Book Ended

Yet another co-worker at The Times is getting a book published. That makes at least 7 people -- that I am aware of -- who are published authors in the newsroom. Two of the reporters I supervise have been published, which makes me feel like a slacker.

Lots of people like to say, "I have a book in me." Do I? Don't know. I have digested enough books by now, surely, to have the equivalent of at least one book lurking inside. But what would it be about? Fiction seems dicey. If I follow the advice of "write what you know," I'm doomed to write about A) cats B) small newspapers C) Thomas the Train D) failed gardening....you get the picture. I suppose I could write a fictional account of a newsroom. Then I'd be tempted to thinly disguise all the people I didn't like over the past 20 years as victims of horrible crimes and I guess that'd be wrong. Wouldn't it? "Oh, did you think that person was YOU? Who got pushed down the stairs after telling her editor she wasn't any good at her job? How so?"

Nonfiction could be a safer route.