#howey

'Howey' is 5'11"--- to Oryn?

Send 💿 for my muse to choose a song that matches your muse's vibe

(Accepting! Since they haven't interacted, I'm going bassed of your description of him.)

Riot - Hollywood Undead

Fuck that shit, let's start a riot! Let's start a riot! Tear shit up, fuck peace and quiet! Fuck that shit, let's start a riot! Tear shit up, fuck peace and quiet!

"We get no credit for being sane, do we? I get no credit. Even from me, from myself. I hold it together and hold it together and I make it another day, another year, and there's no reward. Nothing great about me being normal. About not being crazy." - Solo (Jimmy)

More of a curiosity than anything else, Howey's self-published Wool (with a big assist from Amazon, btw) will probably be more remembered for the role it played in shaking up the publishing industry in the early 2010s than it will as a worthwhile sci-fi novel.

A slightly interesting post-apocalyptic/dystopian premise about the last of humanity living in a tightly regulated underground silo can't save this collection of five novellas and short stories from Howey's powerfully unremarkable and annoyingly workshoppish writing. Seriously did he only learn what a metaphor was immediately prior to writing these stories? Honestly, I felt like I had just read a 600 page-long padded sentence by the time I had finished this collection.

Poorly drawn characters, plotting that vacillates between boringly turgid and at times vaguely nonsensical, an overall lack of credible world-building, as well as Howey's already mentioned tendency towards annoying, 'creative writing 101' prose, all combine to what amounts to a pretty tedious, nearly six hundred page story.

Why Howey left these stories in their original form and didn't go back and do some serious editing once they were a success is beyond me. Some judicious cuts and changes here and there could have made this collection much more consistent and readable.

2. When you realize you have no idea what is going on in class

Oryn slowly turns her head towards him, her neck cracking with a sinister and unhealthy sound.

And his look. His look. Deep, cold and unraveling of feeling. It's the kind of look that says:

«Leave, leave now.»

It is clear that Howey is not welcome.

me bullying my dog (+original undercut)