Jay McInerney would love nothing more than for all of you to put Bright Lights, Big City behind you, and move on to a new chapter — his next book. Unfortunately, the New York Times will have none of that.

We can't help but revel in the PR spin given to authors like McInerney. It breaks our heart a little bit that the NYT feels that its readers need a socialite, drug induced, post-BLBC analysis of a great writer in order to engage them with his latest work.

Now 51 and fearful that his reputation as a partyer has overshadowed his accomplishments as a writer, Mr. McInerney has embarked on a mission to kill off the decadent persona he earned in the pages of "Bright Lights, Big City" and subsequently in more gossip column items than he cares to count.

"I became that figure that media wanted me to be."

Too old for coke-snorting and jumping from gal to gal, McInerney is now becoming the new thing the media wants him to be: a poster child for the success hang-over.

So, be careful young writers, don't get too famous or too good. Don't give out interviews, get your picture taken, or date suicidal models. Don't run around searching for inspiration in drugs, parties, and fellow generation forming artist. If you do, you might end up 51, successful, and able to stay thin on anxiety alone. Really, what could be worse?

His Morning After [Warren St. John, New York Times]