So I’ve been working on a novel for the better part of two years. (Who am I kidding? It’s been longer than that!) I’m still not finished. There is no end in sight. What am I doing? Rumbling, tumbling, stumbling headlong in the direction of failure. Seems like I picked that direction at random one day and stuck with it. I’m bushwhacking in the goddamn jungle. I’m Percy Fawcett, the guy famous for getting lost in the Amazon looking for El Dorado. He was never heard from again. Years and years of searching, they never found the guy. For all we know he’s still out there, wandering in circles, chasing a story about fame and fortune.