New York Times Fiction Best Sellers 2015 นิยาย & เรื่องราว

The New York Times feature published on a Sunday in November. I read it at the kitchen counter in the Capitol Hill apartment at seven in the morning with Eleanor in the carrier against my chest and Julian beside me with his coffee and the Washington November morning outside the window doing what November mornings did which was arrive cold and clear and entirely without apology for what the year had cost to produce them. The feature ran to four thousand words.

Emma answered the call, still nestled against Jake's side on the couch. "Maya, this better be good, because your timing is" "Em, thank God you answered. Are you sitting down?" Emma felt a chill of premonition. "What's wrong?" "It's not wrong, it's incredible. *The New York Times* just called me. They want to do a feature story on your emotional authenticity breakthrough, and they're considering your manuscript for their fall literary fiction recommendations." Emma stared at Jake, seeing her own shock reflected in his expression.

Damn one man couldn't get enough of it. Damien went out onto the porch with his cell phone to check his messages. The store where reading today wanted him to confirm he had made it to town, which he did. A message from his agent said that his new release, for the first time, had appeared on the list of The New York Times Fiction Best Sellers, at number twenty-five. The promotional efforts of American publisher had given results. A NYT bestselling author. What about this? This was definitely your lucky day.

"SOPHIA HAWTHORNE LEADS BESTSELLERS LIST: 'Hidden Truths' Revolutionizes the Publishing Market" • Book Review "BREAKING NEWS: Matthew Morrison Sentenced to 30 Years in Prison" • Associated Press The truth found its way. And we, finally, found ours.

Chapter 25: The Master Copy The sun rose higher over the Brooklyn harbor. It cast a glow across the wide-plank floors of the warehouse. Elena stood by the glass display case near the entrance. She watched the light hit the black iron key and the yellowed edges of the recovered Wall Street manuscript. For fifteen years her words had been a product. They were spun quickly to satisfy demanding platforms. They were wrapped in storylines and hidden behind a fake name. Looking at the pages now she didn't see a trap or a writer's cage. She saw where her fiction had broken down the walls of an empire.