Musette picks me up from work later that night. As we descend into the subway, I start telling her the plan that I’ve been brewing.
There is a book printing station here in New York, I say. It is connected to the one at Powell’s. My plan is to print five copies of my book. I am hoping that I can get them for my author price, but I don’t know if they’ll let me because this is New York. My author price is seven dollars. The books sell for ten.
Musette tells me to hold on. She can’t hear me. There is a crowd swarming us. This entrance isn’t usually this crowded. We have to go single file down the stairs.
When we get to the platform, she tells me that I can continue.
My plan is to do poetry readings, I say. Poetry readings are like infomercials for writers. They are little concerts. I will sell the books like merch. I figure five is a decent number to get started with. If they’re seven dollars a piece, then that’s a thirty five dollar purchase. You know that I don’t like spending money, but I feel that this is worthwhile. We have to invest in our futures. It’s like Shark Tank. I’m trying to see things through entrepreneurial eyes.
Okay, she says. I support this. But it’s just the tip of the iceberg, you know? I’ve always seen writing as a business, but if you’re going to compare this to Shark Tank, then you’ve got to do more. You’ve got to get into bookstores like others get into grocery stores. Even at seven dollars, you still have very low margins.
I’m just getting started, I say. Trying to get the wheels in my mind rolling in the right direction…
The train arrives. We get on it. Once we take our seats, Musette tells me that she is proud of me.