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Colin Wright
Works at Asymmetrical Press
Attends Life
Lives in Boracay, Philippines
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Colin Wright

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These Mad, Crazy Things
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There are a few seats left in my Introduction to Design for Publishing class, if you're keen to learn some marketable (and creatively satisfying) skills in the new year:


My 'A Tale of More' series is now available as a single, chunky tome (and comes at a significant discount, over purchasing all ten books individually). That can be had here: (links to non-Amazon versions here:

Also also: 

I'm going on a book tour in May and June, and if you're in one of the cities we'll be coming through, it'll be worth your time to come hang out, enjoy some music and some book readings, get a free hug, etc. Details on that (along with dates, locations, and RSVP links) here:
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I'm leaving Tampa in a few hours, hopping an overnight bus that'll take me to New Orleans, Louisiana.

It's been a little while since I've been back to Nola, but in the past I've stayed with locals in a few different districts and really enjoyed exploring. At one point I was a guest of the city through a program called NOLAbound, through which I met some amazing people and got to see some really fantastic things.

I'm looking forward to seeing the city once more, as it's another opportunity to meet up with locals (who tend to be interesting folks, in many ways) and see how the city's evolved; something a city in its situation, with its recent history, and with its unique culture tends to do quite quickly and dramatically.

Thanks for the wonderful time, Florida, and see you soon, New Orleans!
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Really you have quite adventurous life. Ammmm would you like to visit India :-)? 
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Colin Wright

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Never make excuses for who you are. Instead, excuse those who fail to accept magnificent you.

All quotes from this series can be had (fo' free) at

Keen to get your think on? Snag a copy of Considerations or sign up for 30 Days of Doing, a month-long email series:
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Well said 
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I'm hopping a bus for Atlanta in a few hours, after a really wonderful extended-weekend in Nashville, Tennessee.

I'd visited Nashville a few times previously, but had never had the chance to check out he local haunts and really experience the music before. I wasn't disappointed.

I had the opportunity to enjoy one of the better musical experiences of my life at the Bluebird Cafe: a spot where many industry icons got their start, and where I had the good fortune to catch an in-the-round show performed by Thom Schuyler, Fred Knobloch, Toby Arata, and Jelly Roll Johnson — four guys who blew me away with their music, and who have been writing hit songs for other musicians for decades. Even more fortunate, I found out later, was getting into the Bluebird at all — the line is always long, and the waiting list substantial. I had a connection through a friend of a friend to thank for that night's amazingness.

I also checked out the drunken pseudo-Vegas-but-more-country-music-themed revelry of Broadway, which is where talented would-be-stars play cover songs and compete for attention with the live acts in every other bar on the long stretch of road. The neon lights were bright and the alcohol was easily attained and the company was good; we paused partway through the night to grab chili-cheese tater tots and assess where we should go listen/dance/drink next.

On the opposite end of the spectrum from Broadway was a place called Santa's: a karaoke bar in a triple-wide trailer located far away from everything else, hidden away in a residential area. While Broadway is a known hot-spot for tourists (and aside from the performers, seemed to be filled with mostly out-of-towners looking for a wild experience or means of fulfilling their bachelorette party responsibilities), Santa's was a total local joint, packed to the brim with friendly, jovial, enthusiastic locals, crooning their favorite country songs when they weren't cheering and clapping along with whomever else happened to be at the mic. It was a nice, incredibly unpretentious contrast to Broadway, and a completely different spin on what Nashville means to those who live and visit here.

I spent most of the visit with my host and good friend Nicole and her celebrity dog Maggie (, as we went bar-hopping, food-eating, Sirius-radio-show-visiting, trampoline-dodgeball-playing, and generally good-time-having. Check out her page if you get the chance: they're an amazing duo, those two.

Next up is Atlanta, where I'll be arriving super-late tonight/early tomorrow morning. Looking forward to spending a bit of time in the area before heading down to Tampa for some beach-side R&R and writing catch-up.

