When you write for a living and you can't do anything else, you know that sooner or later that the deadline is going to come screaming down on you like a goddamn banshee. There's no avoiding it...So one day you just don't appear at the El Adobe bar anymore; you shut the door, paint the windows black, rent an electric typewriter and become the monster you always were — the writer. — Hunter S. Thompson
You've read this before and the banshee is after me. For the past two months, I've been trying to maintain this blog while also finishing my new novel, Powers of Arrest. I can't do both any more, along with my paying Seattle Times work, and make the hard October 1 deadline to get the book on the shelves for next summer. So I'll leave you to the archives, the Best of the Front Page and the links. I'll be back in October. In the meantime, I turn the comments over to our able gang of renegade intellectuals (Just to show the depth of my lacuna: Hell, I'd never even heard of Bill Bryson...).