the primrose path

I met with Micah who was able to give me some guidance about the whole contract work proposal thing. She also gave me some excellent templates. It all feels within reach, again. It was also an incredible relief to feel like I'm not going it alone.

In a very strange confluence of events both she and another woman I ran into today referred me to Rocky Mountain Publishing Professionals Guild of which they are both a part. Dues are $40/year. Looking through the guide I realize that as an art & artifact photo researcher I have some real niche potential. Copyeditors and proofreaders (I don't really enjoy either activity) are a dime a dozen.

Micah's a painter. She has her own business doing design and typesetting that's really taken off over the past year or two. She's a little older than my mother and looks like she could her sister. I've never met her children, though I know she has several. We often trade books. She got me started reading mysteries, and I've converted her to YA.

I'm feeling kind of hyper at the moment, with a sense that the crash is inevitable. I'm hoping to be able to chill out shortly and make an early night of it to help build my reserve for tomorrow: my last day as Boss' assistant at R&L.

Here's another little known fact about moi: I follow the comic strip For Better, or For Worse like a soap opera. Yesterday, Michael (whose manuscript he risked his life to save from the fire around Xmas) got a 25K advance for his first book. To someone who has worked in publishing, (albeit academic presses) this bordered on the ridiculous. Very rarely will a first time author get an advance that large.

So, to put a little perspective on the thing, I thought I'd share the following facts about publishing:

* There are about 32 million unique titles in American libraries. Of those titles only about 6% are in print, and only about 20% are in public domain. The remaining titles are in the awkward place of being out of print, but still under copyright.
* Approximately 200,000 new titles are published each year.
* The average book in America sells about 500 copies.
* In 2004, 950,000 titles out of the 1.2 million tracked by Nielsen Bookscan sold fewer than 99 copies. Another 200,000 sold fewer than 1000 copies. Only 25,000 sold more than 5000 copies, 500 sold more than 100,000, and 10 sold more than a million.

Of course Nielsen is imperfect, and the numbers presented are only for the 1.2 million they are tracking, not the 32 million gathering dust in libraries. There are plenty of books that aren't tracked, or aren't tracked accurately, but this is just to give you an indication of how publishing operates in this country. Predominantly publishers sell to niche markets. But a great deal of money goes into chasing after those sales, and most of it does not go to the author, who can expect royalties of about 10% net on their books.

So, if the average book sells 500 copies, and the average price is somewhere around $25 (an informed guess for hardcover, plus it makes the math easy) Michael Patterson can expect to earn about $1250. In order to earn back an advance of $25K he would have to expect sales of at least 10,000 copies.

Edit: And this is assuming his royalties are gross instead of net. Most publishers negotiate royalties based on net.

I'll leave you to do the work on the odds, as it's 3 in the morning and I'm going back to bed. Let's just say that this editor doesn't consider the odds very likely that a first time book by an unknown author is going to magically become a best seller, particularly in its first two years. (Publishers never like to advance more money than they think they can make back in the first year or so. They are often in the unenviable position of having to eat advances that are not earned back, which the author's won't return, and for which it is more trouble than it is worth to pursue repayment.)

Of course, I could be wrong. Michael Patterson could've written the next great diet book, or the next book on how men and women are from different planets.

P.S. Numbers courtesy of the July 17, 2006, Publisher's Weekly, p. 164.

I had a dream last night that the home office decided to shut down our branch. I agreed to stay on until the place was cleaned out on the understanding that I would receive a $5000 bonus in addition to my regular salary. I planned to buy a new(er) car with the bonus and start my new life.

I've been cranky for a while. It's not been a great year. The absence of bad does not automatically make good. But I also think I've gotten lazy. The easiest way to explain it is like this:

Say I'm the ugly duckling. It's not my fault I'm not-a-duck. There may have been lots of bad things about my barnyard of origin. I may have decided to leave the barnyard in search of my own kind thinking anything is better than cruelty from animals who by virtue of being a different genus or species don't understand I have different means or modes.

But winter's coming on, and if I keep sulking in the pond, I'm going to get my little, fluffy, ass frozen in that pond. The key is to keep moving, because while I can't help being not-a-duck, I can absolutely keep myself from getting frozen in that pond, and do whatever I can to survive the winter.

I'm having problems distinguishing between what's my responsibility and what isn't. And I'm getting blown around like a piece of dandelion fluff by circumstance. I'm made of sterner stuff. I need to stop picking up other people's business, and start dealing more directly with my daily needs. The rest will have to follow.

