Riding the Elevator To Hell With A Typewriter

I started a book over a year ago with ambition, ideas and a lot of goddamn momentum.Then, about six months ago, I lost hold of it—it wentripping off like a snapped guitar string or abusted fan belt, swinging at the flesh, hopingto break bone.

I don't know how it happens, but sometimes projects just give you the finger. They leave you hard. They leave you stiff. They turn right when you turn left. They speed when you stop and you end up feeling like a seventeen year-old who's been fucking a gi...