Now that I’ve got you here, I’ll warn you the following paragraph is boring. But the post gets better. Or not.
I recently read in USA Today that for the first time, “revenue from the sale of e-books has outstripped revenue from hardcover sales.” During the first quarter of 2012, adult e-book sales totaled $282.3 million, while hardcover sales netted $229.6 million. Paperback revenue was $299.8 million, which, although higher than e-books, was down 10.5%. Furthermore, in the third week of June, 19 of the top 50 books on USA Today’s best-seller list sold more in e-book format than print.
Good. Signing with an e-publisher sits better. I wrote an invisible post on the subject back in December, entitled “Every Which Way But Traditional.” Well, at least that blog-hopping mushroom head saw it.
Despite this chapeau feather for e-books, I realized something strange about myself. Shocker, I know. I’m finicky when it comes to downloads, and judging by my iPad Kindle contents, thrillers and new releases top my purchases. But non-fiction? No way, bidet. I likes me a print copy.
Perhaps it’s because I overdo the dog-ears and markings in the non-fiction genre. The number of notes littering my copy of Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking could spawn an entire manuscript. Apparently, I’m the reader who can’t quit penciling.
Classics suffer my e-book cold shoulder as well. At the suggestion of Perfecting Motherhood, I read Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Though not one for classics, I’m open to new things (yeah, right). I toyed with downloading the Kindle edition. For a nanosecond. Then I headed to the library for a well-read copy and relished its stained (hey, is that pizza sauce?) and tattered pages instead.
So there you have it; I am an e-book-discriminator. If the novel is new, and particularly a thriller, I’ll download it. If it’s non-fiction or a classic, I won’t.
Now that makes sense…
What about you? Are you an e-book-discriminator? Are you a bit slow—er, I mean, busy—and still don’t have an e-reader (I’m talking to you JM)? Are you the one that left pizza sauce in my library book? Well, let’s hope it was pizza sauce…
Before I close, enjoy the latest Awful Offspring Offal, brought to you in a limited-edition, olfactory and visual format.
Awful Offspring Offal
While my youngest and I whooped it up in Las Vegas, Mr. Rubin and our oldest completed a 14-day backpacking trip. The trip included two showers. Total. Their arrival home concludes the olfactory portion of this offal.
As for the visual, my teenager sent me this image captured in Colorado, before they trudged to New Mexico. Lovely, isn’t it? Who knew he had it in him?
He named it: “Two Penises.”
Images from Microsoft Clip Art. Except for “Two Penises.” That credit’s all my son’s.