The Check is in the Mail

This past week I made a phone call to check on the sales-report-status of one of my books. This report was long past due, as were any royalties I would be owed by the publisher.

Upon finally reaching Nirvana at the publishing house, I was informed that, based upon the total sales figures for my book the past 18 months, I would soon be receiving a check for $9.50. The woman at the publishing firm informed me of my royalty windfall with such bravado and excitement, for a moment I thought she was telling me I'd won Power Ball. "And the check is in the mail!" she exclaimed.

$9.50. This total gives me pause, and is one of the reasons I'll never tell my wife . . . it's best I keep secrets such as this. Such a life-shattering windfall of profits is one of the reasons my wife continues to ask: "Why do you waste your time writing all these books?"

I see her point. But the way I look at it, all fifteen people (and the one Labrador) may have benefited in some way from purchasing the book, and I'm expecting any day for my book to catch wind and begin to sell like hotcakes. Next year, I'm expecting a check for $15.00. I've already made plans to buy a package of undershirts. Mine currently have yellow armpit stains from worrying about royalties.

This is the story of my writing life, and it bears telling . . . especially to warn other would-be-writers of how lucrative writing truly is (NOT!), and how investing a hundred hours of one's life into writing a book can result in being able to purchase a Happy Meal at McDonalds. It usually doesn't get any better than this . . . but it can get a whole lot worse. Sometimes, the result can be $0. Been there and done that, too.

And I expect to do it again tonight. Just call me a glutton for punishment. That, or I'm one of the stupidest and most gullible men on earth.

You can ask my wife for her opinion after I bring her the Happy Meal.