I'm still working on my own credibility as a writer.

 I'm still working on my own credibility as a writer.

I think my original assumption was that you weren't really an "author" unless you could make a living at writing. Of course, there are a lot of exceptions to this idea. Lots of legit writers have to supplement their income. Lots of writers make their living in the field of writing--publishing, editing, etc, but might have a hard time surviving solely on royalties.

But it still seems like a clincher to me. A writer makes his living as a writer.

Then again, I came back to writing with the intention of writing books and not worrying about the commercial-ality of them. The only real way to make money from books are:

1.) Write a book the traditional way, with an agent and one of the Big Four publishers, have it sell well, build on the franchise.

2.) Write a book independently, be a wizard at self-promotion, and spend most of your time hawking your books.

In both cases, the chances are slim to none. 

Neither of these avenues appealed to me, so if my goal was the "make a living" as a writer I was depending on sheer luck. 

Of course, I'll never know what might have happened if I'd stuck with writing in my early 30s instead of buying my store. My very unsatisfying guess about my chances is: Maybe, maybe not.

Really it's a moot point because I was such a mess at the time that talent was way down the list of things I needed to succeed. I had horrible habits that probably needed a hiatus of 25 years in order to get out of my system. 

I came back to writing fresh and without pressure and with more life experience and maturity--but also a little too old to be trying to make a "career" out of it now. 

Looking back at the beginning, I think I thought all a writer had to do was write the book and everything else was taken care of. Then, of course, the actual hierarchy of writing set in: the next step was to get an agent; then to get published; then to have that book get good reviews; then to sell a lot of copies. 

And then repeat. 

Hey, no pressure. 

So I'm happy with the books I've written. As I keep saying, outside any objective standards or any outside opinions of them, they are much, much better than I, myself, thought I could do. 

Whatever that means.

If you write a bestseller and no one knows, did you really write a bestseller?

Later this year a book will come out that will almost certainly be a Top Ten bestselling mass market paperback. Every title this author puts out (and I've been keeping track for a couple of years) reaches the top ten, usually the top five.

I doubt you can guess who the author is. It's not the usual suspects. If I didn't know who it was, I probably would have never guessed that this particular author sells so well. I think he sells in big numbers in places like Walmart. 

I can't hint any more than this. Please don't ask. If I tell you more, I'll have to kill you.

Anyway, my writing life is in a weird space right now. I'm not really doing a whole lot of writing, but things are happening anyway. I wrote this particular book years ago--I've been waiting for it to come out for a long time. 

I wrote this book in hopes that the publisher--who is distributed by Penguin Random House, by far the biggest publisher in America--would publish something under my own name. Instead, the editor ignored every submission I sent. I would have understood if they were rejected--instead, I didn't get an answer for years. 

Finally, the editor cheerfully contacted me about rewriting the ghostwritten book.

I responded less than enthusiastically and they did the final rewrite without me. (I still got paid more than I've ever made from a book.) Truth was, by that time I realized the direction they wanted to take the story was one that I didn't want to go, so they did me a huge favor. By that time, if I could have, I would have bought the book back. 

I doubt I'll ever read the final product. From the description, it still sounds like my book, but with a lot more guns. Heh. 

Other than this, I don't think I'll speak of it again. 

One thing is for sure. I'll never ghostwrite again.

Amazon? Whatever...

My attitude toward Amazon is probably a little unusual for an independent bookstore, but the truth is, we aren't a destination bookstore, we are a drop-in bookstore, and those are two different breeds of cats. I carry new bestsellers for those who happen upon them, but that is not my main focus. My main focus is on books that have a longer lifespan.

My job is to catch the customer finding a book they wouldn't find otherwise, or which they've always heard about, or which I can tell them is a "great" book.

So when I don't have a title, I'll often tell people, "That's where Amazon comes in." I mean, first I send them to other booksellers, especially Dudley's, down the street. But so many books that people want are mid-list books from a few years ago--the least likely for an independent bookstore to carry, but which Amazon probably does.

