Time for a little perspective. My book, Digging Up The Bones, to be published this year by Roundabout Press, deals with a slew of fictional tragedy—and it took a whole lot of grease and Crisco to squeeze that much heartache, longing and wince-worthy weakness into two-hundred-fifty-odd pages, while still saving room for nouns and prepositions; contrast that with the folks in the Plains, who over the past couple of days have been staggering through Hell on Earth. It’s a grim reminder that the Universe can dish up worse, much worse, and much worse much faster, than our imaginations can conjure. So, no pleas just now. Not today. But hold your applause: instead, if you were going to break down and drop a fiddy in the collection plate, I want to encourage you to take what money you might have contributed this afternoon and send it on to the good folks over at Operation USA. Using private funds, they work around the world setting balm to the wounds of vulnerable, stricken men, women and children afflicted by sudden tragedy. When you’ve done the deed, email me an inked-out receipt or something that shows your name, that you gave, at minimum, $35, to Operation USA. When Digging Up The Bones drops, I’ll send you a signed copy, my treat. Deal? Deal. Good. So do it. Go, do it now.