money matters

Color me skeptical

I've gone back and forth on Barnes & Noble's prospects, but some news came out recently that really is making me down on the whole Nook business.

Namely, Pearson (owner of Penguin) is taking a five percent ownership share in the Nook business.

It's not just that I think Pearson is making a host of dumb decisions lately. Or that I think their rationale for doing this (securing better distribution for their educational materials?) is basically nonsensical, or that I think they're really shoring up Barnes & Noble because they're hoping nothing will ever change in bookselling.

It's also because Barnes & Noble also announced that holiday sales sucked for the Nook business (which, it should be noted, includes both e-books and e-readers), and that the company is going to miss its numbers. According to Publisher's Weekly, twice as many Nooks sold this Thanksgiving weekend than last--which parallels Amazon's report of stronger Kindle sales that weekend--but still, Barnes & Noble is not going to meet their revenue projections. (And I know it's not been a great holiday season for retailers in general, but Amazon isn't saying that they're going to miss their numbers.)

I've mocked Barnes & Noble for being rather creative in how they present themselves to the market, and I think you see the fallout from that sort of creativity here. Either Barnes & Nobles projections were bullshit designed to keep investors from running away, or the company has been doing a horrible job selling e-books and e-readers. Or both.

How that click thing works

I posted earlier about my first pay-per-click advertising campaign, and Jim Self commented, "I bet someone out there has crunched the numbers on what level of bid gets the best results."

If you're scratching your head as to what he's talking about, when you book a pay-per-click advertising campaign, you bid a certain price that you will pay if the ad is actually clicked on. Bid too low, and your ad never actually gets shown to anyone--which is what happened my first day. Bid really high, and your ad will get shown to everyone, right away!

Sounds like a good idea to bid high, right? But it's not, for a couple of reasons.

For one thing, you need to look at your potential revenue per customer--you don't want to bid a dollar a click if you only have one 99-cent book out and can only possibly make 35 cents off each customer. The math isn't always that simple--my first pay-per-click campaign was for a free book, after all, but the hope is that they'll buy copies of Trust. Some already are, which is awesome, but I have no idea what the conversion rate is, so I can't sit down and calculate my exact return on investment. But it really doesn't matter--I'm more likely to cover the cost of the campaign (which wasn't much--$71.22) if I keep the bid price low.

The other reason to bid low is that you set a daily budget, and once your campaign hits that cost, it closes down for the day. So, if you have a daily budget of $100, and you bid a dollar a click, your ads will stop showing after 100 people click. If you bid 50 cents a click, 200 people can click before your campaign goes dark. Ten cents a click? One thousand people!

If you're running an ad campaign where the click takes someone to where they can buy your book, then clearly you want to maximize clicks. In that scenario, getting as many clicks as you can before your money runs out matters far more than having the ad shown to everyone quickly.

The tricky thing is that, as Lindsay Buroker notes, Facebook suggests a range of bids per click that is very high. Lindsay said that Facebook suggested she bid almost a dollar per click; she wound up doing fine at 20 cents. I'm assuming that costs have gone up because of all the post-holiday advertising, because I initially bid 30 cents, and the ad wasn't being shown. I raised it to 50 cents, and the ad got shown fairly often.

That was for a short-term campaign--I was only running those ads for two days, so I couldn't wait and see if the bid price was going to drop. Now I've started a new campaign advertising Trang at its normal price, and I've set the bid price at 40 cents, which gets it shown some, but not a lot. I'm fine with that because this is a long-term campaign, so I can check on it every now and again to see if the bid price should be raised or lowered.

So, just to demonstrate potential-revenue-per-customer thinking:

The campaign for free copies of Trang cost me 50 cents per customer and has the potential to make me $3.44 per customer (assuming 100% buy through for both books, which is absurd, but we're talking potential here). That means if one out of every 6 or 7 clickers goes on to buy Trust, I will break even.

The current campaign for Trang is costing me 40 cents per customer and has the potential to make me $5.44 per customer. That means if one out of every 13 or 14 clickers goes on to buy both books, I will break even.

If I only had Trang out, the first campaign would be strictly a money-loser, and the second campaign would have only the potential to make me $2 per customer (one out of every 5 clickers would have to buy Trang for me to break even). If Trang was 99 cents, the second campaign would have only the potential to make me 35 cents per customer, which would make it a money-loser at my current bid price of 40 cents.

If Trials was already out and priced at $4.99, the first campaign would have the potential to make me $6.88 per customer, and the second would have the potential to make me $8.88 per customer.

In other words--get back to work!

The new News Corp news

I used to be a business reporter, and one of the things that frustrates me as I try to keep up with the exciting world o' publishing is that most publishers are tiny slices of much larger conglomerates that don't necessarily break out the earnings of their publishing houses.

But the proposed split of News Corp is changing that, at least for HarperCollins. News Corp is proposing that it become two companies: Fox Group, which will be TV and movies, and the new News Corp, which will be the newspapers and HarperCollins.

Because of this, News Corp released a preliminary proxy statement a couple of days ago. It's no ordinary proxy statement (yes, I am a business nerd, and I have a strong sense of what constitutes an ordinary proxy statement): It basically states the financials of the new News Corp as though it were an independent company.

Which means that, instead of lumping together the newspapers and HarperCollins and God knows what else as "publishing," News Corp broke them apart!

As you can imagine given my dorkitude, I very nearly peed my pants with excitement over this.

One of the notable things about this is how small HarperCollins is compared to the rest of News Corp. By revenues, the new News Corp is only going to be about a quarter of the size of the old News Corp. And HarperCollins only contributes about 14% of the new New Corps' revenues.

There's a lot of drama coming out of this proxy statement (see? I'm not the only geek in town) because the new News Corp lost a lot of money this year. But that loss didn't come from HarperCollins--it came from the various scandals surrounding News Corp's newspapers doing all kinds of things they shouldn't have. The newspapers and news services account for 82% of the new News Corps revenues, so changes in that business segment result in big changes in the bottom line.

HarperCollins, though, is making a modest profit.

How modest? Well, first I'm going to asterisk all this by saying that they report EBITDA (earning before interest, taxes, depreciation, and amortization), and I hate EBITDA. EBITDA is one of these not-especially-well-regulated numbers that leaves a lot of leeway for bullshit, plus who the hell cares if you're making a profit before you pay your taxes and other obligations? You still have to pay them, and you'll still be up the creek if you can't.

But EBITDA is what they report, so EBITDA is what I'll talk about--all the really exciting depreciation and amortization is happening with the newspaper unit, anyway.

So, in the fiscal year ending June 30, 2012, HarperCollins reported an EBITDA of $86 million on revenues of $1.189 billion.

