Remaindered Dreams

As a kid I used to wonder why some books were sold so cheap. In the occasional bookstore I’d see big, expensive-looking books for unbelievably low prices. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I’d discovered remaindered books.

A friend in the publishing industry explained it to me. Publishers have to project how many copies of a book to print. This is becoming increasingly difficult to project. Reprints are always possible, but as in most industries, buying in bulk is cheaper, so publishers try to project sales for a first print run.

In the case of a famous author it’s okay to overprint. Better to have enough stock on hand to meet initial demand than to risk the public losing interest. Despite technology, publishing is a slow industry, compared to the world the internet has created. But what it you print too many and public interest never rises to the bait?

First you offer such books at a discount, hoping the reduced price will pick up sales. The more desperate to unload stock, the longer the sale price will last. If it looks like the print run was just a bad call, the books will be remaindered—sold at cost plus ten percent. A publisher barely covers the cost that way, but you can find some bargains as a shopper.

The other day I found a one-dollar book that looked like it could be related to my most recent novel. I picked it up, knowing that the author would see very very little royalty on this one. But it is my dream to be remaindered some day.

Publishers see remaindering as a mark of failure. An over-zealous marketer or enthusiastic editor said this book would sell. It didn’t perform. To me, however, this shows a deep sense of belief. A publisher believes enough in the author to overprint. To me that is a dream.

I wouldn’t mind the reduced royalties, just knowing that someone once thought my book was good enough to reach a large readership. Remaindering, I know, is not ideal. For the struggling writer, however, remaindering shows a once upon a time fantasy, at least for a while, became a reality.

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best...

Creative Righting

Rejection of my writing is a rejection of my imaginative world. That’s why I was cheered by the acceptance of one of my stories this week. That makes number 31. I’ve been working on a lot of fiction lately, even as nonfiction book number 6 is going to press. The ideas are still there, and bizarre as ever, but publishing venues just aren’t welcoming. The other day I had lunch with a professor whose wife is also a professor. She just had her first novel published, and so he pointed me to her indie publisher. I went to their website to learn that they’re closed to submissions. I have to admit that my latest accepted story, “Creative Writing Club,” was probably given the green light because I know the editor. That seems like a pretty dicey way to get any notice, doesn’t it? You have to know the right people even in the low circulation world. My fiction is difficult to classify. It’s got speculative elements to it. ...

Patterns

There’s a pattern I’m noticing. For fiction publishers. Even if you aim low you’ll find it a struggle. Part of the reason is the pattern. Lots of websites list publishers. The smaller, hungrier presses either eventually close or get to a place where they require an agent to get in. That’s the kiss of death. Although my stories have won prizes, and been nominated for prizes, I can’t get an agent interested. I’ve queried well over a hundred, so the agent route is one of diminishing returns. This too is a pattern. Back to the smaller presses. I check many lists. What I write, you see, is highly idiosyncratic. It’s literary but it’s weird. Publishers don’t know what to do with it. If a smaller press published stuff like this, I’d find it. The pattern includes writers who never get discovered. Ironically, a number of editors of fiction literary magazines (mostly online) tell me they enjoy my wor...

K. Marvin Bruce

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