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After reading of Jay-Z's autobiography, "Decoded," I am more convinced than ever that what we are seeing in him is less a powerhouse rapper and more a artist of talent so great we can't measure it during his lifetime.

I am reminded of a story told by John Chancellor to David Letterman back when Letterman was hosting Late Night (oddest introduction to a Jay-Z related thought ever, but bear with me).

During his time as a foreign correspondent in Europe, Chancellor and a number of other American reporters headed to a restaurant for dinner. As they ate, more of their colleagues arrived and joined them. And then more. And more. Tables were pushed together. More food ordered. Liquor, well, how could there not be liquor? At the end of the evening the check was brought, and the dozen or so poor, American reporters realized that among them they didn't have enough money to cover the bill. As they looked at one another and tried to figure out what to do, an older gentleman at a nearby table called over the waiter, scribbled something on a napkin, said something to the waiter who nodded and returned to the reporters' table. Taking back the check he told them that the bill had been covered.

The reporters, understandably confused, asked how.

The waiter held up the napkin, a formless scribble on it with some kind of signature below.

Still not understanding, the reporters asked again, how?

The waiter gestured to the man at the other table and said, "That gentleman is Pablo Picasso. And this drawing has just paid for your dinner."

Picasso saw a group of people having fun and didn't want money to keep them from losing the moment. Did the drawing pay for their good time? No, Picasso's presence paid for it, his body of previous work paid for it, the weight of his talent on history paid for it.

I feel like Jay-Z is that kind of artist. Even when he's not doing what he's known for, he's doing it. During his life he's given acclaim and people try to use him as a foil or a jumping off point or a yardstick. The reality is that it will be generations beyond us that measures his real success and failure. For us, all we have is the weight of his talent on history. We see it, we feel it. I have a lot of respect for it.

I was very excited to be contacted by David at Largeheartedboy.com. He asked me to write up a playlist for Numb. It was an interesting and more-difficult-than-I-thought-it-would-be experience. In the end, I'm very happy with the list of songs I came up with, and hope it gives readers another way into the book.

A sample from David's site:

In his own words, here is Sean Ferrell's Book Notes music playlist for his debut novel, Numb:

Music both motivates and shapes my fiction. It's known that listening to music that moves you, regardless of the type of music, can alter our emotional state. More than that, I use Pavlovian conditioning to jump-start myself: certain pieces of music make my writing-brain start drooling. It is one of the ways I can take myself from a listless, out-of-writing-shape mindset and into a productive state of mind. And with playlists easily created and edited on the go, I find myself shaping characters and scenes in my iPod before they're in my laptop.

I'm thrilled to have my short story,

A preview:

A Life Bound By Books invited me to share a true paranormal tale. You can read it . To make it even more horrific, you can win a copy of Numb. I know: creepy. And torturous. And uncalled for.

I was thrilled to be interviewed by Benjamin Opipari for his ongoing

by my agent got me thinking about the role of assistants and interns in the publishing world. Seems that an intern at a agency was tweeting her comments about submissions. Why would she do that? None of her tweets were especially helpful for others thinking of submitting work. They were... what were they? About her. To get attention. To make sure people gave her thanks.

The interns I know do the work without thanks, or kudos, or glory. They want to be a part of bookmaking.

I had a wonderful conversation with an agency intern because he is undergoing the heavy debate of whether or not to enter an MFA program. He loves writing. He wants to be good at it. He thinks about it and cares about it and worries about it. THIS IS THE TYPE OF PERSON YOU WANT READING YOUR WORK. He isn't looking for thanks. He's looking for good writing.

I attended BEA and walked from the convention center to a restaurant with my agent and her assistant, a former intern. My agent and I were looking for drinks. Her assistant was looking for more books. She was carrying about forty pounds of books as we walked all over the west side of Manhattan looking for chicken wings and Kamikazes. THIS IS THE TYPE OF PERSON YOU WANT READING YOUR WORK.

I read at the Brooklyn Book Festival and after the reading a gaggle of people arrived at the signing table. At the head of the group was my agent's former assistant, a former intern, now a brilliant agent in her own right. She is a person who spends HOURS reading that other people spend watching television, dawdling, or, heaven forbid, simply lazing about. THIS IS THE TYPE OF PERSON YOU WANT READING YOUR WORK.

None of them tweet their comments about submissions. None of them look for someone to shine a light on them. They are about the books, the writing, the people who are involved in the process who care so much about what books can be that they forget to try and shine themselves.

And that is what makes them shine.

I am thankful every single day that I have an agent who is supported by such brilliant people.

Who says talking to yourself isn't productive:

I had a whirlwind tour of the Rochester area this past weekend. I flew out of JFK on Friday evening. Evening is a misnomer. Friday night. That's a misnomer as well. (Note to self: look up the word "misnomer.") There was a partial shutdown of JFK Friday evening and so my evening flight took off at 1AM, Saturday. I landed in Rochester around 2AM. Arrived at my parentals' homestead at 3. Woke up nauseous from too much cheese at 4. It was a long day.

Saturday was a Barnes & Noble reading*. Sunday was a reading at the school where I received my undergrad degree, Nazareth College of Rochester. Both went tremendously well. Q&A's followed both, I ignored a "no drinks beyond this point" because I'm the author dammit, and I do what I want, and I helped my parentals steal leftover cookies from my alma mater.

I flew back to NYC on Sunday evening. All told I slept about 9 hours during the two-and-a-half days. Caffeine is my co-pilot.

*Photographic evidence that a reading did take place, and that I look far too much like Charlie Brown for my own good:

Here I am after being asked if I have the ability to look stoic and remove my own head.

Here I am, proving that I do.

According to the Barnes & Noble website,

Guess I better get to Pittsford.