Full road trip schedule here:
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Things I do on long bus or train rides:

-Read a book
-Catch up on social media
-Catch up on the news
-Read some more
-Scribble down ideas and outlines for book and business models in my little notebook
-Read yet more of the book

About 5 hours into trips that are 10 hours or longer, I get bored of the pacifiers and media-driven distractions and my drive to work and just stare out the window. It can take a half hour to get into the zone from that point, but once I'm there, my habits look like this:

-Stare out the window
-Think deeply about life, work, relationships, philosophy, questions and answers, things experienced, things not yet experienced, the big picture, small details, what comes next, possible means of making that 'next' even better, whether I'm doing what I should be doing, opportunity costs, opportunities I may not have considered, what an ideal world might look like, how things like 'ideal' could ever exist when there are so many definitions for the word, how cool it would be to live in space, etc ad infinitum

The rest of the trip passes by timelessly. In the last half-hour, time seems to slow once more, and the seconds creep by torturously. But during that time in between, I'm reminded of why I love slow travel — love overland travel, in particular.

The part of me that needs to be moving forward, needs to be accomplishing something, is sated; I'm quite literally moving forward, toward something, and that frees my mind and sense of ambitious concern so I can tackle other, less-explored issues and areas of interest.

The part of me that craves novelty and stimuli is sated, my aesthetics challenged and titilated by the remarkable and unfamiliar things passing outside the window, the people sharing my mode of transportation, the music in my headphones or the creaking of axels and tires against the pavement or steel tracks.

I'm free of time constraints, but also of options. There's only so much I can get done from the road, from the middle of nowhere, in a seat that's pulling me from one 'here' to my next 'here,' which puts me in a space where I'm not just allowed to think, but in which my sanity requires it.

Yes, 17 hours is a long time, and yes, that's how long I'll be on a bus, starting a few hours from now, here in Washington DC, and ending in Nashville, about 700 miles away, tomorrow morning at around 8:30am.

But that time in between, during which I'm gazing out at the spaces in between places, and deep-diving into my own less-explored mental depths, will be time well-spent. It's time during which I'm free from self-imposed expectations and deadlines. During which I can pull inward, take my time refreshing and rebooting, and emerge on the other side ready to tackle whatever challenges or opportunities arise.

Though I'll also likely emerge on the other side with a crick in my neck and sore shoulders from sleeping on a bus; so if you've got any massage-related connections in Nashville, let me know.
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Colin Wright

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Identify your needs, cut out the excess, and spend more on less of better.

All quotes in this series are pulled from my books and other writings.

Other quotes in this series:
My books:
My blog:
My newsletter:
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for sure 
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Holy hot damn, people. What a year. 2014. Geez.

I'm not really much of a holiday person, in that I think each day should be approached with the reverence we tend to reserve for select 24-hour segments on the calendar.

But I AM a big fan of celebrating the holidays of whatever culture I'm living within at the moment, so in a way I'm a hardcore holiday person: I celebrate all of them.

New Years is an interesting holiday in that it's one of the few during which it's customary to make some kind of personal pledge to do better. "I'll work out every day" or "Drinking? Only once a week this next year" are the types of thing you expect to hear. Some people hold to their resolutions, while most tend to wobble off the path they've set sometime early on in Q1.

You might say there's a matter of frayed personal responsibility to blame, but I would argue that it's a flawed system for establishing new, positive habits and change.

Yes, it's an implied milestone, and yes, changes are easier to make at such moments, but the purchasing of new calendars and increasing of the number you write on all your checks (well, for those of us who still use checks)(surely someone still does? for the sake of the visual?) isn't that closely associated with health or giving one's liver a break.

Broad strokes, I think, are better applied in a moment like New Years, because the holiday itself is a very broad, all-encompassing one. And though I don't tend to make resolutions on specific holidays, a broad one that I find to be personally helpful at any time is this:

From this point forward, I'll make my absolute best effort to see as many perspectives as possible. I'll try to view every argument and conversation from the shoes of the other parties involved, and solve problems by approaching them from new, unfamiliar angles. I'll acknowledge that there can be more than one right answer, path, or solution in every case, and aspire to be the kind of person who can hold more than one opinion at a time, based on myriad variables and circumstances. I will round out my world view with knowledge, and an awareness of others' views (and value them, whether or not I agree). I will, in short, become a more three-dimensional personal while allowing the world around me (and the people in it) to become more three-dimensional, as well.

