Hear Me Talk About Books With My Friend Monica For 45 Minutes
I promised I’d remind you when that podcast dropped, so here it is:
I make a lot of really awful jokes, and Monica is obviously fascinating to listen to or else she wouldn’t be my friend. So check it out, if you like hearing me say “I mean” every fifteen seconds.
How To Buy A Book To Benefit Your Favorite Author
My book Flex is coming out next Tuesday, and I’m getting asked the same question a lot:
“Where do I buy your book? I mean, so you get the most benefit out of it?”
Now, I am no special snowflake among authors. So let me tell you how it works for pretty much all authors, and give you an answer you can use to benefit any author who you deem worthy of earning a living. And the answer to your question is this:
It’s not where you buy the book, but when.
The sad truth of this industry is that pre-orders drive sales, and most sales of a book come in the first three months of a book’s release. Buying a book before it comes out is a stamp of approval that can actually boost sales across the board, because it leads to conversations like this:
Representative to bookstore buyer: “You sure you want to lowball this one? {$OTHER_BOOKSTORE} has 250 copies reserved against advance orders. You might be missing out.”
Bookstore buyer: “All right, I’ll buy some more just to hedge my bets.”
(NOTE: Before you tell me this doesn’t happen, kindly recall I worked as a book buyer for Borders and Waldenbooks for half a decade. This trick doesn’t always work, but it can make someone reanalyze a new book, sometimes favorably.)
And “having more copies in” can lead to better shelf visibility (customers are far more likely to buy a book from a stack of books “faced out” than a singleton spined), better promotion (hey, we bought in deep on this, we should do something to ensure it sells), better awareness (that book got advance buzz, I should check in on that one to see how it’s doing, oh, it’s out of stock!).
Basically, pre-orders are golden for any author.
If you can’t buy in advance, then if you want to benefit the author, buy as close to the release date as possible. As noted, that first swell of sales is critical. One of the reason classic “backlist” books are so treasured is because you don’t need a new Harper Lee book to boost sales on To Kill A Mockingbird – that book sold steadily, without a scrap of promotion, for decades.
Most books, however, are in and out, which is to say the author pretty much gets one initial flush of success and then the book slowly dwindles and isn’t reordered – so making the most of that initial boost means the author maximizes sales for the bookstore, which ensures the bookstore thinks more kindly of this author come their next book. If you buy a copy ten months later, odds are decent that the bookstore is not thinking “Joy! A sale!” but rather “Lucky me, that’s one less book I have to return.”
So. Order early, order often.
But then I get asked: “Should I buy it in ebook or physical copy?” And there’s one overriding answer to that:
If you’re going to see the author at a book store – like, for example, some insane schmuck like me who’s doing a book tour – then buy the book at the store, if possible. That ensures the book store goes, “Oh, this guy sells books!” and then they like us.
If not, well, let’s discuss ebooks vs. paper. (NOTE: This is what I understand to be the case; if I’m wrong, I’ll correct in edits. This is my first book sold, so I’m going off many publisher discussions here, not personal experience, and I could well be misguided.)
Like a lot of authors, I make more money on ebooks. My royalties per book are way better, so on paper (heh) ebook would be the way to go…
…BUT.
Ebooks have two issues for authors. The first is that when physical books get discounted, I get a royalty off the full price. See that $29.95 Stephen King hardcover you bought at 40% off? Unca Steven gets paid off that $29.95 price, no matter how much the store knocks off the front end. (Unless it’s a bargain book, but those play by frighteningly different rules.)
But ebooks, I get a royalty off of whatever the bookseller decides to sell it for. If Amazon decides to make Flex the Daily Deal and sell it for $0.99 (HINT: they won’t soon), I get the royalty off of that. Hopefully the Daily Deal sells enough copies that I make up in volume what I’m losing on a per-book basis, which it usually does (I’m told), but there’s no guarantee.
Then there’s the fact that “counting eBook sales” is something of a dark art, because there’s no centralized reporting to track eBook sales. So what can happen to an author – and it’s an edge case, but I’ve heard some rumors – is that they sell so many copies via eBook that it actually becomes difficult to sell their next book to another publisher, since they sold a lot of books but in a place that other publishers can’t verify the numbers. On the other hand, “selling a lot of copies of eBooks” can be seen as a plus, because that means you’re appealing to a younger demographic and may have longer legs as an author.
