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Who doesn't want to be a bestseller? I don't know one single author who wouldn't love for their books to fly off shelves.
But self-promotion can be gross. It can be fear-based. It can smell of, "Please like me, please love me, please make me matter."
I've been trying to follow my bliss these days, trying to get in touch with what makes me truly happy, where I find my flow the most. Telling people about my book, giving them provocative postcards to hand out to friends, well, doesn't feel all that blissful. Don't get me wrong, it feels creative and pro-active, but it doesn't feel like my highest self at work.
Last night did.
I read at Borders at Columbus Circle to well over 100 people and not once was I thinking about selling books. My heart was open. I shared my story. I connected. That's what it's about for me. That's what it's always been about. For that hour, reading from my book, answering questions, connecting to people, just felt right. I was in my flow.
Turns out, I also happened to sell out of books. Some people who wanted books couldn't even get them. One man who had come into the store to buy another book, walked out with a signed copy of mine. Everyone told me how much my bravery and honesty meant to them, how I had really touched them.




I met a lot of people last night who love Sue as much as I do. My mother always said she loves anyone who loves me. I understand how she feels. I loved everyone in that room for loving someone who is so good to me, someone who is so good and generous, period.