It May Be Time to Push

Writing a book is a strange affair. It is partly an attempt to psychically jam your thoughts into the skulls of other human beings using a system of lines and loops. It is partly a roller-coaster ride through your own subconscious with fears and loves and jokes purging out of you with no warning whatsoever. And it is partly typing and typing, always knowing that what you’re writing sucks.

I’ve mentioned a few times this year how I’m making an effort to avoid that last bit. Not the typing and t...