So. After that flurry of facts, do you know which is better? eBook or paper?
Neither do we, so just buy it in whatever format makes you happy. Seriously. That’s the answer of almost every author I know. We’re just happy you’ve opted to buy our book, man, so we appreciate the concern, but whatever is convenient for you. And thanks.
A Thing I Have Waited For, Literally, All My Life.
So this happened yesterday:
If you’ll recall, it took me decades to write a novel good enough to sell. I literally wrote seven terrible novels before finally uncorking this good one. And so to have it in my hands, was…
Like touching a dream.
So this box sits on the counter, and Gini, who is usually Not A Fan of clutter, has said not a word about it, as she is as proud as I am. Eventually it’ll go in a closet somewhere. I have books to sign (and I plan to number the books I sign, a little personalized hashtag, just to see how many I do), and I know Gini gets my first signed book, and then I gotta figure out who gets the rest.
And yes, I know I’m being slightly ridiculous about all this, but it’s my first novel. My absurdity extends to feeling a strange kinship with Brenda K, who so kindly packed these books for me. But I only get this opportunity once, so I’ll run wild through the fields of the Lord and I promise you when The Flux comes out in October, I’ll be more subdued.
Probably.
Then there’s the dedication page:
Those of you new here probably know about Rebecca, my goddaughter. But it occurs to me that most of you don’t know my Uncle Tommy, who passed on in 2005. Which is a shame. He was my best friend and savior when I was a troubled teen. He had a basement full of books he let me read. He was a frail hemophiliac who taught me how to be fearless. He gave me Stephen King, and Dune, and the Belgariad, and Stephen R. Donaldson, and all the worlds within Flex would never exist if it were not for him.
I know Gini gets signed book #1. But I think Uncle Tommy gets signed book #2. I’ll keep it for him. On my bookshelf.
I really think he’d be proud of me.
Protect Yo Self Before You Wreck Yo Self
“I thought you’d be mad at me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a depressive.”
I wasn’t mad.
My friend had gone through a bit of a breakdown; after dealing with the stress of trying to resuscitate a severely depressed buddy, she’d bottomed out. Couldn’t take supporting this person any more. And so she’d retreated for a good long time, freaking out because she was a terrible friend.
Thing is, you have to protect yourself, too.
A lot of the posts and cartoons about supporting the depressed treat the caretakers like they’re some sort of Love ATM: Just get in my pillow fort with me. Don’t question me when I’m too sad to do anything. Support me unquestioningly.
That’s lovely, but if you are the caretaker, then even just being in the pillow fort takes its toll. You really want to leave this pillow fort to go out dancing, see a movie, fuck, just get out of the apartment… but the depressive needs you to stay with them, in quiet solitude. You don’t want to exacerbate the depressed person’s problem by telling them to get over it, but sitting by while they cry in front of the television for twelve hours straight can be devastating to watch. Spending weeks convincing them *No, you really need to get some therapy, please call a doctor* can be a low-grade tidal strain that can suck all the joy out of your life.
I am a depressive, and the ugly truth is that I can be really hard on the people I love.
This isn’t to say that I’m undeserving of that love, of course: this is a disease I can’t help, and I have other features on top of my depression that make me worth loving.
But it is true that when I’m mired in my worst moments, I can burn out my loved ones frighteningly fast. Some people poured all their love into me, convinced they could fix me with the application of enough caring, and then left me when they discovered that no, I have an endlessly leaky bucket that cannot be patched.
And in truth, it’s better for me if my loved ones learn the times when they can leave me to stew for a bit so that they can recover. Because they can’t be strong all the time. And even if they could be, I love them, and I don’t want them to wreck themselves in some endless effort to lift me up; that just makes for two effectively depressed people.
Some days, I need to cry alone in my pillow fort while they go dancing, so they can take care of me far better in the long run.
