Twenty-Six Bucks is Twenty-Six Bucks

I got a royalty check from my old publisher this week. This was for my back-list books The Darkening Archipelago, which was released in 2010 and The Cardinal Divide, which came out in 2008. The royally period was for one year, ending June 30, 2012.

The amount? You guessed it: twenty-six buck-a-roos.

It hasn’t really been a good stretch for me and the publishing world. I’ve been struggling with what will be my seventh book, The Third Riel Conspiracy. And it seems like all around us news of impending doom for professional writers is crashing down upon us.

So opening an envelope and shaking out a check for twenty-six clams didn’t really help.

I have a business plan for my writing. I know where I am going and how I can get there. I want to be a full-time professional author some day. Maybe in five years. Maybe seven. That plan includes writing two books a year, and allowing (hopefully) increasing popularity to suck my back-list of books along towards ever increasing sales.

This so-called plan called for selling 150 copies of both back-list titles in 2011 and 225 in 2012. According to my royalty statement I sold 20 copies combined over a twelve-month stretch straddling those years. I’m going to have to get cracking.

Authors need to sell their back list in order to make good in the publishing business. Like any good business, you need to create products that continue to sell after you’ve made your upfront investment in order to create a stable revenue stream.

My revenue stream is currently a fetid brook choked with rotting newspaper and cast-off tires.

I’ve been staring at the royalty cheque for a few days now. I’ve got to get it in the bank before I accidentally launder it. I mean with the washing machine.

I have a fund set up in one of my accounts that my royalty payments go into, after my wife subtracts the obligatory levy to hand over to the Canadian government to support their corporate tax cuts to big oil and gas companies. Everybody is feeling the pinch right now. I’m pretty lucky that my current publisher is moving a decent number of my books, so there are actually a few bucks in that account. Not enough to afford a trip overseas, but enough to get my family a ski-pass this winter. Or at least, come close.

The twenty-six smackers is going into that fund too. Jenn says it’s my tea-fund. When I’m heading off for a day of skiing, I can use it to buy a cup of tea on the way. At two bucks a pop, that means I’m good for twelve days of skiing. Not half bad, when you look at it that way.

At the end of the day, twenty-six bucks is twenty-six bucks. It’s a hell of a lot more than most writers who dream of publishing a book ever get. I know lots (too damn many) who just give their stuff away and never see a dime. And that I’m struggling with the edits on my seventh book is nothing to get all whinny about either. Stop your bitching, Legault, and get your big-boy pants on for God’s sake.