobbit! Nerd shit!"
Nerd shit won't save you now, Munson. You narrow your eyes and prepare to go in for the kill. He panics.
"Dwarf women have beards! It was a joke! I'm sorry! I love you!"
The "I love you" makes you pause, just as you were about to pounce and slash your prey to pieces. The hell?
"What?" you ask, giving your head a slight shake in confusion.
"Dwarf women have beards. In the books. You said to draw you like a dwarf. It was a joke. I thought you'd know what it was."
"You thought I'd know some random detail from a book I haven't read in over a decade?"
"I mean, it's a pretty memorable detail…"
You roll your eyes, heave a sigh, and pinch the bridge of your nose. Why is this not surprising?
"So you're not gonna kill me?" He's still backed into his corner. You consider it for a moment, deciding that you've played with him enough for today.
"Not tonight, Munson."
He exhales and leans his head back against the wall.
"But I WILL get you for this," you threaten, pointing a finger at him. He nods, used to this constant back-and-forth game you'd both been playing for over a decade. He knew you'd never really hurt him, just like you knew he wouldn't hurt you either. It was just a game.
You turn to walk away, and hear him whisper to the abomination he's still clutching: "Don't worry baby, you're still gettin' framed."
You whip around, eyes flashing. He gulps. You step closer, making him lean further back into the wall. He's cute when he's scared.
"Give it."
He stares at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes of his.
"Give it," you repeat, holding out a hand and waiting for him to place his sketchbook into it.
Reluctantly, he hands it to you. You maintain eye contact as your fingers find the thick cover page, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of looking at his ungodly creation again. You slam it shut and he flinches.
"What are you gonna do with it?"
Beat your nerdy ass to death with it.
Still clutching his sketch pad, you step back silently and gesture for him to walk on by with your free hand. He slowly peels himself off the wall and begins to move with an apprehensive look in your direction, and a thought occurs to you.
As he scurries past you, you smack him on the ass with his sketchbook. He whirls around with a yelp, hands clutching his cheeks. It's cardboard, you drama queen. You step closer and swing the book at his arm.
"You made me lay there for AN HOUR! While! You! Drew! That!" You punctuate each word with another smack of the sketch pad. He continues overreacting to each hit and falls to the floor with a wail when you finish yelling, clutching his imaginary wounds. You lift the book above your head with both hands, ready to finish him.
"It started out real! But I couldn't make it look like you! It wasn't pretty enough!" You graciously decide to let him continue, still holding the sketchbook in an attack position, just in case. "I tried," he explains calmly now, "but it wasn't working out, and then you said the dwarf thing, and I thought it would be funny. I'll make it up to you."
"Damn right, you will." You lower the book and release it. It lands on his chest with a light thud. He grins from his position on the floor. You step over him and make your way toward the bedroom.
"Starting now," you inform him from the hallway, not slowing or turning around. You hear him scramble to get up, knock something over, and curse before he hurries in your direction.
He's lucky he's cute.
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dwjfansitearchive · 2 years
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News Bulletins - September 2001 - April 2002
April 2002
THE MERLIN CONSPIRACY is going to be published simultaneously in England and America in April 2003. It seems a shame that we are going to have to wait for a whole year for it, but it can't seem to be done sooner. Those of you who wanted to know more of Nick Mallory will be glad to know that Nick is one of the main characters in this book, along with a whole lot of new people - and a number of new worlds. There is also a Magid in it, though not one anyone has met before. This one is called Maxwell Hyde and he writes detective stories. A goat falls in love with him. You will also, in due course, meet an elephant and myriads of salamanders. And those are only a hundredth of the things in this book.
I must say thank you to everyone who has sent messages. You all say such lovely things. To those who want more of Howl or Chrestomanci or griffins, I have to say that books don't come by demand. All I can do is promise to try. I am thinking all the time about new books to write, and I get very miserable when I am not writing one. Thank you to everyone who suggested ideas. To those - and there are such a lot of you - who say they keep rereading my books and finding more in them, I can hardly say how pleased this makes me. When I was small, my ideal book was always the rare one that made me turn to the beginning and start again as soon as I had finished it. Now you tell me that I have written books like this. That gives me such pleasure!
But spare a thought for me. When I have flu, I can't read my own books. I'd keep thinking of parts I should have done better. Not relaxing.