In the fiscal year ending June 30, 2011, HarperCollins reported an EBITDA of $93 million on revenues of $1.195 billion.

And in the fiscal year ending June 30, 2010 (yes! they gave out three years of information! I'm so happy!), HarperCollins reported an EBITDA of $106 million on revenues of $1.269 billion.

Notice something about those numbers? They're going down. Not a cratering, but a steady decline, so that HarperCollins cleared $20 million less (before taxes and all that) in 2012 than it did in 2010.

And it's not just that the overall number going down--HarperCollins' profit margins are dwindling, too, meaning that profits are falling faster than revenues. The company had a profit margin (before taxes, etc) of 8.4% in 2010, 7.8% in 2011, and 7.2% in 2012. (To compare: The scandal-plagued newspaper division had a profit margin of 13.3% in 2012.)

According to the company, the decline in revenues in 2011 was because 2010 was an especially good year (there was a licensing settlement and a hit book in 2010). The decline in revenues in 2012, in contrast, was "primarily due to lower print book sales at the U.S. General Books division." Oh, and that pesky antitrust lawsuit didn't help earnings any, either.

Of course I had to say a little (OK, a lot) more

Yeah, you knew that this dinky post on the analysis of E.L. James' book deal would not be enough for me.

To boil it down, Shawn Coyne guesstimates that James made $58.5 million from her deal with Random House, which sounds pretty good until he guesstimates that she could have made $61.25 million on her own.

He assumes that, on her own, James would have sold only 8.75 million copies (25% of the 35 million copies she sold with Random House), and that they would all be e-books (instead of a mix of e-books and paper books).

Obviously Coyne makes a solid ton of assumptions here about everything--James' royalty rate, Random House's production costs, you name it. These are guesstimates, not real figures.

So let's play with them! Let's say that, on her own, James sold exactly as many e-books as she sold with Random House. After all, Coyne argues (and I agree) that a traditional publisher doesn't really bring a serious advantage to the e-book playing field.

Coyne assumes a 50/50 split between paper and e-books, which leaves James selling 17.5 million e-books.

She would make $122.5 million.

In Coynes' 25% scenario, James makes $2.625 million more if she self-publishes and never sells a paper copy. In my 50% scenario, she makes $64 million more.

Yes, yes, yes, this is all pie-in-the-sky stuff. It's assumptions piled upon assumptions. But that extra $2.65 million comes from a pretty conservative set of assumptions, just like my guesstimates about Stephanie Meyer's earnings versus those of her publisher.

Someone might read Coyne's post and think, Well, James sold 35 million copies! For that kind of exposure, I'd take a $2.65 million haircut, especially since I'm still getting $58.5 million!

But would you take a $64 million haircut? Or maybe some number in between--$20 million? $30 million? $40 million?

I really want for writers to think about their earnings potential in a much more serious way, because the money is there. Hit books really do make obscene amounts of money, but like Klayman, the vast majority of writers are happy if they can afford a bagel with lox for breakfast every day.

Recently Marvin Miller passed away. He was the man who radically altered how much sports players are paid. When Miller took over the baseball player's union, the minimum salary was was $6,000 a year, and a third of players were making less than $10,000. Can you imagine the change in mentality that had to happen for anyone to even envision a future where a baseball player would sign a $252 million contract? Can you understand why so many baseball players--not the team owners, not the fans, but the other baseball players--were so angry when Curt Flood likened the reserve clause to slavery?

It takes a certain amount of nerve to say, "I am worth $122.5 million. Don't you dare give me less." We're socialized not to make these kinds of demands--writers are supposed to be poor.

But guess what? If your book makes $122.5 million, you are worth $122.5 million. Or more--Coyne estimates that Random House made $163.5 million off of James. Why does that company deserve that money more than she does? Because they're not embarrassed to have it?

Raab is on crack

Seriously:

[E]ven with charging only 99 cents for some books, [author Stephanie] Bond says she made more than half a million dollars in the last year. . . .

“When you price a book at 99 cents, $1.99, I personally think it devalues the author’s time and effort,” said Jamie Raab, the chief of Grand Central Publishing, part of Hachette books.

Let's look at that again!

[E]ven with charging only 99 cents for some books, [author Stephanie] Bond says she made more than half a million dollars in the last year. . . .

“When you price a book at 99 cents, $1.99, I personally think it devalues the author’s time and effort,” said Jamie Raab, the chief of Grand Central Publishing, part of Hachette books.

Well, Bond sure enough has been told! I bet she'll go scampering back to traditional publishing in no time flat!

Some pots of gold are better than others

I was reading Passive Voice today (hey, look, a scam! and another scam!), and I saw this item about Bella Andre (aka Nyree Bellevue), which says:

Take Bella Andre, for instance. She has been published by Hachette, Random House and Simon & Schuster but has long since left the traditional publishing world to go it alone. She told me earlier this year that she made over $1 million in 2011 and recently told TIME Magazine that she’s made $2.4 million this year.

That Time article (note: PDF) also notes that Amanda Hocking got her $2 million deal from St. Martins, and Fifty Shades of Grey got a seven-figure deal from Random House.

So that seems like six of one, a half-dozen of the other, right? I mean, if you hit it big, it doesn't really matter what route you take, right?

Well, not really. E.L. James may have gotten seven figures from Random House, but the success of her book has just allowed Random House to pay out a $5,000 bonus to its employees, which, as Warren Curtly points out, means that Random House got at least eight figures from E.L. James. It's the story of Stephanie Meyer all over again--$21 million sounds like a buttload of money, until you realize that it's only a small fraction of what her publisher made.

The important thing to remember about Bellevue's $2.4 million is that, unlike an advance, it is not a one-time payment. Bellevue isn't getting $2.4 million and then seeing nothing until her next contract is signed. She has developed a category of assets that pay her $2.4 million per year. (And that comes on top of the $1 million she got from Harlequin for her paper rights and any movie money that may come down the pike.)

Right now, Bellevue is busting her butt, working 70 hours a week to crank out and promote books, which is why her annual income went from $1 million to $2.4 million. But what if she couldn't? What if some major life roll hit her, and she wasn't able to dedicate the time and energy she gives to her career right now?

Chances are that her income would decrease, sure. But would it bottom out overnight? Probably not. Her current fans would presumably lose interest if she stopped putting out new titles, but at this point, even without huge promotional efforts, new readers would continue to discover her books, especially as more and more people buy tablet computers and start reading e-books.

I know people's synapses start to fry whenever large sums of money start getting mentioned, but there's a big difference between getting $2.4 million as a one-off hunk of money (invested relatively conservatively, that would give you an annual income of to $48,000-$72,000 per year) and getting $2.4 million or thereabouts as your annual income. A big difference. (How big? Making the same assumptions about investment return as I did earlier, you'd have to get a lump sum of roughly $100 million to pull in an annual income of $2.4 million.)

