The doorbell rang at noon.

Okay, I stole that from James M. Cain, but so did Ken Follett.  In my case, I wasn’t thrown off the hay truck, nor did my camel collapse.  It was the UPS man.  In his hands was a box for which I had been waiting all day, a box I knew would contain author copies of my new novel.  All writers have their  favorite moments in the process.  I like to work on second drafts.  When you write the first draft, anything you do might be making the book worse.  It’s during the second draft, after receiving notes from your editor, and seeing the wisdom of cutting the scene where the West Highland terrier drags the family of five from a burning house (it could too happen), that you begin to hear the melody.

The best moment of all, though, is when you open the box, push aside the packing, feel the smooth gloss of the dust jacket, smell the sharp redolence of ink.  It is an exultant moment, not unlike –

My phone rang.  Twice.  It was my agent.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked.

“It is.”

“So.  When are we going to see new pages?”

I am blessed.