Today's schedule:
9-11 Intern
11-12 Mktg. Mtg.
12-2 June's goodbye banquet

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): In one of his poems, the late, great Charles Olson praised "lovers of the difficult." He didn't mean that in some sadomasochistic sense; he wasn't cheering on people who perversely enjoy suffering. Rather, he meant to express his admiration for those whose lust for life drives them to seek answers to the knottiest questions. He was recommending that we wrestle with intractable problems whose solutions unleash blessings on the world. In the coming week, Aquarius, I encourage you to be one of these lovers of the difficult.

Rob is doing those double-edged horoscopes again... I'm going to have to have a word with him when he's in town next month!

I had an absolutely rotten work day, the worst of which involved our intern who a) did not show up, and b) did not finish his assignment, which meant c) I had to stay late rushing through the spread sheet to prepare it for the meeting tomorrow. To me this kid is asking not to be our intern anymore. It's an unpaid internship, so all we have to offer him is our recommendation, and frankly, I am not inclined to give one at this point. But all the other women are prepared to keep him with a warning.

There was some other bad stuff happened, but everything was ameliorated by the following:

* a very pleasant evening spent with ashfae and randomchris, during which I also briefly saw the newly wed sakuratea

* a message from Rosebud in which she told me she and her friend Laurel have been accepted as the two new apprentices to The Mark Morris Dance Company. She will dance with the company for 6 months on a paid, full time basis, and if all goes well, she may be offered a membership in the company.

I can't tell you how excited this news made me. I just wanted to dance and scream and cry. She can quit her day job. She's been dancing since she was six. This is what we've dreamed of, this is why she moved to NYC. I've been holding my thumbs for her all week through the audition process (last year she made it through final call backs). I don't think either of us were expecting such good news.

News like this makes me feel doubly blessed, first because something so wonderful is happening to a friend who really deserves it, second because it helps me to believe that good things can happen to me, too.

I have a poem in mind by Robert Hass to celebrate today, but I can't find it on the web, so it will have to wait for another day.

Earlier today I started a post with "I hate work birthdays."

I take it back. Despite the fact I did not get breakfast as I requested and was cranky and hungry all morning, the berry tart, and the fresh fruit (strawberries & grapes) made up for it, along with a special chai just for me.

I actually feel incredibly touched so many people have remembered my birthday today. My office mate (who I should name at some point) gave me a gift: a collection of For Better or For Worse cartoons.

"This isn't usual around here, and I want you to know it does not imply any obligation. It was not expensive. I just saw it and thought of you," she said. (We are always gossiping about comic the way other people gossip about soaps.)

My boss clearly bought not only a lovely sweet, but the chai was an thoughtful extra I did not anticipate, particularly as my announcement, "I'm taking a chai break," usually means I'm having a bad day.

The card they all signed, in addition to the usual short greetings, contained some truly hilarious messages which showed I've made an impact here, as well as a funny drawing of me reading.

The highlight of my day, so far, was a phone call from my Swiss cubemate. (We shared a cube for three years in NY. I moved back to Colorado. She moved back to Switzerland. I hang a picture of Mont Blanc above my desk, she hangs a picture of Longs Peak above hers.) I couldn't believe she had remembered it was my birthday!

Anyway, I'm feeling all weepy now, but in a good way. I'd better stop writing now so I can clean up my desk and go home. I'm taking the day off tomorrow, and aside from dinner with Carly, I'm thinking about heading to the hills and perhaps partaking in some winter sport. Or going shopping at a time when the stores aren't crowded. Or taking a hike, a bath, and reading a book, in no particular order.

S

P.S. June took me out to lunch. It was very sweet.

P.S. Just in case you're wondering, the ground hog saw its shadow and so did I. Six more weeks of winter isn't such a bad thing, especially as I feel I've been cheated of precipitation this season.

Tuesday night I kept waking up thinking I heard someone crying. Then I realized it was me.

Last night I slept through the night, but I had bizarre nightmares where my last work situation was blended with a religious cult that was trying to reprogram me. (Including a long scene about appropriate spoons and their uses, which definitely has a link to class anxiety.)

Today I am turning in my re-taken, re-proofread test, and a sample blurb for a book dealing with the influence science fiction has on military weaponry development and political policy. Last week I could have cared less about the publishing job, but this week I am nervous because I am out of work again. I keep having to remind myself that they should be so lucky to have someone who has three years of publishing experience to consider for an entry level position as an editorial assistant.

Most my problems don't stem from who I am, but from trying to adapt myself to who I think people want me to be. The problem is, even when you are your most authentic self, there are still going to be people who don't like you. However, the odds of attracting the few people who actually might like that oddity are larger if they can actually see it. So I guess it's time to let my little light shine.

I suppose something about "Damn the torpedoes!" might be appropriate here, but I'm feeling tired, achy, and a little weepy today. It might be a good day to go for a walk, and then curl up with a good book.

S