And, frankly, it just annoys me to see a publisher get 90+ percent of the pie. Screw that.

End of year data dump: Counting costs

It's not to early for this again, right?

Note that I do not include the cost of a new computer (my old one was a decade old and was having serious problems, so I probably would have replaced it anyway) or organizer dues for my Meetup group (that's really a personal expense).

Spent creating Trust:

$568.75....copy editing

$9.51........proof from CreateSpace

$25.00......expanded distribution on CreateSpace

$603.26....TOTAL

Spent creating audiobook of Trang:

$69.18....microphone

$19.70....pop filter

$88.88....TOTAL

Spent marketing:

$46.23........hard copies of Trust and Trang for reviewers

$19.93........postage to mail hard copies to reviewers

$65.00........Westercon admission

$20.00........Westercon parking

$152.15......Westercon flyers

$32.04.......GeekGirlCon admission (one day)

$216.22.....GeekGirlCon flyers

$55.00.......Foolscap admission

$23.54.......Foolscap flyers

$45.00.......Norwescon admission

$675.10.....TOTAL

 

GRAND TOTAL: $1,367.24

 

Which is actually more than last year's $1,308.68.

The major costs were copy editing (which was considerably more expensive this time around because the copy editor did a style sheet and a lot of checking for series continuity) and all those science fiction conventions, which I've noted are not a particularly effective means of marketing. In fact, I debated over whether or not to include the Norwescon admission as a marketing cost, because at this point I really consider going to a con as more of a personal indulgence. Nonetheless, you can watch how I educated myself regarding the cost of flyers: The Westercon flyers were expensive because they were four color, the GeekGirlCon flyers were expensive because there were 4,500 of them, but the Foolscap flyers were cheap, cheap, cheap (if remarkably ineffective--but that had nothing to do with their cheapness).

Criminals!

Recently an elderly relative received an alarming phone call from someone purporting to be from Microsoft. She had a terrible virus on her computer, this fellow told her, and for the low, low price of $250, he would take control of her computer remotely, fix the problem, and download a bunch of software onto her computer to make sure it never happened again!

She was incredibly grateful that this man alerted her to this horrible problem--she knew that her computer was old and buggy, but she had no idea things were that bad--so she promptly gave him her credit card number and let him download whatever he wanted!

Then she told the younger generation about it, and we made her unplug her Internet connection, get a new computer, and inform her credit-card company that she had been defrauded and needed a new card.

We're hoping that the credit-card company can sic the police on this guy so that he doesn't steal from any more seniors, but other than that, we're pretty much just focusing on the this-elderly-relative-needs-more-supervision end of things.

Imagine, though, that the guy running this scam actually worked for Microsoft. The Surface bombed, Windows 8 was a nonstarter, and Microsoft thought, "Screw it--the tech industry is just too hard! All that innovation is really expensive and doesn't always pay off. I know! Let's buy a company that specializes in ripping off addlepated and tech-adverse senior citizens!"

So, they did, and this guy who charges elderly people to install malware on their computers wasn't lying when he claimed he worked for Microsoft and went through the whole charade (which he did) of consulting with his boss in Seattle.

Well, in that case, we probably wouldn't just leave it in the hands of the credit-card company. In that case, we'd be looking at Microsoft's $227 billion market capitalization and its $72 billion in annual revenues and its $66 billion in cash, and we'd be discussing a lawyer seeing if we couldn't get a piece of that--not because we are especially greedy (although I certainly wouldn't turn down a piece of $66 billion), but because we'd be royally pissed that some allegedly reputable company had stooped to this kind of patently illegal fraud.

Which is why I think the whole strategy of traditional publishers allying themselves with Author Solutions is going to blow up in their faces. As Victoria Strauss (via PV) mentions, it's no secret that Author Solutions is a scam press. In the past, writers ripped off by the company might have just decided to lick their wounds and go home--after all, self-publishing has always been kind of a scammy business, right? And these scammers are often hard to locate and rarely have the assets to make a long legal fight worthwhile.

But when you're getting ripped by a company like Penguin (owned by Pearson PLC, with a market cap of $15 billion, annual revenues of $10 billion, and $1.6 billion in cash) or Simon & Schuster (owned by CBS Corp, with a market cap of $25 billion, annual revenues of $15 billion, and $1.5 billion in cash), that math starts to change. Suddenly, the guy who ripped you off is really easy to find, and he's got a freaking ton of money! Plus, business newspapers love a good scandal, and a public company has a lot to lose when its reputation gets tarnished--investors start to avoid it, which makes it much harder to raise money--so they are quite motivated to pay someone to shut up about their questionable business practices.

So, why would a "reputable" publisher set itself up for the kind of bad publicity and legal hassles you get when you start ripping off little old ladies? Ah, well, that I think is another case of large publishers having gotten so into the habit of crossing an ethical and legal line that they've forgotten it ever existed. I mean, I don't think it's a coincidence that Harlequin, the publishing house of "Authors shouldn't be able to make a living" fame, is the target of a really impressive class-action lawsuit. And if you read today's blog post by Kris Rusch, just as an aside she mentions:

I certainly wouldn’t be earning a living [writing for traditional publishers]—a reasonable, above-poverty rate living—any more. In the last few years, I earned about one-quarter of what I used to earn in my bad years. The advances have gone from survivable to insulting. And now publishers are fudging on royalties owed....

Recently a friend started contract negotiations with a medium-sized publisher that I’ve worked for. The contract the friend forwarded me was shockingly bad, worse than any I’d seen in the last year, grabbing every right, including rights to all of my friend’s future projects. The contract only paid for the first project. The rights to the other projects could have been tied up for decades without payment because this once-honorable publisher got greedy.

Greedy and lazy. Greedy and lazy.

Business-y links

I had the kid today, but Passive Voice is totally on fire, so I thought I'd link:

Simon & Schuster is entering the vanity press business, partnering with none other than Author Solutions, now owned by Penguin and soon to be owned by Random House. So, that's like three major publishing houses deciding that straight-out ripping off the ignorant and naive is the proper way for a respectable publishing house to earn revenue nowadays, and if Simon & Schuster merges with HarperCollins, it will be four. [ETA: David Gaughran has an excellent post on just how bad Author Solutions is. If you want to work for a company that will refer to you as a "fucking asshole," I respectfully suggest that you take the tens of thousands of dollars that they will bilk you out of and invest it in therapy instead.]

Harlequin's authors are still suing it, and if you're wondering just how scummy Harlequin is, the original article lays it all out in loving detail.

