Every writer, at one time or another in a lifetime of letters, commits something to paper that he or she really, truly hates.
  
Maybe hates is the wrong word.  How about loathes or despises or believes was transmitted directly from the pits of Hell?
  
And you might not hate it because you believe it was flat-out hackwork; goodness, no.
  
Maybe you've tapped a vein of dark passion against the piece because you painted yourself into a corner with plotting.
  
Maybe you scream at the monitor because the characters and dialogue just aren't coming across as truthful.
  
Or maybe you realized after the first few sentences that you were in way over your
head, and that's what caused those pesky (and rather obvious) facial tics.
  
The Wastebasket is where I plan to expose my own examples of these literary tragedies.
  
And who knows?  Maybe my hate will turn to love once more...but I doubt it.

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