I don’t know how much e-books should cost. I’ve read arguments for sliding-scale prices. I know lots of people don’t want to pay over a certain price. I don’t have an answer.
I don’t know whether Macmillan’s agency agreement would be better for authors and readers than some other approach.
I don’t know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop.
I don’t know whether people are going to love Snow Queen.
I don’t know where I get my ideas.
I don’t know how long I have before my son stops running up to hug me when I come home from work.
I don’t know if my home has adequate weaponry to protect my family against the zombie uprising.
I don’t know whether I should set Snow Queen revisions aside for a week so I can write up and pitch a new series to DAW.
I don’t know why “Single Ladies” won a Grammy. (But I think it had something to do with the Chipmunks movie.)
I don’t know why I’m so incredibly bad with names and faces.
I don’t know how Randall Munroe does it.
I don’t know how single parents balance work, kids, and sanity.
I don’t know why the catfish in our aquarium keep dying.
I don’t know why religion is ever worth killing for.
I don’t know if I should create a fan page on Facebook.
I don’t know where this post came from. I guess I just thought the Internet would be a slightly better place if people were willing to admit they didn’t know things from time to time.