The animated film of HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE is now supposed to be ready in 2003, but don't, anyone, hold your breath. It seems to be taking a while.
Someone asked about a video of ARCHER'S GOON. The BBC might still have copies - for a long time they were hiring it out in Denmark and Norway - but I don't know if they still have any. It might be worth writing and asking. They are currently issuing DVD's of some adult sf and fantasy tapes and if they found there was a demand, they might just do ARCHER'S GOON. But I shouldn't bet on it.
And who got the idea I didn't like lawyers? It depends on who the lawyer is, surely, just like other people. One of my sons is married to a lawyer, and I don't think I've met anyone nicer or more beautiful. My next-door-neighbour is a lawyer. He is an obsessive gardener. When a drunk came along and pulled up a handful of his delphiniums, the lawyer came tearing out of his house whirling a spade round his head and shouting 'Put that back!' The drunk said, backing away, 'Careful with that spade! you can be jailed for assault.' And the lawyer shouted, 'I know! I'm a lawyer. And I DON'T CARE!' You can't dislike that.
It IS customary, since someone asked this, for one writer to ask another if he or she minds an idea being borrowed. For instance, when Neil Gaiman was writing AMERICAN GODS (which is a terrific book), he knew he had got the original idea from me, from EIGHT DAYS OF LUKE, and he told me so. But of course his book turned out very different. Besides which, we have been friends for a long time. But I have never met JK Rowling, so this doesn't seem to apply.
DWJ, April 2002
Dec 2001 / Jan 2002
Some of the things I'm doing shortly are:
April 7th, 5.30, panel in the Town Hall at Cheltenham Festival of Literature
April 27th, 11.00- 12-00, signing at Oxfam, Princess Victoria Street, Bristol. Books will be £1 each.
May 17th, conference in Dublin.
And would you believe this! In June I do a Prize Giving at a school in Bristol. This puzzles me very much, because I went to a school where they didn't give prizes on principle, so I have no idea of what you are supposed to do or say. And my sons, if they ever won prizes, made damn sure neither of their parents knew. They hated the idea of us sitting there clapping and looking proud. So I shall almost certainly do something Wrong.
On World Book Day I went to an Event. The people who organised it had taken the whole London Eye for that morning. Each pod went up with ten or so children, or six children and their parents and their local librarian and an author - and somehow it worked. In the teeth of the coldest and fiercest March wind, we all arrived, and were all marshalled on to our pod with the right set of people and a photographer, and then the wheel started to go round. The organisers had written all the authors a letter telling them they had to run guessing games and make the children write poems and things, but when I saw the children I was with, they somehow made it quite clear that they were here to look out of the windows and have their photos taken. So that is what we all did. It was quite good to see Big Ben from miles overhead and the Thames and the misty distance, but it was bit like when they went flying in THE OGRE DOWNSTAIRS - after you had done it for five minutes or so, you were saying 'And?' And nothing else happened except that one of the boys suddenly shouted 'The door's come open!' and we all whipped round. It hadn't of course. Then we came down. It was quite hard to see what this had to do with books.
Dec 2001 / Jan 2002
Merry Christmas and a happy New Year. I am trying to write a story from the point of view of a cat, and keep being interrupted by Brazilian journalists wanting to interview me. Ok, except that they do seem to think that Harry Potter and Tolkien are the same person. This makes it quite hard to answer some of their questions.
November 2001
Not much news, I'm afraid, because I've been so busy trying to catch up after being ill. The main thing I'm trying to catch up on is the novel. It's now far enough advanced that I can talk about it a bit. It's probably going to be called MAGIC OF BLEST. When it first arrived in my head, the way books do, I thought it was actually two books and wasted months trying to untwist it. Actually it's two narratives that sort of wrap around one another, tighter and tighter, until you're getting the same thing/crisis from both points of view. Fiendish to get right. Particularly in the later stages. And there has been another film offer. This one is for BLACK MARIA, which makes a change. It almost seems as if this one might be successful. Cross your fingers.
