Discounting Me

I'm being discounted. In fact, most of my books are now available for pennies on the dollar, which means, of course, that I make pennies on the royalty.

Consider, for example, my first book (originally published in 1998) which is now selling for $4.95 on Amazon.com. This means that, for every sale through the giant internet warehouse, I'll be making something like thirty-five cents in royalty. Chump change.

But I'm used to it. I've been discounted all my life. My mother was discounting me way back in 1968, telling me that I didn't know how to clean my room. My father was discounting me in 1972, when he pointed out my deficiencies in planting the lettuce seed in the garden, which the rabbits ate. And now my wife discounts me.

She's correct, of course. I wear my underwear until it disintegrates. I only have two pairs of socks, which I rotate by the week. Becky has written me out of her will, choosing to give her money to the dog.

But I don't mind. Heck, in a world where I'm worth thirty-five cents, I feel I'm taking a huge step up whenever my mother buys me a new pair of socks.