Confronting the Presidents just hit #1 on The New York Times Best Seller list. That marks my sixteenth time on the list and I think a dozen at the top.

Yet I am conflicted. I mean, I researched and wrote all those books. Then my co-author and I did his edit and put it in his voice, and his name is indeed larger on the cover. So that's why the books sell. My own books tend to bubble just outside the list, selling very well but not cracking the code.

This is not a knock on my co-author. Don't think that for a second. He was kind enough to let me write two essays at the end of Confronting that allowed me to write my first-person take on American politics. That was really cool.

And yet! My name is in the list! When I began writing books all those years ago that would have been a seminal moment, a dream come true. And it is. So I take my half-ownership of Confronting with a bit of pride. It's the biggest book I've ever written. It's just that I'm a writer and writers compete (don't let anyone tell you different). One of these days I'd like to sit atop the list on my own merit.

In the meantime, I'm just going to revel in being a working storyteller, so happy to put words that there are still nights I can't wait to wake up in the morning and attack a manuscript. Seriously.

They say the process is the goal. The day to day. The rumination. The subconscious meandering.

I agree. But after nine months living inside the literary White House, it's nice to see that work rewarded with the NYT list.