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The Car
Only one car exists in the world, and it’s driven by a man going east. He’s interrupted on his journey when he stops in a small town, where he is confronted by two individuals and the ideologies they stand Willem, who represents the belief in chairs; and Rachel, who represents the orthodox belief in the sanctity of the Car, the Road, the Passenger, and the Driver. To travel onward, he must deal with both.
142 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 24, 2014
11 people want to read
About the author
Jude Fawley
14 books23 followersWhen I first started writing, my mother told me, "Jude, that's not what an A is shaped like." And she was right, or at least it wasn't shaped like everyone else's. And the rest of the alphabet—similar problems, similar criticisms. But when you're a four year old, that kind of truth is much harder to swallow, and since I was obstinate my As were malformed for many years to follow.
What I would have argued, if I had my current perspective those many years ago, is that the shape of the letters never really mattered. The people that spent years practicing their penmanship, with their protractors and their rulers, never really had anything better to say. An A is nothing if it isn't in a word, a word is nothing if it doesn't have the context of thought, and a thought is nothing if it's coming out of stupid people.
So it came to be that the rest of my life, from the age of four to now, I've dedicated to the avoidance of becoming stupid, at the expense of my handwriting. It is my hope, then, that this will give context to my thoughts and meaning to my letters. With these thoughts I sit at a computer, using a keyboard rather than a pen, and string thousands and thousands of these letters together, so that they become books. It is up to you whether they have meaning. And if you find the font disagreeable, the medium by which these thoughts become accessible to you, it won't be my handwriting to blame, but rather some seventeenth century typographer who was just trying to make a living and is now dead. You can blame him, you have my permission.
What I would have argued, if I had my current perspective those many years ago, is that the shape of the letters never really mattered. The people that spent years practicing their penmanship, with their protractors and their rulers, never really had anything better to say. An A is nothing if it isn't in a word, a word is nothing if it doesn't have the context of thought, and a thought is nothing if it's coming out of stupid people.
So it came to be that the rest of my life, from the age of four to now, I've dedicated to the avoidance of becoming stupid, at the expense of my handwriting. It is my hope, then, that this will give context to my thoughts and meaning to my letters. With these thoughts I sit at a computer, using a keyboard rather than a pen, and string thousands and thousands of these letters together, so that they become books. It is up to you whether they have meaning. And if you find the font disagreeable, the medium by which these thoughts become accessible to you, it won't be my handwriting to blame, but rather some seventeenth century typographer who was just trying to make a living and is now dead. You can blame him, you have my permission.
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
June 10, 2015
Maybe I'm too stupid, but I don't get this story. I really liked the concept and a couple of the characters were intriguing, but I want to know more. What happened to the world? Why is everyone stupid and not curious? Everything feels incomplete, which could be the point, but I just don't feel like I got much out of reading this. there's also quite a few typos, and some bad grammar. I hate to be nit-picky, but it annoys me a little.
Displaying 1 of 1 review