Today I accidentally Googled myself. I was about to close the window when I noticed that I was not the first result for my own name. Above me was Daniel Piper Motor Services, a vehicle repair shop in Suffolk. I immediately telephoned the garage and asked to speak to Mr. Piper, who I then politely but firmly encouraged to consider changing his name. The vast majority of people Googling our name, I explained, would be looking for one thing: Serious Literary Writing. Indeed, literature is simply more useful and important to the general public than vehicle repairs. He said that if I was so concerned, I should change my name. I couldn’t believe it. I told him that as a Serious Literary Author, my name is sacrosanct. He then said, ‘Hello, Sacrosanct’. I smiled, realising I was not talking to a writer, then helpfully explained that the word sacrosanct is in fact an adjective, which means I was using it to describe my name; to denote that my name is precious. He then said, ‘Hello, Precious’. It was at this point that I realised he was lampooning me. Furious, I immediately set off to make my demands in person. Unfortunately, just before I arrived, my car broke down.
Daniel Pipersubstack.comDaniel Piper on Substack
Came across my 2007 high school newspaper, something I don’t think I ever read before. It’s trippy reading this after reading my 2007 prompts from English class. I could barely shape prose, but these writers were surprisingly good. I knew a lot of these kids too, but now I see them through their writing. V weird.
My latest column at The New Yorker is about the revenge of homepages: Why we're turning toward individual websites as the platform era of the internet continues to disintegrate.
I started working on this piece because I've found myself going to homepages more often. It's a way to get a controlled, curated look at what a publication offers, and a ch... See more
I started working on this piece because I've found myself going to homepages more often. It's a way to get a controlled, curated look at what a publication offers, and a ch... See more
Do I actually want to build a network of NYC writers and publishers and have printed essay books and be in the New Yorker to convince people I’m making a career out of a trade that is usually fruitless, or is this all just old-world vanity? Why not just exist on Substack and be fine with that?

I notice that I feel embarrassed by the ideas I get when I ask myself what would be funny to write about. The ideas feel odd (a review of underrated grammatical tense forms, an essay exploring the image of transparent ice) and I can’t explain why they excite me. They feel elliptical and, well, not like the kind of thing I should be writing.