In 1992, after my first book was published, a downtown Seattle bookstore hosted me for a signing. I sat at a table in the middle of the store and waited for an hour. And nobody showed. Well, one woman took pity and talked to me for fifteen minutes, but didn’t buy a book. I didn’t sign a single book for anybody during my first public appearance in Seattle. I became an installation art piece titled Shame, Loneliness, and Fear. And I tell you this because there are a lot of new writers here on Substack who are hoping for readers. They’re working hard. They also feel shame, loneliness, and fear. So, as

writes, quit picking on those writers for celebrating their successes. Six people were in the audience for my second Seattle-area book reading. I brought two of them, two others were the bookstore owners, and the last two just happened to be in the store. Writers build their careers Lego brick by Lego brick. So let’s applaud all the Substack Lego building.