The Advance


I keep looking for some way I can wrap it up tight enough, push it down far enough to get the lid on it. Four hundred and thirty fucking pages and I can't write the last chapter. I've started it ten times. I rewrote the last two chapters every day for a month. It's like that scene in the book Harper wrote, except it's not damned funny.

Yesterday the girl at the coffee shop said I should get a lock for my laptop because I just open it and then sit there looking out the window and someone could just grab it and run. She's right. I've stopped writing and started thinking. I've thought it through so many times there's nothing left to write. It's almost August.

I'm returning the advance.


Letters from Underground