When I thought my collection of short stories, The Actual Adventures of Michael Missing, was ready (it wasn't, but that's another story), I sent it to an agent I had met through a friend, who told me it was very good, but that it just wasn't for her.

She wasn't that into it.

I was living in France at the time, and it was a painful letter to get. I answered her letter with one of my own (this was in the 80s, no email), asking if she could think of anyone who might be "that" into it.

She suggested someone, and I wrote saying, dear Bill/John/Sarah, Wendy says you might be interested in this collection of short stories.

Dear Lee,

Morningside Heights has changed considerably over the past thirty years or so. Change is part of the human condition, and it would be dangerous to cling to the past for its own sake; life cannot be preserved like a daguerreotype.

On the other hand, we can choose how things will change.

I'm writing about one particular decision, to force Morningside Bookstore out of business -- but I am also writing about every decision you make and its impact on our community.

Morningside Heights is more than just the home of Columbia the University; it is also home to Columbia the Community; thousands of alumni, teachers and intellectuals, attracted by the diversity, the climate of ferment and discussion, the availability of bookstores, cafes, and cheap eateries frequented by others of their kind.

Columbia University is forcing yet another independent bookstore to close. It's worse than book-burning; rather than burning books one at a time, CU is burning our ability to browse, talk about books and buy books from someone who cares about books.

Today is May 24; if we don't act, Morningside Books will be gone.

There is still time to save the store -- if owner Peter Soter can raise $100K by the end of the month, he can salvage his store. He has already raised more than $50K from customers and neighbors, but CU refuses to give him a stay. The neighborhood needs to get together and force CU to act in a reasonable manner.

My friend Mark Ettinger told me that a running joke among musicians is to say, "I'm making a lot of progress, my biggest project yet just fell through."

In that vein, I had to wait as my novel, The What Do You Know Contest, was put through yet another hair-raising, long-simmering gauntlet of first a pitch letter and a sample chapter to the agency's first reader, then the full manuscript, then the manuscript being passed along to the head of the agency, and then... they're not taking any new clients at the moment.

I've entered The What Do You Know Contest into a couple of first-novel contests, with first prize being publication by the small press running the contest. Yes, I'm aware that there's a certain amount of irony involved in entering a novel called The What Do You Know Contest into a contest, but maybe a little irony is just the thing that's missing from my diet.