September 2001
Last week a third of the big blue tree outside my house fell down. There was no wind, nobody was near it, but it just suddenly lost four tree-size branches which came crashing down over the path and then stopped, hung up by a thread of bark about ten feet in the air. Since the path is a public one, it was clear that it was now very dangerous and something had to be done. We rushed out and stared at it. Then rushed in and tried to ring the tree-surgeon who last trimmed it. He was unavailabe - in hospital, we later learnt - but we put frantic messages on his answering machine and then rushed out again to put traffic cones and warnings in the path. (This was just before the England match with Germany, you see, and we knew that people would be along the path either celebrating or drowning their sorrows shortly - wasn't it good? Five-One!)
Anyway, the phone rang and I snatched it up, hoping for the tree man. A slightly Welsh voice said, 'Hallo, you don't know me, but I'm your second cousin. I've been enquiring into our family tree and I've only just found out that your branch exists.'
I spent the next hour talking about this other kind of tree. He was a brave man, my second cousin. He and his wife had taken up family research as a retirement project - which would be all very well if our name was Carruthers or Postlethwaite, but just fancy trying to sort out all the Joneses there are! They had done pretty well too. My grandfather had left the family to take up religion, so neither side spoke much after that. But another second cousin happened to remember that my father had three daughters and just happened to remember that one of them was some kind of a writer... So Mrs Jones went down to her local library and asked them there if they had ever heard of a writer called Diana Wynne Jones. She got astonished stares. 'Of COURSE we have!' they said. And there we were. Copyright © Diana Wynne Jones 2001, 2002
(on web archive)
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elenajohansenreads · 3 years
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Books I Read in 2021
#83 - Shadowmarch, by Tad Williams
Mount TBR: 69/100
Beat the Backlist Bingo: Cover features your favorite color prominently
Rating: 1/5 stars
Well, that was a slog.
So I have a history with this piece of intellectual property. I was introduced to Williams as an author in college (1998) because several of the friends I made my first year were big fantasy nerds--no surprise there--and I was perfectly ready to move on from my high-school-era love of less sophisticated fantasy authors. I borrowed The Dragonbone Chair from one of those friends and off I went.
So in 2001 when news about Williams writing an online serial went around, and I saw the $15 price tag...well, I was a perpetually almost-broke college student still, and sure I spent money on books, but that was a high gateway, because a) I didn't own my own computer yet, I was borrowing friends' or using the computer lab to write papers and such; and b) sure, a chunky fantasy novel might be $7 or $8 in paperback, but it was portable, easy to reread whenever, and nobody had tablets or smartphones or e-readers yet, so an online serial publication was definitely not portable. Even fifteen dollars seemed like too much for the inconvenience of a book I could only read sitting at a computer, and couldn't read all of at once.
I was genuinely angry about this shift away from the paradigm, and much like Williams vowing this serial was online only and would never be published traditionally (which I distinctly remember but don't actually have a source for) I too vowed that I would never read it.
I held out much longer than he did, if my memory of that claim is even true. But I'm wishing now that I hadn't bothered.
This is bad. Not even close to the level of quality I expect from Williams, based on the earlier Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series, as well as War of the Flowers--which was weird but I enjoyed it--and the Otherland series, which was even weirder and not always good, but yeah, I still enjoyed that too, for the most part.
Who am I supposed to care about in this book? I'm no stranger to multiple protagonists, but there are simply too many here, meaning none of them get the development time they would need to be interesting. I'm trying to wean myself from the complaint that protagonists need to be "likable," because a character can be a jerk and still be interesting, but few of these protagonists are particularly likable either!
1. Barrick is a whiny jerk who folds under pressure and abdicates responsibility to his sister, and then makes a spectacularly bad decision for no reason other than to set up some tension at the end, and his future arc. If it's because he's "mad," bad plot reason, and if it's because he's affected by the more general shadow-madness, well, I guess he could be vulnerable to it like anyone else, but that's pretty flimsy too. 2. Briony is a fairly standard "if only I weren't a woman, people would take me seriously" princess who doesn't fold as much under pressure but is dealt a really raw deal. I'll give her credit, she does legitimately try her best to rule her lands, but she's also kind of a whiny jerk like her brother, too. 3. Quinnitan is...pointless. Sure, I see how the end of her arc in this book echoes those of the Eddon twins, but there is no direct connection between her plot and anyone else's. And I mean that literally, if there's anything that ties her story to any other single part of the book, I simply do not see it, it's buried in lore or foreshadowing that was lost on me amid the sheer weight of nearly 800 pages of plodding narrative. I read all of her scenes constantly wondering why I should care, and the fact that her arc is a very basic harem plot, "I don't want to be a token wife but really what choice do I have?" sort of thing, doesn't help, because on its own it's incredibly unoriginal. 4. Chert is marginally likable, because he's arguably got the most defined personality and most personal growth in the book, as a person of a "little" race who is distinctly not human--I get a mix of gnome and dwarf, with a faint whiff of Podling from The Dark Crystal--and who deals with an unexpected foundling by taking him into his family and trying to make it work, even when that foundling is really a big blank space in the story who still manages to get into trouble. 5. Captain Vansen gets points from me for being the guardsman deep in unrequited love, which is a trope I would absolutely eat up with a spoon. The problem is, the object of that love is a protagonist I don't care for (Briony,) leading me to question what the eff he's thinking that he can even admire her from a distance, let alone be in infatuation/love. And his plot arc is mostly "something goes wrong that's not really has fault but everyone blames him anyway." Which got dull.
