Every so often I have to go to Cleveland to see a doctor. Cleveland gets a bad rap. The summers are beautiful and the winters are… well, lets just say the temperature moved between 16º and 23º while I was there, which is the difference between the temperature in your freezer, and the temperature in your freezer just after you opened the door to retrieve the ice cream. Really, thermometers should just stop somewhere around 25º, because 16 and 23 feel the same.
Oddly enough, one of the best hospitals in the world is in Cleveland. It is clear that much of the industrial work that supported this city is gone. Streets are lined with what most Americans would call mansions. Stately, Gatsby-esque homes look down on the broad streets of Shaker Heights. As I took an Uber to the hospital I opened Zillow and quickly found a 7,000 square foot Tudor, with seven bedrooms, for $639,000. Now, I don’t have $639,000, nor would a bank lend me that kind of money, but one of my neighbors here in Florida sold their well-maintained 3 bed/2 bath for $500,000 and the buyer tore it down (it appears they're replacing it with a home whose architecture is inspired by La Quinta Inn.)
While I was at the doctor and I had this exchange with the guy taking my blood:
Nurse: So, what do you do?
Me: I’m a writer.
Nurse: What kind of writing?
Me: I write fiction. I'm trying to finish my second novel.
Nurse: Is it hard?
Me: No. Well… I guess it would be if I had to pay the bills with it.
Let’s have an uncomfortable conversation about money. No artist, be they a writer, a painter, a musician or a sculptor made a living out at it of the gate. I spent 20 years in fundraising and sales — that’s what puts a roof over my family and food on the table (which my daughter, five, will drop on the floor). I didn’t make meaningful money on my first novel and I never thought I would. Building my career as a writer has been a slow process. My wife used to see royalty payments from Amazon on our bank statement and ask, “Why did we get an $85 refund from Amazon?” When I explained that it was a royalty she’d be excited at the surprise income. The word “royalty” just sounds like a windfall. About a year ago, in order to build audience for the sequel in my series, I made my book free. That has resulted in a steady stream of downloads and positive reviews. Here’s the weird part: The other day I got a royalty payment from Amazon. How big was that payment?
One cent.
I laughed out loud. Do I have to declare that on my taxes? I’m not entirely sure how I made a one cent royalty off a free book, but I assume someone overseas (where my book isn't free) paid a few Tanzanian shillings for my book and that was my share. I should tape a penny to my wall like a bakery that frames the first dollar they make. Like a snowflake that lands on top of a mountain of fresh powder, I’m writing in the hope that as one book becomes two, and then four, and then six, that snowball will eventually become an avalanche that is a respectable income. It’s a tried and true business model that hundreds of authors, who have already been burned by traditional publishers or decided to forego the gatekeepers altogether, have used to earn a living writing fiction. If I’m good enough, and a little lucky, I could be the next Hugh Howey (Who Howey?), or maybe a big publisher will toss a mound of cash at me before merging with a competitor who wants to “go in another direction." Until then, I’m working with my editor who, after taking a disturbing amount of joy from ripping my manuscript to shreds, has become incredibly encouraging.
If I learned anything from my first book, it was to have a stronger outline. If I’ve learned anything from the second book it’s, stick to that outline. One little deviation from my original outline set off a chain reaction that resulted in a massive rewrite that has occupied the better part of the last six months. I’m eager to have early readers of that first draft read the new one — but I swear on the grave of JD Salinger, if someone says they liked the original version, I will murder them (in my next book, of course).
I do hope that my next book can put gas in the van and possibly offset the growing costs of a kitchen renovation. The biggest lesson I’m learning is that the rookie bravado with which I approached writing, editing and publishing my first book has been replaced with an open-eyed awareness of how I would have done things differently based on that experience. I can’t say that I’ve become a perfectionist, but I’m definitely more critical of my own material. I’m inside three months from my self-proclaimed publish date, which means I’ve got to end this sentence and get back to the task at hand: Instagram editing.
Bad genes forced Jonathan Kile to give up a life as traveling salesman. Good genes make him a fine and — some would say handsome — writer. His first book, The Grandfather Clock is available on Amazon. The sequel, The Napoleon Bloom, will be out this Spring. For real! (editor's note: or so he says). He is timidly trying to figure out Instagram and blogging at Don't Make Me Turn This Van Around.
This article appears in Mar 1-8, 2018.