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Melissa Murphy

Penguin Podcast

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Penguin Books

I'm going to keep this one nice and short because the old saw that a picture is worth a thousand words has never been more apropos.

I came home from book tour for Hold Tight (only one more stop and that's near my house) and it has been a wonderful couple of weeks. That's a first for me. Simultaneously, thanks again to many of you, it debuts at one in the UK. Such a thrill.

But this picture taken at Camp Eggers in Kabul... I mean, doesn't it say it all? Is there any greater accolade? I love getting emails from happy readers at harlancoben.com. They all mean something special to me. But I hold an extra special place in my heart—and I'm sure you get that—for the soldiers who are serving overseas and take the time to write.

So stay safe, guys. Thanks for the pic. You are our heroes.

Harlan Coben, Hold Tight, New York Times, best seller, mystery, Penguin Books, books , Afghanistan, Kābul, Camp Eggers, U.S. military, war

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My husband, Jacob Collins is a painter. He works downstairs and I work upstairs and we live and raise our family in between. Our work is obviously quite different, but it has been fascinating, over the years, to figure out the many things we have in common. One of them is this thing I'll call creative euphoria. It usually occurs after you've worked for many hours in a row, most often in the wee hours of the morning when there are none of the daytime rigors to check your mood, when you haven't talked to anyone other than yourself in a long while.

So in my case, my mood elevates, my heart starts beating faster, and the ideas start pouring in from every direction. I can't type fast enough to get them all down. I have so many ideas, so much intention for every word I write, that the words seem to heat up and glow. It's like I am a glassblower--as long as the glass is liquid and searing hot, the colors are intense.

The trouble is, the colors change and dim when the glass cools and hardens. I find that when I get up the next day and reread what I've written with a cool mind, the words don't glow anymore. They don't seem to contain the intensity I thought I had put into them. They just kind of sit there.

My husband describes this phenomenon as "the gremlins." He says that when he goes to sleep after a euphoric night of work, the gremlins creep into his studio and paint over all of his brilliant work and by the morning they make it just regular.

There is a feeling of frustration when the euphoria ebbs. You feel like your great work was stolen from you. But then, of course, you have to wonder whether it was ever so great, or whether you were just tired and manic enough to think so. It's like when you drink too much and you think the things you say are extremely clever, but they probably aren't.

Sometimes I think I'd like to sell my books with a blowtorch or maybe a bottle of vodka. But the torch would incinerate the book and the vodka would just give you a hangover. These are not lasting pleasures.

When you work with a sense of calm and keep your critical faculties with you, it's not as much fun at the time, but it feels a lot better in the morning.

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 Ann Brashares, The Last Summer (of You and Me), sisterhood, love, loss, friendship, Fire Island, growing up, Penguin Books, books