Take notes. This article is frenetic. That is not a criticism. Publishing is frenetic. The Leapfrogging Around Effect, from this and that, trading office space, is reflecting a publishing story where publishing insiders hop and skip around publication to publication. Job to job. Money is important, but it’s rude so we (both journalists and readers) don’t mention it. The 19th Century is alive and well. Editors who become agents. Agents who become editors. English majors from Brown who become publishers as soon as Daddy buys the building. Sex and the City is over. The ladies who lunch are dead. Publishing has gone to ugly dogs. I loathe sending my work to New York. I am much more inclined to go with a smaller publisher. One who might have accidentally read the book. That is heresy. The Beast was not a gentleman, and I am not a gentleman, either. The edge is gone. A pop culture burp. Take something new and render it as a sarcasm. After reading the Beast, I would try to throw my laptop across the room. The Beast was hip. Busy. Mean. Mean. Mean. But mean wears your teeth down when you try to chew. The Beast became like all the other beasts. And that is not sarcasm. The industry is one big flat screen. A FAX machine spits out your writer’s tour schedule of events. It is not a dialogue. I do not tend to be kindly to a machine that orders me around and takes me to places that are inappropriate. The Beast is not a player. Coles and Sherwood are Plan B. So is the Daily Beast.