"Why do you think that is?" asks the moderator, her pen sliding along the pages of a pocket notepad.

"They want to be told, 'There's an angel watching over me'; that's why they watch 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer,'" Lanigan answers confidently. Cindy Randall, a heavily made-up producer of media tours sitting across from Lanigan, jumps in. "They want something for the new millennium."

OK, so maybe calling this a think tank is a stretch.

But on this windy Saturday at the Boca Raton Beach Resort, speculation about the reading habits of Middle America goes down as easily as an "Inside Edition" segment. That's exactly the way HCI, the event's sponsor, likes it. The company (the acronym stands for Health Communications International) is the absurdly profitable publisher of, most notably, the "Chicken Soup for the Soul" series. You may have seen one of the millions of copies sold lying around a friend's house. Perhaps you own one as a result of an awkward moment at Christmas. You'd hardly be the only one. Total sales at the publisher topped out at more than $100 million in 1999, up more than 10 percent from the previous year and 20 percent from 1997.

Such success doesn't happen by accident. Every year, the Deerfield Beach, Fla., publishing house flies in dozens of publishing professionals from around the country, as well as its own authors, of which Lanigan is one. Their goal -- now mine -- is to riff on the future of the book business in small groups moderated by HCI employees. The moderators then take their findings to higher-ups, who use them to shape lists and marketing plans.

It's a strange approach for book publishers, who, to the extent they use consultants in the first place, normally go with the professional kind. Most are leery of opening their doors to outsiders. This isn't just because publishers don't trust us (though they don't) but because they don't want to leave the impression that they are vulnerable to the fickleness of non-experts.

But then, HCI is not most publishers. Where most are cliquey, HCI is friendly and open. In its mission statement, it boasts, "From the very beginning we have maintained our goal of reaching communities of people with our messages and effecting positive change throughout the world."

I can't help but grin as I think of some of the long-dead tweedy types in publishing -- say, Bennett Cerf -- who would turn as white as the sand outside this room and choke on their martinis watching a focus group debate whether people prefer to read self-help, recovery or spirituality. But HCI is serious about its goal. It believes in the perfect triangulation between publisher, readers and the collective soul. What's good for HCI is good for America.

As someone whose sensibilities lie somewhere between Cerf's and HCI's, the question of why I came continues to weigh on me, even as I take another stab at an impossibly sweeping prediction. As a journalist, I suppose, I thought it would be nice to serve as a kind of informal consultant, only instead of a salary, I'd take my remittance in margaritas and tennis-court privileges. I also thought of it as a networking opportunity. But none of these motives compare to what I suspect is the real reason: tawdry curiosity.

So far, I've not been disappointed. The day began with a meditation session that transported us into the future. Leading was one Sister Jayanti, a Hindu (prophet? leader? figure?) affiliated with "Brahama Kumaris World Spiritual University." Jayanti is known for her "unique ability to impart deep spiritual truths with the utmost clarity," according to my packet. She looks the part, too, with dark leathery skin and a serious face.

As she starts giving instructions, I don't think anyone will go for it. But the encouragement of the many overrides the sheepishness of the few. I'm still skeptical. Just as I think about begging off, though, I remember a recent fortune-cookie message about the importance of navel-gazing. I close my eyes.

Maya Angelou reads from "The Heart of a Woman"