A writer buddy of mine was recently lamenting the fact that people won’t shell out 99 cents for his book. Mine are 3.99. If everyone I know (and the people I have come into contact with online) would buy my books, my wife wouldn’t check the bank account with shaking fingers every night.
See, here’s what got me thinking. Yesterday, at about dinner time, a young man showed up at my door and launched into his spiel. When he got to the ‘before you say no’ part, I smiled and said, ‘I’m not going to say no…we’re pretty broke, but can I donate $5?” I’m not trying to brag. My 5 crumpled up one dollar bills aren’t going to change his life or break us. And I have sold stuff door to door and it is hell. So, I empathized. But it got me wondering.
I’ve bought peanut brittle to send peoples’ kids on a class trip (I LOATHE peanut brittle). I tip 20%. If you’ve ever been a waiter you don’t tip %15. I’ve bought Girl Scout cookies…sometimes from people my own age who were selling them for their Girl Scouts.
I’ve bought water for homeless people. I’ve given countless bills and handfuls of coins to buskers and various street performers. But people get downright offended about spending money on BOOKS? Something that is tangible…that they can keep…that took a lot of time and energy to write?
OK, some books suck. Mine don’t. Neither does the book written by the fellow I mentioned who priced his wonderful book at 99 cents (ahem…Antrobus).
Now, here’s the part where I sound like a whiny bitch, but bear with me. I know you have bought Girl Scout cookies and chocolate bars and blah, blah, blah.