National Book Awards Dispatch #1

I am now situated in the press section of the Cipriani Ballroom. Galleycat’s Jason Boog is here, and we are urging him to get his journalistic party started. There are numerous round tables, which one expects from a ballroom, and plentiful waiters ready to kick some culinary ass. But we have not yet located any authors. It is still early. Harold Augenbraum did not recognize me — presumably because I spent a portion of the afternoon with a pair of clippers. There are two friendly reporters here from Publishers Weekly: Lynn Adriani and Craig Teicher. Other journalists are grumbling about cocktails. I have just urged another journalist that there will be pugilism should his equipment be stolen by an interloper.

Jason Boog is no longer here. But we have reason to believe that he will return. We have reason to believe that there will be authors. So far, we have been proved wrong.

Jason Boog’s first words are, “It was a really eerie feeling to walk right past Wall Street on this day into this opulence.”

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