Today I accidentally discovered that an Amazon.com reseller was marketing one of my old collections of poetry for $30.00. My immediate response was outrage and I am not sure why.
The price was one thing. When it first came out in 2003 the suggested List Price was $16.00 which I 
thought at the time was ridiculous. One hopes to make a little money but you never really expect poetry to wind up on a bestseller list. It was more of a credential thing, an easy way to share with friends and fellow writers, something to present at poetry readings to those who took an interest. I sold at cost or gave away far more copies than were sold at retail.
And having spent the major portion of my life in sales I was acutely sensitive to the facts of realistic profit margins and business strategy. How could I resent an entrepreneur capitalizing on my book. If his customers agreed to this valuation then more power to them all. It is another venue of promotion for myself and you cannot beat free advertising.
After a morning of meditation and self reflection I am starting to think that my initial anger was at being exposed. A past version of myself was called up into the public light and I was embarrassed by all that I had not done since that book’s publication. Not that I was a particularly gifted poet or had a large following but at one point I simply stopped trying. I stopped trying to get published in magazines, turned down invitations to readings and simply moved away from the company of fellow writers. But I never stopped writing.
So now, at this juncture, I wonder to myself what is called and what is answered.
