It’s been a few weeks since I raised the prices on most of my books. And sales are…still not good. Or flat, more or less. I have sold a few at the higher prices, and thankfully, the profit from those is only a little lower than it would be from more sales at lower prices, so it’s not as bad as it could be. But it would be nicer if sales were a bit more like they were before.
I’ve done this before – raised prices, and generally about this time, I throw in the towel and lower them again, because I need to make some sort of money for the year just to justify the money I spend on web site hosting, cover art images, various marketing tools, etc (we’re not talking profit here, just general operating expenses, which I subsidize with personal funds). And then I tell myself that people will only pay what they’ll pay, and what we indies have “trained” them to pay, which is rock-bottom prices, and that there’s nothing I can do about it until I write more and better books.
This time, I’m going to stick it out. I have a few series that still need to be bundled, a host of books that need updated covers and blurbs, and a lack of sales seems like good motivation to get all that moving. And to keep working on the drafts I have going, of course. Because nothing sells old books like new books, really.
In other book news, I’m finally almost done reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (just have the epilogue left). I never know when I pick up a “literary” book whether I’m going to be engaged or get bored, because they do take more mental focus to read than my favored thriller/action-adventure novels, or a good romance romp. But this book…well, it’s engaging, poignant, and managed to hold my interest in a subject I normally actively avoid (World War II). It’s brilliantly written, though in saying so I feel like I’m selling it short. And it really brings the everyday struggle of society, even now, into pretty sharp focus.
If you haven’t read it, I’d highly recommend it.
On a completely different and frivolous note…oh man. I’m fairly certain I’ll never in my lifetime be able to justify paying for a true designer handbag, but I am completely smitten with the new Medium Valentino Rockstud Spike Chain Bag in Denim. It’s adorable, and fringy, and kinda rugged in a fun, casual-elegant sort-of-way, and if there truly was a Santa Claus, I’d ask him for one of these for Christmas. Or Independence Day (Christmas in July, anyone?).
A dual-color Valentino Candystud bag would be fun too. But the only thing less likely to find its way to my closet than a $2k designer handbag is two $2k designer handbags. Why are these things so expensive, anyways? *sigh* I know, I know. Made for the elite, to distinguish from the riff-raff. Or, just way, way overpriced. In either case, still on the list of “things I want but can’t have”. Dammit. I suppose that list is what keeps me from being too spoiled, eh?
On that note, I’m going to go finish The Book Thief before I sleep. Because nothing goes with designer bag envy so well as WWII atrocities. *eyeroll*
I often find my internal dichotomies kind of annoying. And yet, I don’t think there’s really any way around them. It’s just how the human mind works (so to speak).