It's something to think about, at least. Though I wouldn't recommend toasting something so cumbersome (if you want to continue being invited to parties, at least).

That said, 2014 has been an epic and satisfying year for me. I've done a lot of work I'm proud of, met some remarkable new people who I'm honored to call friends, and learned an absolutely ridiculous amount about myself and the world. Thanks so much for helping me have another best year ever.

I've got some massive aspirations for this upcoming year, and I can't wait to make them manifest. My very best to you and yours, going into 2015, and I hope you're able to make the new year your best one ever, as well.
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Happy new year to you as well, +Colin Wright !
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The following is the first chapter of Trialogue — the first book in a ten-book series ( that's been getting rave reviews, from folks who typically enjoy fiction, and from those who seldom pick up books (each book in the series is novella-length — 70-80 pages — and as such they're all quite digestible).

Trialogue only costs $.99 (or a little more than that as a paperback).

Amazon (ebook or paperback):
Barnes & Noble/Nook (ebook or paperback):
Kobo (ebook):
iBooks (ebook):
Gumroad (ebook):

Whether you snag a copy or not, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

(Note that the '<em>'s and '</em>'s designate the beginning and ending of italicized sections, respectively — G+ doesn't allow for the display of such things, unfortunately.)


“Never begin a story with dialogue.”


“It sets unrealistic expectations for the rest of the tale. It says to the reader, ‘Hey reader, so listen. This is going to be a character-driven effort, and the character who’s talking now is going to be paramount to the plot in some way.’” Rainer leaned back in his chair, tilting back onto two legs, the metal so cheap it moaned under his negligible, scrawny-twenty-something-Indian-kid weight. “And that’s not always the case. Not in a good story.”

“Why? Wouldn’t you want to open with something important, and someone important saying it?”

“Not necessarily.” Rainer spread his arms wide, exhibiting the expansive-but-rundown warehouse in which we sat, every square inch of shelf- and floor-space covered with boxes of books. He slapped the nearest example — a graphic novel displayed on the wall behind him — with the back of his hand. The victimized publication was held in place by a transparent piece of acrylic shelving, which almost rattled free upon impact. “These things have made it pretty clear that you need to be able to roll with the punches. To change mid-stroke. To kill people off when necessary, and to adjust expectations of who’s the hero and who’s the villain.

“In short,” Rainer slammed his chair back down onto all four legs. “You’ve got to leave the reader wondering. Leave them unable to decide where the story’s going. Will the person I’m rooting for end up letting me down? Will the villain turn out to be the good guy? Will the piece segue into something more large-scale and concept-driven, or will it hone in on the minuscule — some kind of relationship that was unimportant at first, but turns out to be the most vital thing in the world?” Rainer folded his arms and kicked up his feet onto the display case behind which he spent most of his days. “It’s the nature of a good tale.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, standing up from my own chair, positioned against the wall, just across the narrow entrance from Rainer’s spot next to the cash register. The chair was Rainer’s idea, so the people he cornered with conversation would have someplace to relax while he lectured. “What do you have for me today?”

Rainer jumped from his chair, startled from his rant by my reminder that I’d stopped by to collect my ‘subscription.’

“Oh yes.” He scuttled from behind the counter and tore into box kept separate from all the other boxes. “Yes yes, this one will blow your mind. I just finished it, and I’m still picking up brain pieces from the experience. Brain pieces <em>everywhere</em>.” He handed me a thick-bound graphic novel, the cover a black matte cardboard, with a tiny yellow triangle about the size of a thumbnail in the center as the only graphic element. The triangle was accentuated with gold foil.

“What is it?” I turned it over, looking for a title or some kind of information about the book, but there was nothing else on it, save for a barcode on the back. I flipped the book again and started to page through it.

