Obviously, there’s a lot to love about putting a book in the world that has your name on it. No matter how simple it is or how few copies are sold, it endures (at least until it goes out of print). But probably what I love best are the emails I receive from kind souls who take the time to tell me how much they liked it. Well, that and an email from my publisher that includes the words “royalty cheque.” Perhaps the best part of that discussion was asking if she could wire the money to my Swiss bank account. All I need is an archenemy, a gun and some missing microfilm.
Yes, apparently the time has come for me to finally, finally see some green from this whole debacle. And not a moment too soon. There’s a long Swiss winter coming and my 8 year old boots are not up to the task, plus there’s that bill for 2 tons of sour cream and chocolate .
I’m not sure how much cash is coming yet, all I have is an approximation of the amount: about 2.5% of my annual income as a fancy-pants psychiatrist. And it only took me a little over 2 years to achieve this remarkable feat. Pas mal, n’est-ce pas?
Of course an artist of my stature would never say it’s about the money. Oh no, it’s all about the enrichment of the lives of others. Entertaining the ‘masses’ is reward enough, right? Who needs to be on a best-sellers list or have Oprah endorse you to the world? And I’m sure Helen Fielding is writing that 3rd Bridget Jones book just to keep her writing muscles toned.
You all know I cannot tell a lie. If I could figure out a way to become the next popular book phenomenon, I would. Not for the fame or attention, I don’t go in for that sort of stuff. The one local TV interview I did last spring almost killed me, a sweaty giraffe caught in headlights. No, it’s the multi-zero royalty cheques I could get into. I mean if I had half of Elizabeth Gilbert’s money, I’d burn all of mine.
But my petite livre is just that, a little book, and I’m grateful to be getting paid for it at all. I see now why writers always say, “Don’t quit your day job.” And, sooner or later, I gotta get me one of those. My money’s on later.
So, merci bien to those who bought a copy, and for those who plan to give one to everyone they know, the perfect Christmas gift (dainty elbow nudge, charming wink), merci d’avance.
I’ll likely never make an actual living at this foolishness, and that’s okay. For now, I continue to rely on my aspartame daddy, Neil (sugar just doesn’t capture the reality of the situation). At the end of the day, it’s all about finding the right mix of fulfillment and finances. Apparently, as long as I’m financed, I’m fulfilled.