First, let me be clear that I have never taken heroin and I have no plans to do so. I’ve never even considered it. But hey, I read “Manchild in the Promised Land” when I was a teenager, so I’m an expert like everybody else, right?

As I lie here awake for the third night in a row, it’s been occurring to me that there are a lot of ways in which my new writing career is like being addicted to heroin.

1. When I’m writing and it’s going well, time and the rest of the world stop having any meaning. It’s an incredible high. It’s better than anything else in the whole world. It’s better than a hot bath on a cold night. It’s better than pepperoni pizza and beer. Hell, it’s better than sex. (Not that I remember a lot about what sex, but at least it’s better than what I remember sex being like.)
2. When I’m writing and it’s not going well, it’s the worst thing in the world. It’s disorienting, depressing, nauseating ….
3. When I’m not writing, all I can think about is the fact that I should be. It’s disorienting, depressing, nauseating ….
4. I know it’s killing me. I’m tense, irritable, I can’t sleep.
5. I can’t stop.

Help!