Writers need readers just like doctors need patients, singers need listeners, actors need movie goers,and teachers need students. I could keep going but I think you probably get my point. I love writing and I might possibly do it even if I had no readers. It is a challenge sometimes when writing is personal and the ego is fragile . It sometimes takes courage to let your work go out there and find its own way. It is similar to raising children. You do your best, they grow up and you hope they will be accepted and loved in the way that you have loved them. A writing career hinges on readership. You have to write them and someone has to read them to make the circle complete. There are authors who get the fast track to success. Millions of readers means millions of dollars and notoriety .I am not opposed to that but for now am perfectly content with the slow and steady growth my writing career appears to be taking. I am so thankful for the positive accomplishments that have come about since the publishing of The Year Mrs. Montague Cried in 2011.Yesterday I set up a table at the St Andrews Winter Market. This morning I will recount the success of that endeavor and expand on the theme of my blog. My success comes one reader at a time. Yesterday a woman named Debbie came to the table, picked up The Year Mrs. Montague Cried, read the front and back , set it down saying she would be back. She was and she bought the book.A girl named Emma looked at each book and then came back with her mother. They had made the deal Emma would buy one with her own money and Mom would buy one for her as well. They left with Ten Thousand Truths and The Memory Chair. A woman who I often see at the Kingston market bought The Memory Chair for her husband, Calvin. A lovely older lady named Ruth, who says she loves to have a good book to read at night,(but nothing scary) bought The Memory Chair. A lady named Helene bought The Year Mrs. Montague Cried and The Memory Chair. Jane came along and chose The Year Mrs. Montague Cried. I must add that if my books are like my children my poor forgotten child ‘The Sewing Basket’ was left out yesterday.However I have many readers that say it was their favorite. Twin hockey players, between games stopped at my table for a few minutes then returned with their grandparents. Hailey chose Ten Thousand Truths , Hannah chose The Year Mrs. Montague Cried and the grandmother chose The Memory Chair. The grandfather paid for them all. I made a trade with Steve from Touch of Spice,a book for him and his daughter Marla in exchange for Samosas. An elderly woman stood awhile and thoughtfully picked out a gift for her great niece Kendall. She chose The Memory Chair and asked me to write a personal message from her when I signed it. Thirteen new readers, each unique and special in their own way accepting my writing into their lives. That is the gift I am given and whether the readers come in a trickle or a deluge I am honored. My readers and the opportunities I have been given to meet them and share my work ,are the building blocks of my career and I am thankful for each and every one of them.