For nearly two years I could not look at my Authors Guild bulletins at all, and would throw them in the trash as soon as they came. Now their headlines grow increasingly desperate (Spring 2009 issue: "Can This Industry be Saved?"; "The Future of Publishing"; "Keeping Calm in Changing Times" ... ), and I have to confess that I enjoy little thrills of schadenfreude as I flip through it. Not about the misfortunes of writers; I could never enjoy the fact that writers and books have fallen on hard times, but when I think of the incompetent 22-year-old assistant editors and publicists crying because they've lost their benefits package, I must admit I come a little more alive inside.

(From the "Along Publishers Row" column -- and please note that all the Guild's missing apostrophes are sic:

A cartoon by David Sipress in The New Yorker shows a smiling editor behind her desk. Across from her, an author looks shocked as the editor says, "We'd like to publish it, do nothing to promote it, and watch it disappear from the shelves in less than a month.")

Ah, kiddies, I am a bitter old publishing buzzard for sure.