Perhaps strangely to my my customers, it's the big chainstores I don't like. Amazon wasn't really up and running when the chainstores came along and stomped on so many of my product lines. Toys, cards, games, and so on. That's where I saw the harm.

By the time the internet came along, I'd already made adjustments. 

It's the "click" phenomenon. I can't do anything about people who are willing to look something up on Amazon, click the buy button, and wait for the product to arrive.

It's the people who are browsing in a physical location that are my customers--and Barnes & Noble is more of a competition for them than Amazon. 

But the way it's worked out, even that isn't true anymore. I have so many newcomers and tourists and just drop-in traffic that 95% of my book sales aren't to people looking for a specific book.

Of course, the "single" book buyers are the hardest to satisfy. People are still unaware just how many titles are coming out and how unlikely it is that any store, including B & N, are to have what they are looking for unless it is new and popular.

So I have no trouble referring customers elsewhere. Often, if it's book that I think Pegasus should have, I'll tell them, "I'm ordering it. It will probably be in my store the next time you come in."

And finally, the real answer to why I can't upset by Amazon--because there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.

Marvel sells what Marvel sells.

When I bought Pegasus Books in 1984, it was primarily a comic book store. And what sold in comics was, to winnow it down to basics, X-Men, X-Men, X-Men (and a little Spider-man.)

I spent much of my paltry initial budget at comic books shows buying up all the back issues of X-Men I could afford. Chris Claremont was still writing the storylines that have become so basic to the Marvel Universe.

As time went on, Marvel diversified--into X-Force, Excalibur, X-Factor....well, you get the picture. Plus a host of individual characters, Wolverine, Kitty Pryde, Cyclops, Storm... (all kinds of characters, as long as they were X-Men.) The occasional Daredevil or Fantastic Four (the latter which always seemed to flop, and still does...)

Even then, I thought it was strange how Marvel all but ignored The Avengers, and the individual Avengers--I mean, I wasn't a huge comic person when I bought the store but I was well aware of the Hulk, Captain America, Iron Man, etc. 

These titles came out but got zero promotion; they got artists and writers who were second-tier or just beginning their careers, and so on. 

When people would say to me, "You must be selling tons of comics. They are so hot," I'd answer, "How many copies of the Incredible Hulk do you suppose I sell? I'll tell you: 3. 

This was true for most of the Avengers. They just didn't sell.

And it made no sense.

So what happened?

What happened was the Marvel in their financial struggles had sold off the rights to the X-Men and Spider-man and Fantastic Four and Daredevil. They got little of the money from the hit movies.

All they had left was the Avengers.

It's interesting to look back at how there was some doubt that the public would go to an "Iron Man" movie. Seems ludicrous now. (I thought at the time that the "experts" were underestimating how much the Marvel Universe had pervaded the public consciousness.) 

So they switched gears and the rest is history. It was such a reversal that for awhile I couldn't sell the X-Men anymore. It was reversed: I was selling dozens of the Hulk and three copies of X-Men.

The point being--whatever anyone turns their full efforts and attention to--that's what sells. It can take some work and it doesn't always succeed, but roughly that's how it happens.

There is only so much prime space and it can be hard to squeeze everything into that prime space, so all of us purveyors of pop culture have to pick what to promote. 

Marvel got incredibly smart about their properties. Sadly, at the same time, they started neglecting the comics side of things. The movies make so much money that comics seem paltry in comparison.

Of course, from a comic shop owner's perspective, comics are the Golden Goose and we retailers are the ones who have fed and protected that goose for decades.

You sell what you sell.

I often get someone in who tells me that a certain product sells like crazy in the store they come from. I always listen. If it isn't something I carry, I might try it. If it's something I carry but which I've not done anything with, I might give it a more prominent display.

Of course, this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Roughly put, whatever product you pay attention to, or talk about, or give prime space to, will sell better than it otherwise would. This can give you a misleading perception of the true interest.