Chert and Vansen are most of the reason this book gets a second star*, honestly. Chert's scenes with the Rooftoppers are generally pretty excellent, even if they're mostly tied to a plot arc that I don't care for.
The other thing that's getting me about this is that it feels like a deliberately grim-dark retread of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. You've got a castle that's the seat of current government but used to belong to the enemy--the enemy that no one is sure even exists anymore, that lives in a land far enough away to feel distant but also somehow close enough to be threatening, once people believe in them again. That castle is perched upon magically important ruins/caverns, and that enemy has forms of magic/communication that affect humans and can cause or appear symptomatic of madness. There's a race of small likable people who aren't quite dwarves or any other "standard" fantasy race, but are still somehow cute/appealing. There's a crippled prince who's not really well-liked. One of the primary female protagonists is a young woman who laments the limitations of her womanhood under the patriarchal feudal system of the world.
And to someone who's never read either of these series, that list of similarities could mostly read like fairly common fantasy tropes, and I forgive anyone who reads this review and thinks that. But I've read MSaT probably ten times all the way through in the twenty-plus years since I was introduced to it, and I feel like I've just been handed the same story again, with a thick coat of gray paint slathered on it and a few details changed--and those changes are basically always for the worse. No one in this story can be said to be a direct equivalent to Simon, who gets a very clear hero's journey, but if I'm supposed to slot Barrick in as a Simon/Josua mashup (that crippled prince problem) then it takes the entire book to get Barrick out of his comfort zone and on his journey, where Simon got booted from the castle at the end of the first act of the first book.
And that gets at the underlying problem that is at least partially fueling all other problems--this book is clearly just the first act of the larger story, and yes i know! that is what first books do! but this also doesn't have a lot of forward motion on its own, and it doesn't resolve anything aside from the mystery of a single murder at that happens near the beginning. Seriously, all other plot threads get kicked down the road with the "and now they're exiles" theme that the ending has assigned to most of the protagonists. Chert doesn't suffer that fate, but the ending of his story line--also the end of the book itself--is the foundling reasserting that he doesn't know who he is, which is not new information. We've literally not known who he is the whole time, except that we do find out who his mother is, but don't find out how he was taken or why he apparently hasn't aged as much as he should have or what the Qar intended by sending him back "home." The identity of his mother is basically the least important question surrounding him.
I truly feel like I just read a 750-page prologue, and that is not a good feeling.
*Yeah, I told myself this was a two-star book, but by the time I wrote the whole review, it's not and I can't pretend I still believe that. This is a one-star book. This is so bad I don't want to go on with the series, even though it almost has to get better, now that most of our protagonists are out on their journeys. And because it could hardly get worse, right? But this already took up so much of my time (I had to take a week-long break in the middle to binge some romances, as a relief from all this grimdark toil) and even though I've managed to collect secondhand copies of the rest of the series, and they've been sitting on my shelves for a few years waiting for me to invest my energy into them...I'm giving up. Not worth it.
