Authors Still Make Money: Film at Eleven!
Forbes came this weekend, listing the top 100 from the celebrity world, including authors. Top scribe on the list? JK Rowling? BUT NO. It's Dan Brown. The dark horse author who came from behind to win the best-seller PowerBall lottery. His annual earnings were listed at 76.5 million, number six on the money list overall, JK Rowling made 59.1 million, number nine on the money list. Nora Roberts at $28.8 million, James Patterson at $27 million and Arthur Agatston, author of the South Beach Diet at $16 million. It cheers me to realize that the highest paid authors are not Bill Clinton, or Jenna Jameson, or Suzanne Summers. No, with the exception of the Arthur A (and I'll let him slide. For God's sake, it's a diet book), these people are all authors.
I get angry at celebrity book deals. Some is sour grapes, I admit it. Some is just the knowledge that writing a book is hard work. It's more than having a pretty face, sleeping with the President, or being a great politician. It's a talent that most of the world believes they possess in great abundance. But when you read a great writer, you know it. It's like watching Michael Jordan play basketball, it's watching Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy, or listening to Ode to Joy at the symphony. Your soul sings.
There was an op-ed piece in the New York Times recently on the lack of culture in America. Culture meaning arts, music, literature. It was a thought-provoking article on how we are swimming in chum-laden waters, while the wonders of the arts are being swept out to sea. I've never been one to read the classics, and except for my piano-playing days, I don't spend a lot of time listening to Mozart. I'll never be a creature of the Renaissance, I was raised on pop culture, and it equally repels and attracts me. The Forbes list cheers me, though. I'm not a still, silent voice in the wilderness. There's a million others out there just like me who want to be swept away. We still recognize talent, and we're still willing to pay for it.
Hallelujah.
I get angry at celebrity book deals. Some is sour grapes, I admit it. Some is just the knowledge that writing a book is hard work. It's more than having a pretty face, sleeping with the President, or being a great politician. It's a talent that most of the world believes they possess in great abundance. But when you read a great writer, you know it. It's like watching Michael Jordan play basketball, it's watching Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy, or listening to Ode to Joy at the symphony. Your soul sings.
There was an op-ed piece in the New York Times recently on the lack of culture in America. Culture meaning arts, music, literature. It was a thought-provoking article on how we are swimming in chum-laden waters, while the wonders of the arts are being swept out to sea. I've never been one to read the classics, and except for my piano-playing days, I don't spend a lot of time listening to Mozart. I'll never be a creature of the Renaissance, I was raised on pop culture, and it equally repels and attracts me. The Forbes list cheers me, though. I'm not a still, silent voice in the wilderness. There's a million others out there just like me who want to be swept away. We still recognize talent, and we're still willing to pay for it.
Hallelujah.
posted by Kathleen at 7:35 AM
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