(I'm going to link to my old "Trust the Process, Not the Publisher" post now. No reason.)

Anyway, last Christmas, everybody and their dog got a Kindle; this Christmas, the dog is getting two. And someone is getting tired of hearing Jonathan Franzen whine about it.

Getting away from PV for a moment (shocking, I know), I'd mentioned earlier that Lindsay Buroker was posting about diversifying away from Amazon. How has that gone for her? Pretty well! She says:

In these last few months, I’ve reached a point where I could make a modest living as an author even without Amazon.

She credits having free books available with goosing sales at other retail outlets, as well as international sites.

So it is possible to diversify, and I find it notable that the people who think it's really important to do so (Buroker, Kris Rusch, Dean Wesley Smith, me) are all people who have a significant history of self-employment and dealing with clients. And in an amazing coincidence, we all seem to think about this issue the same way--i.e. we all get REALLY REALLY REALLY nervous about being dependent on a single source of revenue. As Buroker writes:

I wasn’t too concerned about this until I started thinking about becoming a full-time independent author, AKA ditching the day job. I didn’t want to depend on one revenue stream, not if that money had to pay all the bills. As lucrative as Amazon can be, one never knows when they might switch the tables (dropping to a lower royalty rate or putting your account on hold for some reason or another), and then where would you be?

Gurus

The other day I was talking about an article about Hugh Howey, and Jim Self mentioned how nice Howey's humility was. And it was nice, because Howey freely cops to not really having anything to do with Wool taking off--it just did, so he did his best to encourage it. It actually kind of annoys him because he put much more effort into promoting his other books, and the one novella he didn't promote got all the love.

The reason that was so nice to read is that there's a lot of advice out there, and sometimes you wind up dealing with people who feel their success means that they know what's best for everybody. And many writers really want that--they want someone with all the answers, who can look at their book and give them some simple plan that will magically guarantee bestsellerdom.

With someone like John Locke, it goes even further, and you get sold a book with a simple plan that will magically guarantee bestsellerdom (although he left out some bits). Or maybe the person wants to sell you some services to enact this simple plan that will magically guarantee bestsellerdom. Or maybe they want you to buy those services from their cousin (who is certainly not kicking back a piece of the action).

And you'd be a fool not to pay for that, right? I mean, after all, this person sold a bazillion copies, and who are you? It's a simple plan, and it magically guarantees bestsellerdom--what's not to like?

I would point out two things:

Thing #1: It has, alas, never been uncommon in the world of publishing for people to realize that there are a lot of folks out there who dream of becoming a bestseling writer, and that all those people sure do have a lot of money floating around in their pockets. The fact that a person may have a legitimate and lucrative business (as an agent, a publisher, or yes, even as a bestselling writer) doesn't mean that they're necessarily inclined to let all that lovely money go.

Thing #2: Nobody can ever EVER EVER predict what books will become bestsellers! NOBODY!!! NOBODY can MAKE a book into a bestseller--EVER. The streets of publishing are littered with the corpses of executives who thought that they could. If God himself appeared in the sky in his fiery glory and said to me, "Mary Sisson, I can guarantee that your next book will be a bestseller," I would laugh and laugh, and then feel really bad that so many people believed in this guy for so long. Overpromising is the mark of a scammer.

The "I sold all these books!" card is actually not all that rare these days. It's really wonderful that so many people have been able to make self-publishing work for them, but if you dig down and try to find the "secret" to their success, you will find:

Some think you should offer free books, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should offer 99-cent books, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should advertise, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should use KDP Select, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should have your book available everywhere, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should be open to traditional-publishing deals, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should do giveaways and prizes, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should use social media, and some think you shouldn't.

Some think you should blog, and some think you shouldn't.

What do they have in common? All those people can point to their copious sales and say, "I'm an expert." It's the story of the blind men and the elephant.

Although it can be hard to remember this, it's actually a very good thing that there are several possible paths to success in self-publishing, instead of just one. It reminds me of the best advice I've ever seen regarding exercise: What is the very best, very healthiest exercise possible, the one that will get you the most fit? The exercise you actually do. If it works on paper and doesn't work for you, it doesn't work.

I mentioned before that I like Lindsay Buroker's approach. But I should also mention that I don't try to be her. Lindsay hires out just about everything. I hire out almost nothing! She likes to focus on her writing, and indeed her success is probably in no small part due to her copious output. I've already spent years experiencing the joys of writing seven fucking days a week, and it makes me happier to finally figure out why none of my mix tapes ever came out right.

With Buroker, 1. if it makes her want to hang herself, she doesn't do it, and 2. she's willing to try different things. I think those two elements are common to the vast majority of writers who have found success self-publishing. The willingness to explore, to find one's own path, to keep experimenting is really crucial.

It's also a lot harder to do than glomming onto someone's simple plan that will magically guarantee bestsellerdom. It's easy to be a child and get led by the hand. It's harder to be an adult.

Once you're dead....

Kris Rusch did a post on having a will and a literary executor, and Passive Guy (who is a lawyer) chimes in as well. (Note that any executor position is a job. People rarely want jobs for which they are not paid.)

My grandfather was also a lawyer and was the vice president in charge of estates and trusts for a bank, so I certainly had the need for things like wills drummed into my head at an early age. (In fact, I first got a will when I was in my early 20s and had no dependents, which amused the hell out of some people.)

But I'm going to point out something that may seem a little contradictory: You can't predict the future.

My grandfather thought he could. He knew all the ins and outs of estate law, and he drew up a monster of a trust designed to virtually eliminate taxes and to ensure that no one in the family would ever be poor again!!!

The problem is, he drew it up in the 1970s. Tax law has changed considerably since then, so strategies that were supposed to save us money no longer do. Instead, they greatly complicate record-keeping and greatly increase the fees we have to pay lawyers and accountants. The institutions that were supposed to look after us no longer exist. Coping with all this crap is extremely time-consuming, and we are planning to petition the court to dissolve this trust as soon as it is practical because we don't want the next generation to have to deal with it.

So, while I do think you should certainly have a will, don't be a control freak about it. If, a century from now, your great-grandkid blows all your hard-earned money on drugs and winds up in the poorhouse, that's on him. There's only so much you can do.

Compare and contrast

Passive Voice has two links up today that were pretty interesting to read in juxtaposition.

The first was titled, "Hugh Howey Doesn't Need a Publisher, Thank You Very Much" (a title that made Howey feel compelled to point out that he does have a publisher for his print editions abroad, a fact that is mentioned in the body of the article). It is very upbeat, noting the Howey has gone from an unknown wanna-be to someone who has sold 300,000 copies of Wool alone, despite the fact that he did very little promotion for the book.

