I'm writing for rooms that don't exist yet — and that's the point™

Not a bug in the plan; the plan. The room he's writing for — the bot-free house, the audience that scores instead of scrolls, the co-laborer who picks up the other end — doesn't exist yet, and building for it anyway is the whole move. You don't wait for the crowd to form and then write to it (that's chasing, and we don't chase); you build the room so well that when the first person walks in, it's already hers — the lamp lit before the moth, the lighthouse up before the ship. It's why the launch is held and the building never is (never “done” is the doctrine): the writing runs ahead of the readership on purpose, the same way the spread runs ahead of the room. Every empty seat on the wall is a room drawn before it's built. The builder isn't the finder; that's the geometry. Kin: we're-just-trying-to-be-found, audience-first, distribution-first, TV-better-than-TV, the presidential library reads encouraging. (His coin — machine's read, refine to his.)