So no, I don’t get mad when caretakers need to attend to their own well-being. They matter to me, too. And yeah, my life will be worse without them for a while, but it’s way worse for me if they spend years devoid of pleasure tending to me in my pillow fort prison, then eventually stage an escape because they can’t freaking take it any more.
When you’re the caretaker, you matter, too. Take your breaks where you can. It’ll actually make it better for everyone, even though it might not feel that way at the time.
How Can I Like A Racist, Sexist, Piece Of Crap Movie?
The thing is, viewed through the lens of the humorless Social Justice Warrior credentials that conservatives say I am unable to shake off, Kingsman: The Secret Service is an awful movie. It’s about the intense supremacy of white people shooting evil not-white people, with the ultimate goal of becoming an upper-crust Gentleman Spy.
It’s also hellishly fun.
Part of the great enjoyment of Kingsman is that depending on how you look at it, Kingsman is either an affectionate parody of James Bond films, or an updated take on James Bond films. So I expect the sexism and racism baked in, because frankly, that’s part and parcel of the whole schtick.
Part of it is that Kingsman exudes style. Colin Firth is the perfect choice to be our young lead’s mentor: he carries an umbrella, dresses in impeccable suits, and lectures people on the propriety of their actions before, reluctantly, kicking ass seven ways to Sunday. And when he kicks ass, he does so in audacious fight sequences that somehow manage to straddle that line between “videogame cut-scene” and “genuine heroism.”
Part of it is that Kingsman is, in the end, a pretty welcoming message. Anyone can be a gentleman, even a lower-class lout, if they truly want to better themselves. And part of the joy is, of course, watching Our Hero show all the other recruits up as his instincts help him do what is truly right.
And part of it is the sheer thrills of watching all the gadgets. It’s like Matthew Vaughan said, “Hey, James Bond has gotten so grim and hateful and left all these cool toys on the ground in an attempt to be realistic. Can we pick up all the best toys and run around in circles with them?” And so they did.
Kingsman is flawed, of course. I’m not entirely sold on Samuel Jackson’s portrayal of a lisping, hand-flailing multimillionaire (even as I know that Jackson based that lisp on his own former speech problem). All the good guys are sterling-white, while the major bad guys are handicapped or flawed. The women are semi-heroic in that weird modern action hero way where they do some kick-ass things, but are relegated in the end to support roles and a sex joke. (A pretty damned good sex joke, which I loved, but… a sex joke.) And strangely, despite there being a squad of Kingsmen waiting in the wings, not a one of them shows up to help anyone in the final chapter.
Yet I still loved the hell out of it.
I can, despite the spluttering complaints of conservatives, enjoy the fuck out of a movie and still acknowledge it’s problematic. I can even recommend it to my buddies, as I do Kingsman – I just give them warnings so they can know what bits about it may annoy them past the point of enjoyment. (Just as I give warnings for movies that take a while to get moving, or movies with disappointing endings.)
I can see flaws and still be thrilled. My joy is not dependent upon a movie being perfect, merely having strong enough qualities to supercede those flaws. And Kingsman, despite the litany of dings I could give it, was still cool enough that I cheered at one particularly audacious sequence set to “Pomp and Circumstance.”
Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a line of suits in the Kingsman mold. I have to go price them out, for I covet them.
Hey, New Yorkers! And Boston People! Do Me A Favor?
If you live in New York or Boston, you are no doubt aware that I am coming to town to do a book signing in just over two weeks!
I will wear my fine Italian suit! And bring donuts! And critique your choice of donuts, as happens far too much in my book! (One reviewer said she will always remember Flex as “The doughnut book,” which actually seems about right.)
And I will do a very dramatic reading from Flex, and be absolutely terrified that maybe nobody will show up to this thing. And perhaps they won’t! But right now, the book stores who have kindly offered to host my novice-writer self don’t know how many people will be attending this shindig!
So. If you are planning on showing up at either of my book signings, and you’re not averse to this Facebook thing, could you possibly click through on the appropriate links and tell all the social medias that you might placate a weasel in a cold and foreign land?
New York: Friday, March 13th, Word Bookstore in Brooklyn.
Boston(ish): Saturday, March 14th, Annie’s Book Stop In Worcester.
That would be awesome. Thank you.