The funny thing was, Howey didn't need a publisher. He was doing just fine on his own. "You do so well self-published, it's hard for publishers to compete with what you can do on your own," he says. "I make 70 percent royalty rates on sales here in the U.S., and if I went with a publisher, that would be cut to almost one-sixth. And so, you know, we sat down with them, and they had some nice offers, but I'm handing them a bestseller with a film contract attached and all of these other things attached and what they're offering is just not as good as what I'm doing currently. I showed them what I'm earning now, and they kind of said, I don't know if we can compete with that."[...]

If Howey had his way, all authors would go the self-publishing route. "My opinion these days is that everyone is better off to start out with self publishing," he says. "It's no longer the career-killer it used to be. ... All publishing success is like winning the lottery, whether you do it along the traditional path or the self-publishing path. You have to get lucky several times over either way. Neither one is a way to make it rich."

He adds, "My realization has been that whatever kind of book you have ... you'll earn more and be in a better position if you own the rights. This is true for a book that will hardly sell, for a blockbuster, and for everything in between."

The second article is titled "Book Publishing Crisis: Capitalism Kills Culture." As you might guess, it's more of a downer.

If you work in, say, journalism, or the music business, you’ve seen this kind of thing before: the erosion and then collapse of an industry, often after mergers and acquisitions announced with buzzwords – “synergy”! – or reassurances that new ownership means that nothing significant will change because, after all, we really value the kind of work you people do. Will publishing continue to slide, gradually, or will it fall apart, like newspapers – which have lost approximately a third of their staffs since the recession and seen advertising revenue sink to 1953 levels — and record labels – where annual sales of the top-10 albums have gone from over 60 million to about 20 million in roughly a decade. Members of the creative class have been here, and it hasn’t worked out real well for them. [Actually, David Byrne says it works out fine and gives the numbers to prove it, but what does he know?]

“It’s really painful,” says Ira Silverberg, a veteran editor (Grove/Atlantic, Serpent’s Tail) and agent (Sterling Lord Literistic) now serving as director of literature for the National Endowment for the Arts. ”I’m sure I’ll have tons of former colleagues looking for work, and they won’t find it. Regardless of what [executives] say, it’s going to be a smaller business.”

Obviously, the article views the world through the lens of traditional publishing lens, quoting a former agent and editor, not some scruffy writer. In fact, a major focus of the articles is, how will the changes in publishing affect editors?

But what about the scruffy writers? Oh, pity them, for they shall live without advances!

And while self-publishing has brought some good work out along with a lot of bad, there is little to no money at the front end. (We tend to hear about the rare exception of runaway success, not the hundreds of thousands of self-published books per year that go nowhere or lose their authors money.) For the independently wealthy, those who married well, or businessmen writing valiantly on the secrets of their success, these are real options. As with much of the Internet-driven transformation of the creative class, authors hoping to make a middle-class living with a modest advance will increasingly be out of luck.

This is one of those things where everything said is true, but basically irrelevant. There is no money at the front end in self-publishing--in fact, there are up-front costs. Life is indeed easier for self-published writers (and traditionally-published writers, and all sorts of other people) who already have money. If you want to live from advance to advance, you'll be SOL because there won't be any advances.

What's not mentioned? Oh, what was it Howey said?

I make 70 percent royalty rates on sales here in the U.S., and if I went with a publisher, that would be cut to almost one-sixth.

Ah, yes....

The article's "solution" to all this is--a huge new government program! A ministry of culture, which will obviously provide corporate welfare to traditional publishers and ensure that nothing ever changes again! Because that's totally going to fly in this specific country at this specific time with this specific deficit, just like the Department of Justice was totally willing to exempt the very special industry of publishing from antitrust law. That is one clear-eyed appraisal of the landscape right there!

Anyway, I think when you read the news from one part of an industry, and it's all happiness and we're-in-the-money, and then you read something from another part, and it's all gloom-and-doom and we're-going-down-without-a-huge-bailout, you do need to ask yourself, where am I in all this? If you're a writer, are you set up so that you can get the hell out of the collapsing side of things? If you're an editor or a cover artist or someone else who provides services to writers, are you reaching out to indie writers and learning about their needs, or are you locking yourself in with a single client who may soon vanish?

Filthy, filthy promotions!

Passive Voice has a great rant today inspired by a pretty silly post bewailing how indie writers are devaluing their work with the 99-cent price point and freebies and giveaways in exchange for a reader promoting the book in some way.

The original post is very over-the-top and contains the hilarious line, "Traditionally published authors aren’t stooping to these tactics." (You know, like sock-puppet reviews and selling cheap books.) And PG comes back in a way I think is awesome, pointing out that if you actually value literature and reading, then the rise of indie publishing should make you very happy.

The funny thing is, the original post was written by a bestselling author who works as a consultant for other indie authors. And the other day I met a bestselling author who works as a consultant for other indie authors who has embraced things like the 99-cent price point and giveaways with equal if not greater stridency. And of course I can think of two authors right off the top of my head who credit their success in large part to the savvy use of freebies. (So, you know, there's a lesson about blindly following "experts" here.)

But the thing that really struck me about the original post was the writer's clear discomfort with the concept of promotions.

Which is odd, right? I mean, no one writes articles in Retailing Today that say, "For God's sake, DON'T PUT YOUR STUFF ON SALE!!! NO FREEBIES!!! DON'T OFFER YOUR CUSTOMERS A CHANCE AT A GIFT CARD IN EXCHANGE FOR LIKING YOU ON FACEBOOK!!! YOU'RE DEVALUING YOUR BRAND!!!!"

Sure, a company can devalue a retail brand via promotions, but it has to be a VERY high-end brand for that to happen (or the promotions have to be so terribly mismanaged that they make people feel like they're being ripped off). To be vulnerable, the brand also has to thrive on recognizability--if I have an Hermès bag, you know I paid a freaking arm and a leg for it. That is a major reason why people buy Hermès bags. Hermès does not put its bags on sale.

I don't know how an author can possibly create that kind of brand. If I'm reading Stephen King on my Kindle, how the hell are you supposed to know? If I'm reading Stephen King in a hardback, it's not like you're going to look at that and say, "Ooooh, that's a Stephen King book! Gosh, I wish I could afford one of those!" You're not going to sneer if I got it on sale or--shudder--at an outlet. That is completely irrelevant to your perception of the book's worth. (It's true that books can be status objects, but they are supposed to be indicators of internal worth--I read poetry because I am such a sensitive soul, not because I'm mad flossing.)

All that is why book consumers are somewhat insensitive to price--for most readers, avoiding a bad book is more important than saving a couple of bucks.

