I'm always glad to sell any one of my books any way I can. I'd sell them in dark, back alleyways if I thought that would work. Or maybe I could buy an old ice cream truck, one with a bell that still rings, and cruise through neighborhoods with bright, happy music playing. "How about a banana popsicle to go with that copy of The Dry Well? Or a Nutty Buddy?" So if someone buys a book of mine from a chain bookstore or an on-line store, I'm certainly pleased. But after working in two independent bookstores, long before I published a first book, I've always preached the gospel of independents. Independent booksellers know books. And they know their customers, can steer them toward books by new or little-known writers and can be confident they're putting the right book in a reader's hand. Writers need booksellers like this. So do readers. I was happy to be a such a bookseller. In November of 1990, not long after finishing grad school, I went to work at Capitol Book [...]