I've learned that for a product to truly be a bestseller it needs to sell itself--at least to some extent. Whether you add or subtract to that momentum has to do with tons of factors. For instance, there may not be a way to display it well because of the size and shape. Or the profit margin sucks. Or someone else in town has the franchise, so to speak. Or it's too hard to get. Or there is market manipulation in supply and demand. And so on and so forth. 

When you walk into my store, the first thing you might see is my stack of Settlers of Catan, and in the display next to it, my Calvin and Hobbes cartoon books. Not surprisingly, these both sell consistently well. I have not incentive to move them out for something else.

Fact is, you can only highlight so much. As I once tried to explain to a lady in charge of sign ordinances in Sisters, if you highlight every letter in a sign, then NOTHING is highlighted. It's a contradiction of the very meaning of "Highlight."

Signs? You can't put a sign on everything and if you do, you just wear people out. 

Some thing sell themselves so you don't really need to highlight them. Others just need a little boost. Others will eventually sell if you have it. The trick is to mix these together in a way that they work together synergistically. It's intuitive, but to me that is the very basis of marketing. 

In the end, a healthy store shouldn't have to heavy-lift every product to sell it. You can pick a few items to push, but you need to make sure you don't push too hard. 

You can also trap yourself. Here's the thing--if you bring in a 100 units of a new product, it will obviously sell better than if you bring in 10. If you sell, say, 40 of those 100 and order another 100 units, it's likely you'll sell another 40 units right away and so on . 

What you have to watch out for is the illusion of movement simply because you're carrying more of it. If you need 60 units to break even, and you constantly sell 50 units, you end up loosing money. It's the momentum that can fool you.

I have a rough guess I use to measure a product's viability. Whatever time it takes you to sell the first half of what you ordered, half of what's left will take twice as long, and of the quarter that's left, half of it will take four times longer, and so on. 

Which is fine as long as it doesn't stall somewhere along the way. 

So you can get trapped selling hundreds and hundreds of units of something you've ordered a ton of, but are left with 10 or 20% of them each time, which is covered up by the selling of the new wave. 

What happens is that at some point, you take a break from buying. And the product stops selling. In truth, you never made a whole bunch of money, you just tied it up in unsold inventory.

No one taught me this. It's very subtle. I had to learn it the hard way. My impression from talking to other retailers--who are excited by how well something is selling--is that they never do learn the lesson.

My best example was the original interest in manga. I started with no manga, so the first few orders of what I got sold like crazy, so I ordered a ton more, and they sold like crazy, and so I ordered a bunch more. 

Of course, with manga there is literally no end. Half of Japanese books are manga. There are literally tens of thousands if not hundreds of thousands if not millions of titles. No exaggeration.

At some point, I ran out of room. I took a break from buying figuring I could concentrate on the bestsellers.

Instead, the product just started stinking up the shelves. Same with anime. The hunger for "new" made it impossible to earn a profit. So when I sold 80% of what came in at a 40% margin, but was growing new inventory by 30%, I actually was going backward. Ouch.

We've been (Sabrina has been) much smarter about the new interest in manga. We make sure a series sells consistently before we move on to trying something new. It seems to be working. Constantly selling Demon Slayer and My Hero Academia, allows us to try new series. 

But I always take the instant sales on new product with a grain of salt. Better to take a wait and see attitude. If the product you have in stock when you stop buying new product sells at least three or four times, then you may earn enough profit to buy something new. If not, stick to what you have or move on to the next thing.

I have come to the conclusion that if you can design a store in such a way that the product more or less sells itself, without the constant need to push it--what I call heavy lifting--then you have a viable, profitable store. If you don't, you can survive, but you will eventually burn out, or eventually get it wrong. I still push product I believe in when it makes sense, but I try not to depend on it. 

The real trick it to diversify in such a way that something will sell everyday without having to put on a clown suit. Talk to people, but not push hard. Let them decide. 

Not the American way, I know. But it isn't about the money you made on any individual sale, it's the flow of customers that counts. Fill your store with things that sell and then you don't have to push so hard.

Of course, that's the trick of it. 

Making a living as an artist.