“Wait wait wait,” Rainer reached out and held it closed, the book  pancaked between his hands. “Not this one. You don’t want to jump ahead. It’s special, man. Really special. It’s called <em>Pyramid</em> and it’s one of those books you just have to…” he seemed to be at a loss for words, sucking at his teeth momentarily before finishing his sentence. “Absorb. You know?” He seemed unsatisfied with his description. “Like really soak up. Take it in.” Rainer’s face almost seemed panicked, the way it looked any time he was having trouble making himself understood. “It’s just good, man. It’s <em>good</em>.” His mouth twisted unattractively and he turned away, retreating back behind the counter.

“What’s it about?”

“Oh stuff and things. Just read it. You’ll like it. Guaranteed!”

I left the warehouse before Rainer could tell me all about his special-friend guarantee, which apparently was attached to all of my purchases, part of the ‘Rainer’s Recommendations’ subscription program I’d somehow gotten talked into.

As far as I knew, I was the only subscriber.

Which was fine. It was how our relationship worked, mine and Rainer’s. He spoke and I listened. He got enthused and I rode the wave of his enthusiasm. He sold me on whatever he was obsessing over at the moment, and I bought what he was selling. Or at the very least stood silently, nodding my approval.

It was actually nice to listen to Rainer, even at his most manic. At the very least, it kept the Narrator at bay. For a while.

<em>As Cain walked from the warehouse, he kicked at the brownish clumps of grass churned up by the immense windstorms that had passed through town days before. The clumps, he thought, were much like the town of Smithton: small, beige, and soft. Once a sturdy mining village, the people of Smithton had become provincially minded and morbidly obese; a combination that had Cain clinging to Rainer as his only friend; a fellow castaway trapped on an island of lethargy.</em>

<em>To Cain, Rainer seemed to be the only other person in the world who understood what it was like to be cooped up in the back corner of nowhere wondering what ‘somewhere’ was like.</em>

The worst thing about the Narrator was how often it was right. It wasn’t enough that there was a voice in my head — two, actually, but only one that still spoke — documenting every decision and misstep with sniper-sight accuracy; the thing also had insight into the motivations behind my actions, along with an inhuman perspective that sometimes felt cold, detached, and strangely focused on my, and everyone else’s weight. Its voice, monologuing inside my brain, wasn’t as distracting now as it had been when I was younger, scaring the hell out of me when it first started yammering on my tenth birthday, decimating my social skills, and worrying the psychiatrists as I entered my teens. But despite my increased ability to block it out, I could still hear it, chattering away at the edges of my conscious mind, most especially when I was alone.

An unfortunate thing, compounded by living in such a small town and not owning a car. I often told myself that great, creative men and women would kill to live in a place like Smithton — mountain-adjacent and rugged, in a Hemingway-esque fashion — but my arguments always felt damp and too heavy to fly as I slogged through the muddy, dirty, awkwardly humid streets. It was only a thirty-minute walk from one end of Smithton to the other, but I could feel every second moistening my soul, causing it to mold. I weighed and measured every moment spent plodding through that hell-hole of a town, and the resulting figures made for some melancholy math.

<em>Cain glanced in the mirrored window of the old Cinemark Theater, noting that he had gained a few pounds since he last chose to acknowledge his reflection. Once quite athletic, the years had not been kind to Cain, and he reflected that the stagnant Smithton had perhaps taken more from him than just his youth; it had also taken his health.</em>

Sonuvabitch. It was like having a gossip magazine in my head sometimes, though okay, sure, maybe I’d put on a few pounds over the past few years. Or months. It’s not easy keeping yourself motivated when working for tips at the only diner in town, where the only real benefit of employment, outside of the almost-minimum wage I pulled in, was access to the unsold pastries each night. Maybe, just maybe, I had started to look forward to the moment I tucked them in my backpack on the way out the door, after sweeping and mopping and scrubbing the tables.

Being honest with myself, those half-stale pastries were the highlight of my existence. They were the boost that kept me going. They allowed me to make it through another night, charged with sugar-based enthusiasm so that I could wake up the next day, heave myself out of bed, and walk back to the diner, scraping my shoes of mud and clumps of dead grass on the doorframe on my way in, maintaining what little dignity I retained from my status and geographic location by telling myself that someday, <em>someday</em> I’d get out. Go to college. Do the things a twenty-five-year-old is supposed to have already done, none-the-worse for my tardiness.