As a result, if your book lacks reviews and recommendations, dropping the price probably won't help much. But it's also not going to hurt your brand--people might look at a dodgy 99-cent/free book, think "Looks dodgy" and avoid it. But they're not going to associate that with your name and refuse to buy all your books forever because six months ago one of your titles was 99 cents or free. (I know I've spoken out against always having books at 99 cents, but that's because I think it causes the writer to devalue the financial worth of their business, not because I think it causes the reader to devalue the literary worth of the books.)

If someone likes your stuff, or is curious about you because other people like your stuff, or otherwise thinks your book might be worth reading, doing a promotion can tip them over into buying. Which is a good thing.

Believe it or not, some people will argue that getting more buyers through promotions is not a good thing. These are usually big believers in finding your 1,000 True Fans, who apparently will give you all their money and will spend all their time promoting you and will carve your name on their foreheads with a screwdriver and will hide in your bushes chanting your book titles until the police come and haul them away.

I think it's fine to focus your attention on cultivating (non-scary) fans (who respect boundaries)! That's great! Read The Gift of Fear while you're at it!

But in addition to your True Fans, there are other audiences out there you can sell to. I wouldn't spend big hunks of my time chasing bargain-hunters, because your margins are going to be lower with them, but if someone will only buy your book if it is 99 cents, aren't you better off getting that 99 cents from them than getting nothing at all? For every tech company like Apple or Intel that make money catering to True Fans who will pay a ton of money for the latest thing, there are a dozen companies that make money catering to the more price-sensitive people in the mass market. And unlike a tech company, you can 1. tap into both markets, and 2. convert the tightwads into True Fans--there are very few people out there who won't pay more for a book they know they're going to like.

Living off windfalls

In Kris Rusch's series on why writers disappear, she mentions that many writers can't handle how differently money flows when you are your own boss than when you are an employee and you get a nice, predictable check every week or every two weeks.

She notes:

No business—not one—earns the same amount of money month in and month out. Employees do, because the employer guarantees the paycheck. But if the employer can no longer meet payroll, the employees get laid off.

The employees never see the business’s uneven income (unless that employee works in accounting), and so rarely understand how normal this is. Most people, in fact, have no idea how precarious their regular jobs really are. (Although, after this recession, more people know now than before.)

When people who’ve had steady work move to freelancing, they expect the freelance income to behave the way that their paychecks did. They expect regular and on-time.

Because indie writers get regular checks from their distributors, this problem gets compounded. The checks feel like a salary, even though they aren’t.

And so when the money decreases, or dries up, it feels personal. It hurts. What has the writer done wrong?

Nothing, except fail to plan for normal business ups and downs.

"Normal business up and downs" are why when credit dries up, it damages the entire economy--many businesses have a line of credit and borrow money to meet their payroll during the slow season in the normal course of events. It's not something they do only when business is bad; it's something they do every single year--because they don't make money in the summer, or they don't make money until the summer, or whatever. That's how their industry is, so they have developed methods to cope with it.

Most individuals haven't developed these coping skills, though. Most people are trained to expect a regular paycheck, and they have developed spending habits that align with that regular income. The way life usually operates for people with regular jobs is:

Regular money in => regular money out

Monthly rent or mortgage payments. Monthly car payments. Monthly bills. Every month, like clockwork, your expenses are X many dollars, and that number does not vary by much.

It makes total sense, because your income is Y many dollars a month, and that number doesn't vary much, either. Maybe you even get a little silly about it, leasing fancy cars and always making payments on everything because those things don't make the X number bigger than the Y number.

But what if Y is completely unpredictable? What if some months it's a HUGE number, and other months it's teeny-tiny? Well, then, you have to take a different approach.

(Actually, you don't have to--you can do what you want. I'm not your financial advisor, and I know SFA about your specific financial situation. In other words, if you go broke following my advice, that's on you--consider this my disclaimer.)

The strategy I used when I was a freelancer could be described as:

Erratic money in => strategic money out

What do I mean by strategic money? Well, I knew that my monthly income was going to go waaaaaay up and waaaaaaay down. So the goal was to get my essential expenses--the expenses that I absolutely had to pay every single month like clockwork or there would be some horrible disaster--down as low as I could.

Of course we're all human, and the temptation with a windfall (especially after a lean period) is to spend it on fun stuff. What I did was to allow myself one indulgence--something I really, really had been craving and feeling sorry for myself over. That usually took the edge off (especially if I wound up never using it, or using it and realizing that it kind of sucked). It couldn't be outrageously expensive, or something that would lead to greater monthly expenses (so, nothing I had to go into debt for). I also tried to buy it used if I could--pawn shops are excellent places to get jewelry, by the way, and there's a whole cautionary tale to be had by seeing really fancy crap that had to be hocked for 10% of what people paid for it.

The rest was spent strategically. Spending strategically meant that I took the windfall from the months with a big income and invested it into things that would bring down my essential monthly expenses. A good example of this is paying off a car--that's something that's usually pretty doable, and getting rid of that car payment is a big help for most people. Paying off debt in general also falls into this category--not only do you wipe out the payments, but then you have that line of credit available later if times get tough.

Paying stuff off isn't the only thing, though--you want to start living like some combination of a left-wing econut and a right-wing survivalist. Forget the arguments against buying in bulk--those apply to people with regular incomes. When you're flush, stock up on nonperishable essentials. Also, spend the extra money on energy-efficient appliances and reusable household goods--they will bring down your monthly expenses.

I realize that normal people with regular incomes sit around with their calculators and try to figure out when exactly these things will pay for themselves. That math is far less important to someone with an unpredictable income. If your income is erratic, getting your essential expenses down has value in and of itself, because it means that when you have very little income coming in, you'll still be able to pay your bills and live in a decent sort of way.

The sticky wicket here is always housing. In the vast majority of cases, the windfall isn't going to be anywhere large enough to pay for a place outright, and the way mortgages are usually set up, you have to make a minimum monthly payment even if you've just paid off a large chunk of the thing. If you rent, you could pay a year's worth of rent to your landlord, but I wouldn't recommend it because in my experience most landlords will happily pocket 12 months' of rent, and then come back to you in three month's time wondering why you stopped paying your rent. (No, I've never had an intelligent landlord--and I know people who tried paying two or three months' rent at a time, and their landlords were too dumb or too dishonest to cope with it.) So I would just go with having a special account dedicated to housing. Try not to raid it because you simply must go to Tahiti this year.

Yet another thing to do is to take your erratic money and turn it into predictable money. If you know that once a year you need a bunch of money to [pay taxes, buy Christmas presents, whatever] then things like certificates of deposits can be very helpful. I know the rates are very low nowadays, but you can use a CD to put money you'll need in the future someplace where you can't get at it (at least not easily) until you have to have it.

