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Hack like me; I got my start churning out crappy stories for the likes of True Confessions. Ah, those were the days.

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I was recently on a panel discussing what many consider an oxymoron: the future of publishing. We had some laughs about being in the buggy whip business, and then all of us, authors and audience members alike, patted ourselves on the back for loving books. This made me nervous. I worry when people are so publicly proud of liking something; it seems the hallmark of a doomed activity. Give me private pleasures that you would never dream of mentioning--say, self-abuse. Now, there's a pastime that's going to endure.

At the end we "had time for a few questions." One of a group of high school girls asked everyone on the panel, "Why did you become a writer?" I already knew not just the correct answer but the correct facial expression. The correct answer is "I always knew I wanted to be a writer," and it is best delivered while looking off toward the heavens like Joan of Arc...