Skip to main content

Without Price

Books are a funny business.  You may have noticed that Amazon sells books for less than the cover price.  What might not be obvious is that the price of the book printed on it is a suggested retail price.

A friend works in publishing.  He tells me it is unlike any other business.  For example, when publishers sell books to a wholesaler, unlike almost no other industry, they must be willing to accept returns.  If Barnes and Noble buys five hundred copies and only sells fifty, the publisher has to take the stock back and mark those sales as losses.

For reasons such as this, and declining print sales, publishers have to be careful about the print run.  Too much stock costs money to warehouse, and if it doesn’t sell, it gets marked down.  These deeper discounts lead to remaindering, which is why you can find bargain books at B&N.

Pricing a book is a bit of a guess.  Part of it has to do with how expensive a book is to make.  The larger the book the more expensive, obviously.  Most books aren’t expensive to manufacture, physically.  The real costs comes in the number of people involved in making and selling it.

Most books don’t sell as well as a publisher hopes.  We’ve all read about the unexpected run-away successes (The Martian, The Devil Wears Prada, Robopocalypse) written by authors largely unknown at the time, or at least not household names.  Such run-away successes help to make up the money for books that don’t do so well.



If you’re like me, and I suspect many writers are, you know when you’ve produced something good.  You can feel it—it’s something fresh and vibrant, unlike what anyone else has done.  You have a natural pride of accomplishment, but the publishers are deaf.

Part of it is that book prices don’t represent the real costs of staying in business.  I don’t say that excuses sending a form letter to an intensely creative person dismissing a book with a word, but it may help those of us who struggle to understand it.


The bottom line is the bottom line.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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

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,

Gothica

The other day I asked a friend to define “gothic.”  Heavy, dark, supernatural—these were a few of the words suggested.  When autumn comes my thoughts turn gothic, and I’m always looking for good gothic things to read. I have blogged in the past about how reading literature that isn’t great is good.  I’m serious about that.  You can learn a lot by reading poor writing.  Some gothic literature is more the former than the latter.  Like Dark Shadows novels. Dark Shadows was running on daytime television when I was a child.  As a teen I began to read the novelizations, by Marilyn Ross, whenever I could find them.  Belles lettres they’re not.  Gothic, most decidedly so.  That’s why I keep coming back to them.  They aren’t scary.  In fact, they’re formulaic and predictable.  But so, so gothic. Spooky mansions, the Maine woods, forlorn vampire, faded wealth.  Even, yes, dark shadows.  The stories create a mood I find difficult to locate elsewhere. Inspired by the most r