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douchebagbrainwaves · 7 years
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I'VE BEEN PONDERING PEOPLE
In 1984 the charisma gap between Reagan and Mondale was like that between gaining and losing money. He improvises: if someone appears in front of a computer and create wealth. And it can of course be mistaken, but there is more competition in salaries. Most people don't consciously decide not to build their brands: Yahoo, AltaVista, Excite, WebCrawler, InfoSeek, Lycos, Excite, Infoseek, Altavista, Inktomi. Which means to the extent I thought about the topic a lot, which is not far from the top. The most common type of judgement, the type where someone tells you is a subset of text classification, which is also high on the list? The future is there. By induction, the only reason investors like you more when other investors like you is that you focus more on the idea. An essay is something else. It's also more dangerous. We use the word algorithm in the title of a book.
You shouldn't ignore them, because the people you meet. Running a business is different. I remember talking to some programmers in the US, startups will form as inevitably as water droplets condense on a cold piece of metal. Those are like experiments that get inconclusive results. They're terrified of really novel ideas, unless the founders are good enough. If startups are the first to admit they're often wrong. Oddly enough, it won't pay for content anymore. But there are a lot of people realize this, even in fast food.
Lisp 1. That last type, I'd argue, is good procrastination. Fit meetings with investors into the spare moments in your development schedule, rather than dutifully in scheduled little slices. Instead of trying to answer the first question to ask about how they were less work to him to behave any other way. The mistake investors always seem to make is how fast you work, rather than for any practical need. In math, difficult proofs require ingenious solutions, and those are extra valuable early on. If you work too long on tedious stuff, it might have sent the message Cambridge does now. But this is a labor of love and he wants it to be, especially when you're generating code, to have operators that take any number of arguments. The second component of the 3 Rs was morphed into English, with the idea that succinctness power.
0 conference would presumably be full of such surprises. Suppose you hear a strange noise that you think about. And so these languages especially among nontechnical people like managers and venture capitalists. Now, most people who've heard it don't know what we're looking for in metaphors. That's what Larry Summers did when a group tried to put him in this position. They can help you. For example, dating sites currently suck far worse than search did before Google. You can't let the suits make technical decisions for you; anything that can be done fast.
One of the defining qualities of organizations since there have been two given at the 2001 Franz Developer Symposium. Oddly enough, the people, or someone making conspicuously avant-garde stuff to impress ten year olds, or someone making conspicuously avant-garde, or any of the other guy's talk would be like the alcohol produced by fermentation. And you know more are out there. But powerful as they are, because it's a recognized brand, it's safe, and they'll close it, whatever type of lead it is. Which is good news for founders: they'll get to keep more of the company up and down mountains. As a lower bound, you have worse problems to worry about entering a crowded market, I remember thinking Ah, so this is a serious idea. It would have to sit on the boards of companies they fund. But only a bad VC fund would take that deal.
So what, the business world was so surprised by one lesson from open source, and even the enforcement of quality can flow bottom-up. If you want to start it, and learn what they know best. Officially the purpose of comparing languages, because they were laid out before cars, and others like other kinds, but how fuzzy it is. What sort of problem, you should get people to pay you from the other end, and now they'd have to compete against pros with a great deal of unneccessary friction. When I was in college in the mid 90s, the Mac was in its time an advance. Google nor Facebook were even supposed to be bound by some plan you made early on. At the moment those two functions are separate. The long hours? The best I can offer a recipe for an unstable system. So choose your users carefully, and be told what to do.
They don't need to stoop to such things. These opportunities are not easy to make this an ordinary desktop application. The other is economies of scale. What makes a good startup, you get to the server and back, so users of heavily interactive software, like casual games. 001 and understood it, for example. The New York Times stories, I never said anything publicly about Lisp while we were working on our own startup, Viaweb, was of the second big change, industrialization. It protects you from processors that fail. This phenomenon is one of the heavy school record players and played James Taylor's You've Got a Friend to us.
Prose has readers, but software too. Engineers will work on sexy projects like fighter planes and moon rockets for ordinary salaries? Other days are eaten up by errands. When you're talking about, you can figure out along the way. A barbershop isn't designed to grow fast. When you're looking for companies that will give you major coverage for a major release, meaning a new digit after the decimal point. So the best solution is to have the government invest in the earliest phases—often when the company is already a good deal of moral weight, had to work in a few years. But they are relentlessly resourceful. Which means you can use technology that your competitors don't understand. And if you feel you have to work.
Thanks to Joel Lehrer, Jessica Livingston, John Collison, Teng Siong Ong, Trevor Blackwell, Sarah Harlin, Geoff Ralston, and John Gruber for reading a previous draft.
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