A dream of mine just came true

I just got taken to lunch by my New York editor, a long-held dream for any writer who steps foot on the isle of Manhattan hoping to one day being published. I've seen it in so many movies I had to pinch myself. It really was a most magical day. My publisher, Thomas Dunne at St Martins Press, was located on Fifth avenue, in the Flat Iron building no less. My editor, Marcia, turned out to be a preturnaturally calm, white-haired woman with a twinkle in her eye and a ready supply of stories about the history of Macmillan. Did you know that they used to wait until the end of lambing season before publishing any books because it was the only time they stood any chance of getting James Herriot to show up? My trip was not without its frights: I got an attack of James-Stewart-style jitters on the stairwell, peering down 18 floors, but to my delight, the offices at the front of the building really do narrow to a nub, and the view — a radial view of the hub where Fifth avenue and Broadway intersect, with the Empire State Building just a block or two away — was simply spectacular. I can't wait to see it under snow.