Short answer: The majority of books don't make a dime.
Most people would be surprised to learn, for example, that I made more from writing essays, poems and articles in 2012 than I did from all of my book royalties combined. (Which believe me, Nelson, ain't sayin' a whole lot.)
Last week I did make money from selling a short story. But I did sell one. For $3.00. Note where the decimal falls and how many zeroes are after the decimal. But listen, I don't write for the money. It's the same with everything I do. Not about the money. One has to want to write, and then one has to write, in order to be a writer. No other way.
This past week, as I've come home late from the gym (and I do mean LATE good-golly-Miss-Molly, post 10 p.m.), I've sat down to write short essays of five hundred words that I'm weaving into chapters. This has not been easy--having burned nearly 1000 calories an evening with 1.5 hours of Stairmaster work each night . . . but the deadlines don't wait. The editors want their cookies. I have to keep cooking them.
Looking back on these first six months of 2013 I noted that I have written (and published) nearly 50 essays . . . which is to say that in twenty-five weeks I've produced nearly two published essays a week, mostly for pay, and with the promise of another 50 more by years end. (But again, note the pay rate.)
As weird as it sounds to my wife, I've created a goal to publish 200 short pieces in 2013. Magazine articles, devotions, essays, book reviews, you name it. She thinks I'm nuts. Probably am. But I'm well on my way.
I may be one of the last writers in America who will write for a few bucks a pop. I'm like a gigolo. An editor wants it. She's gonna get something from me. Especially if she is willing to pay.
Writing. It's the oldest occupation. And the most humbling.
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