I met no famous people. No Chaka Khan, Michael Moore, Al Franken or Maya Angelou. Not even Pamie. I did see a large walking cactus, Santa Claus, John Wayne, Lawrence of Arabia and many, many Buddhist monks. I met Jeffrey Eugenides, though. Does he count? He�s got a Pulitzer on Santa, that much is certain. He was a surprise attraction�one not listed in the book. I was merely walking down an aisle, looked up, saw his face and jumped in line for whatever might be going on.

I was characteristically starstruck and tongue-tied. I wanted to say something about the book, but it didn�t seem appropriate to ask him why on earth it started so slowly, to wonder whether he had any editorial input, to offer my services on his next manuscript. I didn�t want to tell him I�d only finished the book out of guilt for putting down such a chunk of money. And so I smiled. Shyly. Mumbled my name and expressed my gratitude. He looked at me oddly, head cocked, as if maybe I had a giant maggot on my chin and a smashed tomato bleeding through my pocket. It wasn�t necessarily distaste, but maybe more like a slightly intrigued horror. I hoped that was his natural expression, grabbed my book, and ran back to my booth to pull out a mirror and check my face.

After that, I made no attempts to attend signings. It�s all for the best, and I was busy.

I would like to make a few assertions:

Downtown LA is a concrete wasteland.

I want a home-cooked meal, sweatpants, t-shirt, hot cocoa, television and a weekend.

I am publishing�s whore. Even though it�s the line of work that�s running my finances into the ground, even though it�s the line of work that nobody but others in publishing respect (and then, the respect is solely based on where you work). I�ve been taken. It flatters me.

Publishing people and booksellers do not speak the same language. Neither has much of any use for the other, in spite of the obvious symbiotic relationship.

My charming smile attracts all the wrong sort�generally aspiring inspirational speakers in search of a publisher. At best.

It�s good to be home.