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. When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Neglectful Parents

If I was a parent I’d be accused of neglect. I have to say 2017 was the least published year of recent memory. Not that I’ve been neglecting my fiction, but I had a non-fiction book accepted and I work full-time and commute to that job—you get the picture. I’ve also had a personal epiphany. If you can write, you should get paid for it. I know a publicist (not my own; I don’t have one) and she says she won’t let her authors even write an op-ed if they don’t get paid. I guess I’d never get published then. My Medusa novel had a flicker of hope for a few moments. A publisher actually wrote back asking for the rest of the manuscript. That’s never happened before. Then the editor disappeared. Even called me by the wrong pseudonym. I’ve gotta wonder about that because the second half of the novel’s even better than the first. While looking for an agent for my non-fiction (couldn’t find one of those either) I came across several who said they liked quirky ficti

Too Much Writing?

Has this ever happened to you? Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot? Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable? I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania. I write constantly. I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it. It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection). Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process. There are far too many (mostly in process). When I finish a story I often submit it. If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting. I often rewrite at this stage. Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded. There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.” I don’t remember this story. I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

K. Marvin Bruce

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