Your kindness, Shane, is much appreciated (even if your taste is somewhat suspect). What a thrill it must be for a writer [sic] to hold their own book! It must be the same rush a musician gets when at last holding an actual LP of their stuff, or an artist who finally dies thereby lifting the value of their snoozy pastorals by 300%.
It must feel great. But I don’t really write anything people buy. Maybe in the late 19th century when my kind of plather was called “essays” I’d scratch out a niche between D.H. and old Dorothy (showing off the liberal arts education I don’t actually have) but today? Not a chance apart from the aptly named “Vanity Press”. And call me a narcissist if you must (and every ex wife and girlfriend did so relax) but vanity, as evidenced by my wardrobe, is not a crime I will plead to.
Did I say thank you? That’s all I meant to say.