<em>A slight drizzle enveloped downtown Smithton, and Cain pulled his windbreaker jacket tighter, knowing his clothing would be soaked in seconds and his umbrella had been left at the diner; two blocks and too much ambition away for him to bother retrieving it. There was nothing left for him to do but trudge home through the lukewarm spray, and hope that tomorrow had more in store for him than the past twenty-five years had provided.</em>

I stopped mid-stride after the Narrator’s words registered.

No ambition? I have ambition. I could have ambition.

I took a sharp left and headed toward the diner, aching to win a tiny victory against the voice in my head. One block left to go, I looked up the street toward the outskirts of downtown, and stopped to stare.

Lights. Everywhere, lights. Forgetting my umbrella, I headed toward the dazzle of civilization — the literal luminosity of the unknown — and allowed myself to focus, for just a moment, on everything except the world around me, and the tiny, muddy, country-fried portion of it I occupied.
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Colin Wright

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Hello Tampa!

After a lovely visit to Atlanta, I enjoyed a quick (11 hour bus trips seem brief when you're reading a good book and have beautiful scenery to ogle through enormous windows) bus ride to Florida, arriving late last night.

I'm staying with my older sister while here, and plan to lounge around at the pool and beach, drink very little (a liver-requested luxury after several weeks of excellent drinks and company up and down the East Coast), and catch up on some work and writing.

Speaking of which, I've finally opened up subscriptions for 30 Days of Doing (, a month-long email series...I wanted to make sure all was well with the early subscribers before allowing more folks to sign up.

Those who pre-ordered Considerations are a ways into the series already, and the feedback has been just stunningly wonderful; exactly the kinds of things I was hoping to hear.

If you're looking for practical, daily meditations and activities and thought exercises to inspire creativity or encourage you to see the world from a slightly different angle, it's worth checking out. Details added to the bottom of the Considerations order page:

Also: if you've given Considerations a read, a review up on Amazon ( would be very much appreciated — I'm bad about asking for these, but they really help with future sales, and keep me from having to be too marketing-heavy when it comes to my work :)

Also also: I've published a chapter from Considerations on my blog, which you can check out here:

Also also also: another chapter was published over at The Minimalists' blog:
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Colin Wright

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In or around Nashville? Come hang out and play trampoline dodgeball with me at Jump SkyHigh tomorrow around 4pm!

It's at 5270 Harding Place, is $14/hour, and we'll be doing drinks afterward, somewhere else in Nashville (will tweet/FB that when we decide, if you want to skip the dodgeball, you spoilsport).
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Authoring, Publishing, Traveling, Experiencing
  • Asymmetrical Press
    Co-Founder, 2012 - present
  • Exiles
    CEO, 2011 - present
  • I Have No Shirt
    CEO, 2010 - present
  • Colin Is My Name
    CEO, 2008 - present
  • Exile Lifestyle
    CEO, 2009 - present
  • Most Interesting People in the Room
    CEO, 2010 - 2012
  • Ebookling
    CEO, 2010 - 2011
Map of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has livedMap of the places this user has lived
Boracay, Philippines
Columbia, MO, USA - Reykjavik, Iceland - Missoula, MT, USA - Cluj-Napoca, Romania - Concord, CA, USA - Springfield, MO, USA - Buenos Aires, Argentina - Los Angeles, CA, USA - Christchurch, New Zealand - Bangkok, Thailand - Prague, Czech Republic - Mayoyao, Philippines - Kolkata, India
Author, Entrepreneur, Full-Time Traveler
I write all kinds of books, from narrative nonfiction to science fiction.

I travel full-time, moving to a new country every four months.

I co-founded a publishing company called Asymmetrical Press with some other successful authors.
Bragging rights
I have fun all day. Every day.
  • Life
    As many different things as possible, 1985 - present
  • Missouri State University
    Graphic Design and Illustration, 2003 - 2007
  • Santa Monica College
    Philosophy, Development, 2007 - 2009
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Friends, Dating, Networking
Other names
Colin Is My Name, Exile Lifestyle