The New York Times ran two annoying articles yesterday.  The first, on the front page below the fold, was titled, “On Kindle’s List, the Best Sellers  Don’t Necessarily Need to Sell.” It seems one way publishers are dealing with the panic about ebook pricing is to give away books — yes, for free — as a way to introduce (read entice) readers to the works of lesser known authors.  It has occasionally worked. By giving books away, a buzz is created which makes readers more comfortable about spending money on otherwise unknown authors. New sales are generated, new readers amassed.  Not a bad idea if it works. But for most writers, that’s a big “if”.

The second, even more annoying article (at least to me) was “Celebrities Sell Books in Britain (Talent is Optional).”  All of us who live here and have walked anywhere near a bookstore lately — or even watched a bus drive past — knows that the British publishing industry has been having a love affair with celebrity memoirs.  As Sarah Lyall wrote in her article,
         Unlike such (bestseller) lists in the United States, which tend to be mixed bags heavy on political polemic, popular sociology and inspirational memoir, the British lists are dominated by one kind of book alone, the celebrity autobiography.

Okay, some are interesting.  Some have even been written by people who have lived more than 25 years and have experienced more than just the Big Brother house.  And yes, these books, even the awful ones, have sold in the 100,000’s.  So whose fault is it? The question, though, isn’t really whose fault it is.  After all, publishing is a business and it is in the nature of businesses to make money where they can.  But the question, perhaps, is what are they doing with this money?  As Philip Stone, the charts editor of The Bookseller, is quoted as saying,

     I can’t blame them for wanting to sign up celebrities to sell books or blame retailers for stocking them…Publishers always say that the success of a celebrity memoir will bankroll books by debut authors. Whether that  is true, I don’t know, but that’s what they say.


Ugh.  So I ask, what’s the point?
This morning I sent Number 2 Son back to University after his 6-week Christmas break.  To my surprise, waving goodbye was just as difficult this time as it was the first.  So I went up to my room, turned out the lights, got back into bed and had a good old-fashioned weep.  But then I was nagged by this short story character whose been living in my head for the past few weeks, and I got up and began to finally write his story.  Two hours later, I left my room, had some lunch and moved on, feeling better, alive, and purposeful.  My conclusion for the day, then?  Writing…it may not be a living, but it’s still a life.