is a hard thing to do. I’ve been sitting outside all day and have sold maybe ten books. I sold a few books on Scamazon, I mean, Amazon, a few months ago, but it was hard, unrewarding work. Scamazon is not an easy entity to relate to, they won’t return emails or give you really any answers without major effort. They charged me $20 for a web service I never used and had previously opted out of; getting that fee refunded took over a week and five emails. So, a book sale on the picnic table next to the RV is what I’m doing this weekend and next. And whatever doesn’t sell will go to the library, in a big box of donations. So far I have sold books by Jack Keroauc, Emily Dickinson, Neil Gaiman, Gabriel Garcia Marques, Mario Vargas Llosa, Anton Chekhov, and a few others I forget. One cookbook, to a young Russian woman. And made a cool $13—but the money is not the point. I just want to find them a good home. And everyone who has stopped by and bought my old books is a true book lover, and we had good talks. They will give them better homes than I’ve been able to, stashing them all in cardboard boxes under the RV.
It’s hard to sell books now; people want digital books, they’re cheaper and faster. One of Boulder’s last three independent bookstores just went out of business. I tried bringing some books to other second hand bookstores and no one was buying, no one could. So thank you, everyone who stopped by the picnic table and took one of my old friends home with you. We’ll go out for a beer with the $13 later, which is just the right thing to do on a Saturday evening in spring.