It was one of those drag out daze of bike and rain and bouncing off fifty people who think this or that about this or that, about basically who said what to whom and where is this whom from. I think I went off on the NYT. In the writing life, there is no itinerary. I went off because I am not allowed into the discussion. I push back. Publishing is still a hornet’s nest of publishing vengeance and a pox upon all our houses.