On Used Books

Being an aspiring author, the subject of used books tends to be fairly touchy in some of my social circles. For a great many published authors, used books are Evil Incarnate. A recent article on AOL suggesting that buying new books is a waste of money single-handedly raised the ire of an entire gaggle of romance writers on an email loop I’m on.

I don’t object to their opinion. I understand why they’re upset. Royalties are their livelihood. Many of these women’s entire paychecks come from nothing but the sale of their books, and, let me tell you, it’s not easy to get rich on royalties, unless you’re Nora Roberts. And even she had to work up to it. So I get where they’re coming from.

What I do object to is accusing used book buyers of being immoral, scum-sucking, penny-pinching pirates. Buying used books is neither immoral nor illegal, no matter what it does to an author’s royalty statement.

Here’s why it’s not illegal: When you buy a book, you are buying the physical book: paper, ink, covers, step-back covers with sexy half-naked men… oh. Ahem. Right. Where was I? You are buying the book, not the words. You are not buying a license to read those words. Ask any lawyer. That will hold up in a court of law. (Ebooks are a whole different kettle of fish, and I don’t like kettles of fish, so I won’t go there, but anyway.) So, when you buy the book, you are free to do anything with that book that you so choose, including selling it used for a whole lot less than you bought it for. And that means the people who buy your used books are also well within their rights.

Now, in my opinion, here’s why it’s not immoral and here’s why, when I am published, you will never hear me squawk about my books being sold used: new readers. Simple as that. The more people I can get to read my books, whether they get them new or used or traded or bookcrossed, the better off my career will be. Each new reader has the potential to become an uber-fan, and uber-fans are an author’s best friend. They buy all your books, they chat you up to their friends, they turn other people into uber-fans. And that means, ultimately, more sales. (It also means creepy stalkers, but hey, we’re looking on the bright side here.) Yes, royalties are important, but it seems to me that a writing career is more important, and the more readers you have long-term, the better a career it will be.

I’ll conclude by saying I’ve reformed my book-buying ways since I realized how important royalties are. I buy new (though discounted if possible… hey, I’m still cheap), especially from authors I know. Still, I would never, never hold buying used against someone. To do so seems unfair and, really, unworthy of my annoyance, when there are so many other more important things I could get annoyed about… like who the heck stole my tape dispenser off my desk again. I’ll find you, tape dispenser stealer. Be warned.

Blood, Sweat, Tears, and Some Words Too

My life is super stressful at the moment. I know, wah wah, poor me. But it’s totally true. And it seems as if most people in my life are trying to make it more stressful, whether on purpose or not. It could, I suppose, just be that I am seeing the world through jerk-colored glasses. But, people in my life (who most likely don’t read this blog because I know and like just about everyone who does read my blog), stop being jerks if indeed you are actually being jerks, ok?

Here’s your excerpt from yesterday, on which I wrote like a mere 1200 words, but all were poured out with blood, sweat, and tears. Man, writing was easy at the beginning of the month. Stupid middles-of-books-that-are-hard-to-write. Anyway, excerpt:

Only then did Jude turn again to look at her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d been hoping that this time when she looked at him he wouldn’t freeze in his shoes. His heart wouldn’t stop. His breath wouldn’t come quick. But when her big hazel eyes turned to look up at him and he saw the impish grin covering the fear and the gratitude and the apology and the host of other emotions swimming in her, he was helpless before her.

That was the big lurve-at-first-sight moment. Ok, I realize this is not a romance novel per se, but I can’t write a book without a big lurve moment. So sue me. Also, I wrote it out of order because I know I need some more stuff before the big lurve moment, but I don’t know exactly what. I’ll figure it out.

Also, join me, minions. If you’re doing NaNoWriMo and you’re way freakin’ behind like me, join me in 10k Friday. I may not make it all the way to 10k because I’ve got to do at least a leeettle shopping and also I have to cook, but I’m going to give it a good try. Maybe I can still finish by November 30!

Last Year In The Life Of Sonja: Purdy, NaNoBlehMo

Searching for Tradition

Ok, you didn’t think I could top those search terms from the other day, did you? But, lo and behold, the other night I came home and checked my sitemeter only to find the search phrase “fat hairy butt pictures” in my reference links. Does anyone actually WANT to see fat hairy butt pictures? Really, I sincerely hope not, but I suspect there’s a kink for every soul out there, and some unfortunate person found himself staring at a frou-frou red rose instead of a picture of a fat hairy butt. So, fat hairy butt picture searching guy, sorry.

To my normal, non-hairy-butt-picture-looking readers, I have a request of you: I am hosting Thanksgiving at my house for the first time ever this year and I want it to be nice (despite the fact that at least half my guests will be eating off a folding card table and/or patio furniture). What’s your special Thanksgiving extra thing? Is it a recipe passed down for generations? A traditional game of Scrabble after dinner? An appetizer that you always have to have? A craft? Share please. I want ideas for making a tradition of my own.

And since I’m asking you to give, I’ll give too. I’m giving you my mom’s recipe for sweet potato casserole. It’s really delicious, I promise:

Serves: 6
2 17oz cans sweet potatoes, drained & mashed (OR 4 large sweet potatoes cooked, skinned, and mashed)
1/4 C. margarine (or butter), melted
1/4 C. orange juice
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
15 big marshmallows

Mix everything except the marshmallows. Place in 1-quart casserole. Top with marshmallows. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes.

Et voila.

Last Year In The Life Of Sonja: Counting to a Billion, Find Your Sexy Name