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Hardcover v. Soft

I asked two questions over the last few days and Mark Terry was gracious enough to answer them. My question: Mark; I don't understand the dynamics of Hardcovers for new authors - the economics don't seen right. How can the book buying public be expected to shell out $25+ for an unknown author. Does it have to do with library sales? Why not trade paperbacks. It seems like the new author at least then has a fightling chance for someone to spend $10-$15 and everyone should still be able to make some scratch this way. John D. MacDonald, an author I admire and respect, put out most of his in mass market paperback. I have read where he made more money this way. Some were eventually published in hardcover, but most came out originally in paperback. What do you think? An Excerpt of his answer : Always a worthwhile question, RJ, and I wish I understood it. I suspect it's part prestige. The rest is probably library sales, which can be considerable, in that there's about 10,000 li...
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The Novel: The beginning

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“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation” Henry David Thoreau Chapter 1 The sea has long been the place of intrigue, battles, struggles and tragic death. Living close by the sea, I became aware of death at an early age. Mother ocean claimed many people close to me by the time I reached adulthood. The intrigue, battles, and struggles came later. Monday, mid-afternoon, a sweltering late August breeze picked up from the south and induced an instant and persistent all over body sweat. The Atlantic Ocean boiled frothy white and choppy. I pointed the bow west to leave the protection of the Albemarle Sound through the Oregon Inlet at the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Not the perfect day for a pleasure cruise but with a topless thonged tanned beauty on the bow with drink in hand, a well stocked bar and galley-- summer’s end was too close to waste the opportunity for a short day sail. The wind whistled through the rigging, topside speakers were loud enough to be heard over the wind a...
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Blocked....The Mystery

Blocked. Not the type ruffage will clear. I haven't even been able to blog, write fiction, write anything for a while now. It woke me up at 4 a.m. today - I've written 2 paragraghs of fiction in the last couple of weeks. Why? Personal shit getting me down? Maybe. Story well run dry? Don't think so. Introspection? Yep. Soul searching? Yes. Fear? Na. Loathing? Yes. Yes. Yes. Fear? Maybe. Self doubt? Getting warm. Fear? Yep, you caught me. A writer I respect wrote me a long email after I whined to her. She said write 1000 words a day, even if it sucks the big hairy green one. Today I write. . .
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