"I cannot pinpoint the precise moment in time when the transformation kicked in," he writes, "the shift from the occasional one-night stand with someone I thought of as a vapid twit into a torrid love affair of passionate tweets." He knows roughly how it happened, though; he started responding to critics on Twitter while drunk, telling one to "fuck off." He finds himself delighted: "with Twitter, I now had an outlet. I used profanity, because that's the way I talk ..." He's now constantly checking his number of followers and tweeting regularly, finding it "cathartic, particularly for someone used to writing long-form narrative where the odds of producing a commercially successful book have become worse than seven-deck blackjack." He admits to being "hooked":
I like the staccato of anger and vitriol that Twitter provides. I like being nasty as long as it has some basis in fact, at least most of the time. When someone says something inane, an easy mark in Twitterdom, I enjoy douche juicing them as if some kind of human skunk. There is also a certain amount of realistic self-preservation involved, as I realize that the businesses from which I make my living--books, magazines, and newspapers--are potentially crumbling. In other words, if you can’t beat 'em, you join 'em.