It's my belief that every artist faces a moment where they have to decide whether to go all in, or take a step back. I'd posit that that moment occurs sometime around the age of 30, give or take a couple of years. Old enough and mature enough to understand the consequences, and to have some experience in the real world.

At least, that's what happened to me. At 32, I was faced with the choice of buying Pegasus Books or to continue to work as a landscaper/writer. That is, mow lawns and construct stories in my head while doing so, or spend 8 hours a day behind a store counter with zero creative energy leftover. 

I had a mentor in town who was well established and respected in his field, but he lived very modestly, and it was my feeling that for many years, his wife had been the main breadwinner for the family. I also knew a couple of artists in their 40's who were just scrimping by.

What happens if you reach 50 and have had no financial success? It seems a little late to start a new career. (I'm old enough now to think you could do that, but I didn't feel that way at 32.) I did some research on what writers really earn--not the myth--and it was alarming. 

See, I'd thought all I needed to do what get books published. I had my first three books published by a mass market national publisher, got myself an agent, and then hit a wall. Then I went to Ore-con and came away with the feeling that nobody cared. The attitude seemed to be "If I haven't heard of you, you can't possibly be any good."

I slammed up against the reality of writing. 

I bought the store. Admittedly, I thought I'd be able to write in my spare time. The image of sitting behind the counter and writing stories turned out to be figment of my imagination. At the same time, though, owning the store required some real creativity--creativity that was immediately rewarded, unlike my novels which took years (at the time) to reach fruition. I used to call sending off my manuscripts, "Sending them into the void."

Looking back at it, I think that if I'd had the maturity and experience as a 60 year old when I was 30 years old, I might have had a shot. But the truth was, I was mired in some very bad habits and I think I would have flailed around for years. I realize now that I don't have the best commercial instincts, and I'm abysmal at networking. But I'm also damned persistent and perhaps that would have won out.

Instead, I struggled with the store for 20 years, found my footing after another 10 years, and finally freed myself enough to start writing fulltime again at the age of 60. To my great surprise, I had enormous reserves of creative energy, and I was freed from the worry of trying to make a living at it. 

So that worked out very well for me. I got my creative itch scratched.

I've backed off a little. The reality of writing has never really left my consciousness, but I accepted that going in and I'm very grateful for whatever progress I've made. Like I said, if I could have brought what I currently know to my 30 year old self, there might have been a chance.

But I'm glad now that I didn't put myself through that. The store always had the potential to earn me a living--and that I struggled was my own fault--but in the end, it appears to have done what was needed. 

Writing? Frankly, I shudder to think about it.

February was strangely busy. I mean, I'd love to pinpoint why, because if I don't know the reasons, maybe it's just luck. And good luck ain't nothing to count on. Or it could be one of those cycles--or an anomaly--or because the Californians had their pre-spring break. The hotness of Pokemon.

I'd love to believe that we've been found. That we've hit the grade school kid grapevine (nothing more powerful than the grade school grapevine.)

I'd love to believe that it's because I've done such an excellent job of stocking and diversifying.

I'd love to believe it's because of our sparkling personalities--well, at least, Sabrina's sparkling personality. 

There is a tendency to credit your own self--but the truth is, we're just riding a wave. There is some skill in riding that wave but don't ever think you created that wave. 

I have a terrible habit of spending whatever profits we make on more material. I mean, it's not the worst decision; it may be why we've survived so long. But I always told myself if we had another surge, I'd set at least some of the money aside.

The first two times it happened, I was so intent on building the store that when the train stopped, we had nothing left in the tank. In fact, we kept having to spend on our commitments, which put us deep in debt. So the next two or three times we had a surge, all it did was service the debt.

Then in the early 2000s we got out of debt, but the store was so threadbare that I spent all of that surge just trying to restock the store in preparation for the next collapse (the housing bubble, which I saw years in advance.)

And finally, as we started coming back again, I transformed the store yet again, bringing in games and new books at a much higher level. 

So we're there. There isn't even any real space to diversify more or bring in much more stock. We're doing well, and I should for once sit back and let it happen.

But old habits are hard to break.