I may be out of words for the day.

On the fantastic news front, I will be taking the Motherlode blog again next week at the New York Times. I have some great stuff planned, and I’m going to link here every time, which I think I failed to do last time around. This will be the outtakes. The snark. The post behind the post. Or just the links.

But it was a day of mucho wordiness. I started it with a teeny tiny book review (which I actually drafted two nights ago while helping Sam with his homework. His assignment: three paragraphs including a brief synopsis of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and how the author persuaded him to keep reading. Mine? 150 words on National Book Award nominee The Convert: a synopsis and “why you thought it was good”). Then on to my memo for the NYT editor I’m meeting next week, with a brief interval for a Slate post on the idiocy of getting people to send your child prelicked, chicken pox contaminated lollipops through the mail. Even spellcheck thinks that’s just craziness. It’s not buying “prelicked” at all. Hell, neither would I.

Then back to the memo. And I dunno, some other stuff. My whole life is pretty wordy. And I’m worded out.