Maybe I’m elevating, but NYC, my giant ashtray, looked so beautiful this morning on my walk to work. I take the same route every day, but today everything is in high relief: a 9/11 sky, the baked red bricks of a crumbling building, a beautiful woman whose left cheek twitched as if the cricket from Times Square got in there. Even my shuffle offered up a perfect slate of rock anthems. Something has lifted.
Maybe I’m crashing, but a quick glance at my inbox spells trouble. Agh. What’s worse, so many little headaches or one huge migraine? One piece of great news, though, Columbine goes back up two spots on the NYT bestseller list. The list thing, it’s like an EKG. Of course so is everything else these days: blog stats, bank accounts, Amazon rankings, and of course, the master of all gauges of self worth: the scale.

Tomorrow, I will get back to answering publishing questions. And I also want to talk about the mystery wrapped in an enigma.
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