Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Will Write for Food
I swallowed a bite of warm breadstick. "Yeah, maybe."
"What's bugging you?"
I took a drink of Labatts and set the glass down. "I read about this dude who made a hundred thousand dollars selling his books on Kindle."
"A hundred thousand? Last year?"
"In the last three weeks."
Cheryl coughed, a fine mist of coke sprayed my face. "Three weeks?"
"That's what he claims."
"How much have your books made on Kindle?"
"Let's not talk about that."
"So, are you saying someone else's success makes you depressed?"
I pushed the spaghetti around my plate. "No, I don't begrudge his success ... more power to him ... I just wish I had little more."
"You judge your success as a writer on your sales?"
"No ... but you know what I mean ... I'd just like to have a little reward for my efforts."
"Did lack of sales stop Van Gogh from painting?"
"Oh, come on now ... don't go gettin' all philosophical on me ... the guy sells a gazzilion books and I sell five ... and it's a little frustrating ... that's all I'm saying."
"I understand ... really." Cheryl signaled the waitress for the check.
I started to reach for my wallet.
She held up her hand. "Don't worry, honey, I've got this."