Now, if you have a really serious windfall, you can actually turn that into regular monthly or quarterly income--that's called "income investing" or "investing for income." I'm not going to get into the specifics, because different strategies work for different people. But when you see some entertainer make $20 million one year and file for bankruptcy the next, a failure to invest for income is usually the culprit. 

That sound you hear is me hitting my head against the wall

There's a guest post by writer Erin Kern (via PV) that was apparently designed specifically to give me a stroke.

The short version: Kern wrote a book. No one would publish it. She self-published. Following the patented Darcie Chan Method To Screw Yourself Out Of The Most Money Possible, she priced her book at 99 cents and left it at that price even after it took off. The book got huge--she sold 38,000 copies in a single month--despite Kern doing absolutely zero promotion. So she signed with a publishing house so that someone would do promotion, because obviously a book won't sell--certainly not to the tune of 38,000 copies a month--without promotion. Oh, and she wants to do a paper version of her book (because e-books are only a tiny fragment of the market, and when you're selling only 38,000 copies a month, you obviously have grounds to worry about your reach), and we all know that's completely impossible to do without a publisher.

Boy.

OK, for one thing its really obvious from her post that Kern loves the status of being published by a fancy house. And she doesn't want to do anything except write, so she is willing to sacrifice potentially enormous sums on the alter of I'm An Author (And That Is All I Do). So, you know, she's rather fond of prestige.

But the thing I want to look closely at is, What are the sums she is sacrificing? And that brings me to my major issue with the 99-cent price point as a permanent price for a longer work (promotional pricing or short stories are another matter).

Like I wrote about Chan, Kern found a gold mine, sold her gold at the going rate for nickel, and then convinced herself that she needed help with the business end of things because she's just a nickel miner. I can't help but think that if she had made $76,000 in the month she sold 38,000 copies instead of just $13,000, she would have been that much more reluctant to change business models. You look at $13,000 a month, and that averages to $156,000 a year--good money, to be sure, but for someone who is already pretty comfortable and perhaps is worrying about the long term, that might not seem like enough to bank on. (What if my books stop selling? Where's my nest egg?) But $76,000 a month means $912,000 a year--close to a million dollars. 

As I've mentioned before, people will throw away potentially huge sums of money if that money is not in hand. If it's abstract, future money? Forget it. That money's gone because in our minds, it never existed. We are hard-wired to hold on to what we have and to devalue what we don't have. That is called loss aversion.

You can see how loss aversion works with writers like Kern. First, they lock themselves into a situation where they are making as little money as it is possible to make from self-publishing.

Then as a result, they devalue their self-publishing business. Kern looked at her work and said, Oh, well, the most I could possibly hope to make on my own is $150,000 a year! That's no great shakes, and it's a lot of work--I want a traditional publishing contract instead!

She never saw the potential to be making $900,000 a year, because she wasn't actually doing it--it's too abstract, it's just me, some whiny blogger, second-guessing her and making projections that might never come to pass, yadda yadda yadda.

But if she had been willing to play with her prices just a little bit once sales took off, then Kern might have had a very different idea of how much her self-publishing business was worth. (Or perhaps she would have discovered that she could never make more than $13,000 a month--but at least she would know that for a fact, rather than just assuming that the worst-case scenario is the only possibility.) If it turned out that Kern could make close to a million dollars in a year--well, that's some real money. That's getting to having enough money so you can invest it and live comfortably off the investment income without having to work.

In that case, loss aversion would have started working for her instead of against her. Very few people, even rich people, are willing to throw a million dollars away, even if they love prestige and have long yearned for a traditional publishing deal.

And that, my friends, is the value of experimentation--with prices and with other things. Experiments = knowledge. Knowledge (like, how much is my self-publishing business actually worth?) is key to making good business decisions--both because you'll have the data to make logical decisions and because your gut will be telling you Don't let this go!!!

Just because it's unpleasant doesn't mean it's not true

(A note: I do seem to be getting better from that stupid sinus infection, but I'm still a little under the weather. Hopefully soon I'll be doing actual novel writing again instead of just blathering on here.)

Last night as I was lying in bed, blowing my nose, I started thinking again about the whole kerfuffle over Amazon's KDP Select exclusivity program. Some thoughts occurred to me, and I resolved to write a blog post about them in the morning. Then morning came, and Passive Guy also had some thoughts on the kerfuffle, so at least I'm not alone in thinking this topic could benefit from a little probing (which will hopefully not degenerate into the beating of a dead horse).

As I mentioned in my earlier post, one of the things that struck me about the comments were how upset people were that Kris Rusch challenged KDP Select (and challenged it mildly--she has books enrolled in KDP Select, so it's not like she's rabidly against it). And she notes, "The 'spirited discussion' . . . happens every time I write something even passingly negative about Kindle or Select."

Passive Guy touches on this in his post, where he notes that some of the comments on his site got "a bit heated," which he argues is "typical." The reason, he writes (emphasis added):

The certitude of small sample sizes leads authors to question or discount others who report much different sales experiences. If someone comments that 78.23% of their ebook sales happen on Nook, that person must be an outlier. Because, of course, I’m not an outlier. What happens to me must be what is happening to most authors.

And if I’m the outlier, I must be doing something wrong and I don’t like to think about that.

People don't like to think about the possibility that they might be doing something wrong. And they ESPECIALLY don't like to think about the possibility that they might be doing something risky.

So you wind up with lovely little logic tangles, like the comment on Rusch's post, "My short-term goal was to get to a place where I could reliably support myself and my family with my books."

Guess what? RELIABLY supporting yourself and your family is NOT a short-term goal, because you can't support your family really well for six months and then stop. That person made a gamble on KDP Select, it paid off, and now she's...wait for it...diversifying out of KDP Select (because she's not actually stupid).

Another wrote, "there is an objective way to measure the success of various approaches to self-publishing: revenue."

HOLY FUCK NO!!! God! That's like saying the "objective" way to measure the success of investing is by the percentage return on your stock. So if you have every last dime tied up in a stock with a P/E ratio of 2,000, you're in great shape because that stock has gone up 500% over the past three weeks! No problems there!

Remember--your time frame matters. A lot. Are you making lots of revenue now, but it's going to evaporate the next time Amazon changes its algorithms? (Sorry, kids, hope you ate your fill over the past six months!) Are you setting yourself up to have a broader, more stable audience, or are you setting yourself up to make a big SPLAT and wind up the centerpiece of a Wall Street Journal pity piece?

The question you need to ask yourself is, What happens if the plug is pulled on KDP Select? What if Amazon isn't available to me? What do I do then?

