What follows is a piece I wrote for Litquake, which is a fall festival of books and writers in San Francisco. Note, please, that I wrote said piece in a really bad mood.

I am not lost. I know this is Litquake. I know this is a celebration of books. I know this is our special time, set aside to pat ourselves on the back, to be patted, to acknowledge together the splendor and the thrill of writing. And then to get drunk.

And while I fully intend to get drunk, I stand before you tonight, my proverbial pants down around my proverbial ankles, and say this to you:

I fucking hate writing. . .  [more]

In the next few months I’m scheduled to talk about my new book 61 times. If all goes well, that number, which includes bookstore readings, talks at other venues, and radio appearances, will go up precipitously. [more]