The Cent Deux Books, So Far
My state has some unusual place names, such as Bucyrus, Catawissa, and Tywappity Bottoms. One of my favorites, though, is the One Hundred and Two River, in the northwest part of the state. The river was named either for its length—although it’s barely more than 60 miles—or because Brigham Young said it was 102 miles from their last encampment, or because it was an “American rendering of the older French name Cent Deux, applied to an Indian village near its headwaters.” I don’t speak French, but I love to say “Cent Deux” with a funny French inspector accent.
The first book I bought for my Kindle was a 25-page, 99-cent tome about Pinterest, that took no time to read but I learned what I wanted to know. I thought it would be great to offer a series of cheap, short books that are useful.
Now, anyone can buy a 99-cent book, but you take your chances. Spring for the extra 3 cents, because Cent Deux Books come with a guarantee: if you don’t like them, I’ll read ‘em.
Chances are your fairy tale isn’t irreparably broken. An unexpected twist in a new chapter doesn’t mean your story is finished.
There is so much pressure to get rid of anything that isn’t easy, to let go of anything that hurts, to throw away what doesn’t meet our needs right now, to give up, to quit, to just walk away when things don’t work out how—and when—we want.
And that’s the problem. Getting rid and letting go and throwing away and giving up and quitting and walking away are almost always a tragic mistake. Better is to keep, to hang on, to stick with it, to endure, to stay. Figure out what is wrong and what can be done, what must be done, to fix it, then do what it takes.
Do it until. That’s almost always the right thing to do.
Making a deal with another moron on the first day of high school that you won’t do homework for four years is a mistake, but I had no idea how costly it would be. It took 13 years to realize that the hole I dug for myself—goofing off in high school—cost me $360,000.
When I finally found my way to college, I began the climb out with a simple motto: 4.0 or don’t go. The most surprising thing I learned was that I wasn’t stupid, after all, but lazy, which I determined to overcome.