This isn't some cold-medication-inspired gloom-and-dooming. It's reality. Amazon will block books on the suspicion that there might be something funny with them--what do you do if that happens to you? Rusell Blake wrote about how, by simply altering its algorithm, Amazon dramatically reduced his sales: "Whereas I would see 150-200 books a day sold following a free promo in March or April, my May promos bumped sales to maybe 20-30 per day."

That's several hundred sales--gone! Poof! Hopefully Blake has other marketing strategies in the works and can make up those sales. Hopefully he wasn't expecting that revenue to "reliably support myself and my family."

Like I've said before, this is simply how life is when you own your own business. Depending entirely on a single source of income is always a huge risk. You may decide to take the gamble, but know that you are taking a gamble--if it pays off, your gamble paid off. That's all. Don't look back on it after the fact and say, "What I did was perfectly safe! Anyone who says it was a risky move shall taste my wrath!"

What I think people really don't want to think about when it comes to self-publishing is that it is largely dominated by a single player: Amazon. Like many if not most writers, I get almost all of my book sales through Amazon, despite not having made any kind of push there. (Of course, almost all of my income comes from the Illuminati, a proud example of a well-diversified secret society!) If Amazon stops selling self-published books, a lot of writers are going to be totally screwed. This whole little industry will experience some massive dislocation.

It's a very scary fact--it's the elephant in the room as far as risk is concerned. People really, really want to pretend it isn't there. When someone like Rusch points at it, even in passing, people freak out.

But it's there. It is there, and it is real. Ignoring this risk won't make it go away. Writing nasty notes to or about Kris Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith won't make it go away. Pretending that it's not really a risk because Amazon is so cute and user-friendly won't make it go away. The risk will still be there.

What can you do about it? You can take some of those lovely KDP Select revenues and start (say it with me) diversifying the hell out of Amazon. At the very least, diversify your marketing so that the next algorithm change doesn't gut your sales and bankrupt you. Diversify into non-e-book sales channels. Make serious, long-term efforts to build audience in other retail outlets. Don't act like Amazon is the be-all and end-all in publishing, and for you, it won't be.

Arguments, arguments, arguments!

Well, that post of Rusch's that I linked to earlier has led to an enormous spate on on-line debates about the merits and shortcomings of Amazon's KDP Select exclusivity program. (Am I overly cheery? It's just that my immediate gut reaction to that post was "happy dance!" and other people's reaction was...NOT happy dance. Maybe it's just evidence that you'll be happier if you don't take everything personally.)

Passive Guy noted the discussion on his link to the post, so he made a special post for it. Worth a read if you want proof positive that EVERY BOOK IS DIFFERENT. Yeah, sorry about that--this is why stuff like this can be argued forever and ever. Some people make big sales on other retail sites, so exclusivity with Amazon would be a fiasco, while others do marvelously well with KDP Select. And just to complicate matters, still others have some books of theirs that do really well on other retailers and other books of theirs that do really well on KDP Select, or they had no sales on other retailers for a long time, but now all of a sudden, they're seeing sales. It's insane.

It's also something to keep very much in mind whenever someone offers up an easy-peasy one-size-fits-all process for marketing your book.

Anyway, the Rusch post did generate a lot of thought-provoking comments, as well as some of the other kind. (I'll just say that one of my least-favorite Internet fight tactics is to bluntly insult someone, and then to insist later that you never insulted anyone and that anyone who interprets your blunt insult as an insult is crazy and stupid, but somehow calling such people crazy and stupid isn't an insult, either. All of the troll tactics are low, but trying to gaslight people is really low.)

One comment that's a bit off the topic but still worth talking about was this one by someone worried about their financial situation. Rusch and some others have some really good, realistic advice--I mean, it does all kind of boil down to "get a job," but they are not the least bit douchey about it. I liked Camille LaGuire's metaphor about writing not being a financial life raft--that's what I mean when I talk about protecting your core income and diversifying your sources of income. Writing is great, freelancing is great, running your own small business is great, but secure and predictable? Oh, no, it is not that.

Writers are not consumers!

So, PV has a story about the recent dismissal of a class-action suit brought by writers against Publish America.

Given how notorious Publish America is, why was the lawsuit dismissed? Because it was brought under a consumer-protection law. And as Publish America noted in its brief, "Plaintiffs are not consumers; they have entered into a commercial enterprise with PA."

The court, of course, agreed--wholeheartedly! Remember: Consumer-protection laws do not apply to writers entering into contracts with publishers. When you sign with a publisher, you are regarded by law as a business entity entering into a commercial enterprise with another business entity. The law provides you with no special protections. It assumes you and your publisher are equals--which means you'd damned well better have a lawyer, because you can be sure your publisher does.

Short term v. long term

Edward Robertson has a thought-provoking post on whether or not relying on Amazon's KDP Select is a viable long-term strategy.

It will probably not surprise you to know that I think that it's not, for many reasons, but of course I also think it's a totally reasonable short-term strategy. I'm a fan of experimentation, as long as people stay nimble and don't lock themselves in (and one of the nice things about KDP Select is that it is a short-term agreement--three months instead of the life of the copyright or something like that).

Diversifying is always difficult, which is why even in the realm of personal finance, there are people who think you shouldn't do it. When you diversify, you are almost always forgoing easy money now in favor of security later.

For example, when that long-suffering encyclopedia editor wanted me to work for him all the time, that encyclopedia was paying better than my other clients. I didn't have to prove myself to him or spend a lot of time sending out pitch letters for people to ignore--he was happy to give me more work than I could possibly do.

And yet, none of that changed the fact that that project was very suddenly shut down (another case of "we don't want to pay to print this"). Had I been solely dependent on it for income, I would have made a lot of money in the short term--and been deeply screwed, with no contacts and no clients, in the long term. The problem wouldn't have been simply one of income--it would have been the fact that I hadn't kept in touch with my other clients, who sensibly enough, would have found other freelancers to do their work.

In the world of finance, it's really easy to make a decision look good or bad by fiddling with the timeline: If you bought your house in 2004, by 2007 you looked like a genius, but by 2009, you looked like an asshole. It's the same thing with diversifying: For the first--oh, I can't remember, 12 months maybe?--I looked like an idiot for spending time on other, less lucrative projects. But two months later, I looked a whole lot smarter.

My point is that KDP Select is a tool that seems to work pretty well for some people. But it's not a perfect tool, and it doesn't work for every writer or for every project (and has never, even before the changes to Amazon's algorithms). Most important, there are other tools out there, especially when it comes to marketing, and many of these tools (garnering reviews, advertising campaigns, pushing paper books to stores) can be explored while a book is on KDP Select--it's not always a case of either/or.

If one day your KDP Select tool suddenly vanishes, you'll be happy you went to the trouble of figuring out what other tools work for you.