I'm writing this as I scarf down my usual breakfast Luna Bar, bolt a little coffee, with only 10 minutes before I leave for the airport.

New York always feels like a reward. I get to see friends and the marvelous Morrow crew, along with my agent. But it was a little bittersweet this year, as it was the first time in my publishing career that I couldn't stop at the Black Orchid. The store closed last year. Still, I got to sign a book to the owners, Bonnie and Joe, as Joe was classy enough to stop by the signing last night. In fact, friends really swelled the attendance, making me look like a bonafide arthur, as we say in Baltimore.

I think I'm in USA Today today; I don't have the heart to take the hotel copy out of the wrapper. I've been trying not to read too much about myself, skimming things after a cooling-off period. Even when the coverage is nice, as it has been so far (knock wood), I find that helps. However, a shout-out to Karen of the News-Post in Frederick, who really went the extra-mile on the feature about the Brunswick signing. People were knocked out by that.

And I have finally seen the official proof that WHAT THE DEAD KNOW made the New York Times bestseller list. This was utterly unexpected; the mass market list is extremely competitive and the writers near the top are moving books in numbers that are mind-boggling. I'm in the penultimate spot, but as we used to say when I rowed: No DFL!

And we never were. But we were often next-to-DFL.