Thirty-Five Cents

I'm not a big spender; my financial reality doesn't allow for it. Even if I had a lot of discretionary dollars, I wouldn't go hog wild. Still, even I can outspend the thirty-five cents in royalties I've earned so far this month, or the $1.05 I made in July. So far this calendar year, my earnings total $24.15. Awesome! 😐

Generally, I don't even think about sales, but when I do, I'm not sad, per se, but it would be nice to have some bragging rights and to be able to supplement my income. Pricing my books at ninety-nine cents means only a thirty-five cent royalty, so even if I sold a lot, it would amount to very little money. But it's a Catch-22. Some authors overprice their books and perhaps they still make money due to the genre, but realistically for a novella (which most of my books are), written in a non-buzzworthy category, I can't justify charging more. Originally I tagged them at $1.99, but two whole dollars is apparently a bridge too far for most readers, so I marked them all down except for my two full-length novels for which $2.99 is not unreasonable. Neither of those have sold any copies, though.

That, in a nutshell, is why I no longer worry about sales. "Serenity to accept the things I cannot change". Advertising doesn't work, a nice cover doesn't matter, a well-written blurb doesn't move the needle. Those are the only factors an author can control. No one knows how good a book is if they're unwilling to read it. 

Not caring is better than caring. Caring leads to disappointment. Why would I want to feel disappointed? If an author takes a step back and understands the tsunami of competition out there (millions of self-published books, not to mention those published by the big houses with big ad budgets), why would she expect her books to stand out?

And not caring is freeing. I can write what and how I please. You may ask, what's the point? The point is pride. Plus, I enjoy getting better at things. I'm getting better at plot (not "plotting", because I don't do that); better at flow. There's satisfaction in personal progress. In nineteen ninety I got my first job that required computer usage. Before that, all anyone in my line of work used were typewriters (seriously). The "computers" at my new job were really just terminals. They were connected to the company's home server and were only used to transmit data back and forth. Still, I had to learn how to operate it. The company sent us to a class on basic computer usage. No matter what I did, I couldn't get the mouse to point to what I wanted! I dragged that cord out as far as it could go, practically to the end of the long table I was sitting at, and nothing. I only made things worse. Finally, the instructor noticed my contortions and said, "Pick it up". Aha!

Now I'm very computer savvy, especially for someone in my age group. I discovered a lot of shortcuts and "fixes" on my own. I absorbed new techniques simply by observing others with more expertise. No one taught me how to use an Excel spreadsheet; I just learned. I learned how to create formulas and tables. I was proud of myself for "getting better".

Accomplishment is a good thing. That alone is the point of my writing.