* Yesterday, a high-school boy told me that the cover of Pearls My Mother Wore was “Dope.” High Praise indeed. Thanks Luis.
* “Pearls” is being read by two loved-ones in Thomaston, Georgia. Helloooo Thomaston! On my wish list: A book-talk in Thomaston, GA.
* This week I received my second revenue check from Lulu Press in the amount of $28.49. Broken out, there were two books sold directly from Lulu (my favorite method of sale,) three e-copies were up-loaded to Apple ipads, and seven paperbacks were sold through U.S. distributors such as Amazon and Barns and Noble. The book is priced at fifteen dollars; my cut from this revenue disbursement averages $2.37 per sale. I’m sharing this information because it highlights just how little cash is being made off this book.
Good thing I didn’t write this novel to make money. I wrote it, in part, because I wanted to prove to myself that I could. Growing up, I hated to read, mostly because I didn’t know how. Going from not being able to read as a young adult, to then learning how and eventually getting an English degree, and then writing a novel of my own, is a very, very rare author bio. People with my history generally do not write books. Again and again, author biographies tell of a literary foundation established early on. Most authors grew up loving books and gobbling them up as quickly as they could. That was not me, and yet here I am, an author.
Every time I doubted my “author-ity” to write, I remembered the amazing people and circumstances that helped me escape the bondage of ignorance, illiteracy, poverty, low self-esteem, alcoholism and drug abuse, and I kept typing; I kept trying. I pursued this story because I could. I’ve broken out. That makes me incredibly fortunate, and I’m forever grateful for the twists of fate that got me to where I am today.
* Speaking of authority, a hairdressing client of mine told me about the grief her son is getting from his editor. Her son is a leading expert in his field. He holds a Ph.D. from Harvard, teaches, and has written and published over a dozen books. Even with his sterling credentials and breadth of knowledge, his latest, cutting edge, scholarly work was disparaged as “New Age” and “irrelevant.” This tells me that I can relax about going back to school. Clearly, all the education in the world does not secure a comfortable publishing life. I’ve pretty much decided to keep reading good books, sign up for classes and seminars that are specific to my interests, and continue to write for pleasure, not punishment.
* And my last random thought is to report that I posted an Amazon review for Jeff Greenwald’s newest book, a memoir titled Snake Lake. He wrote back a very nice thank you note. Here’s what I wrote in the review:
Snake Lake, a telling title for a book that chronicles the ever-changing nature of life, and I mean life in the fullest sense, which includes death. Jeff Greenwald does a superb job layering Nepali history, culture, mythology, and religion with his own deeply personal pleasures, conflicts, and resolutions. His powers of observation and the rich, generous details of his experiences drew me in as if I were a trusted friend. At once journalistic and vulnerable this memoir does what I think a good memoir should; it tells an amazing story about something I knew very little about, in a way that captured my imagination and held my interest from start to finish. I’ve already recommended it to several friends.
All and all, it’s been a very nice week. Next Friday I’ll post again, and odds have it, it’ll be about Thanksgiving. Until then, enjoy the week, and I’ll try to do the same.