I started Ask the Dust today, and already, in Chapter One, there's a passage I want to cut out and tape to my desk. It perfectly sums up how L.A. is both the perfect place for a writer and the worst possible place for a writer:Arturo Bandini in front of his typewriter two full days in succession, determined to succeed; but it didn't work, the longest siege of hard and fast determination in his life, and not one line done, only two words written over and over across the page, up and down, the same words: palm tree, palm tree, palm tree, a battle to the death between the palm tree and me, and the palm tree won: see it out there swaying in the blue air, creaking sweetly in the blue air.
It's a wonder anyone gets any work done out here.
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