The truth about triumph: it's fireworks, not firewood

A reminder about the nature of joy in book publishing (and life).

My relief on Saturday was tectonic. It was like stumbling onto cool earth and breathable air after four years in sulphuric misery. I cried with joy for hours. I slept better on Saturday and Sunday nights than I had on the thousand before.

And then—both mornings—I woke up cranky. Because I hate waking up early but am a parent and therefore have no choice.…