I have no problem with you setting off your fireworks. I do request, however, that you carry out your fireworks extravaganza within the confines of your own home. With the doors and windows shut. The blasts will seem much more impressive then...
Monday, July 04, 2011
Dear Neighbor...
I have no problem with you setting off your fireworks. I do request, however, that you carry out your fireworks extravaganza within the confines of your own home. With the doors and windows shut. The blasts will seem much more impressive then...
Tuesday, Tuesday
Tomorrow is the Tuesday after a Monday holiday, and the Dr. No's schedule remains unaffected. And anyone who knows the comic book business understands why that's a Big Thing.
For those who are not privy to the inner workings of comics distribution and retailing, here's a quick rundown. (And for those of you not at all interested... well, this is going to be one of those posts you'll want to skip...) As of January 2011, comic shops have had the option to sign up for Day Early Delivery. That means that shops like Dr. No's, who've chosen to pay a $4 per week DED fee and abide by certain terms (no selling books any earlier than prevailing business hours on Wednesday is the prime requirement) can receive their books Tuesday to allow them to process books, report shortages or damages, and prepare for the next day's business. Prior to 2011, a few stores got their books on Tuesdays, but most stores received their books on Wednesday and then had to scramble to unpack, count, and rack them for sale as quickly as possible.
The new system makes for a much more civilized, professional approach. However (you knew there was going to be a catch, didn't you?), when there was a Monday holiday, books ran a day late. Stores could still sell on Wednesday, but they were also receiving on Wednesday, so we were all back to that hectic rush-unpack-count-and-rack scenario.
But Diamond has boosted the professionalism of the entire industry by arranging to ship comics to most accounts in time for them to receive on Tuesday in spite of the Monday holiday, meaning that Tuesday is business as usual. That's a major step forward; it allows comics retailers to operate with the same sort of professionalism that is evidenced by book retailers, music retailers, and other entertainment media retailers. Books can be properly processed and racked, special orders can be pulled, shipping materials can be removed form the sales floor, displays can be prepared... it's a tremendous benefit to retailers.
This required Diamond Comics Distributors to reinvent their system, which is no small feat. Diamond keeps their distirbution system profitable by operating a relatively efficient, tightly scheduled operation. In order to get books to stores on Tuesday in spite of a Monday holiday, they had to ship everyone's books one day earlier than usual, which means that books had to be ready one day earlier, which requires either (a) overtime, or (b) an even more efficient system. I'm not sure whether Diamond opted for A or B or came up with alternative C that I haven't considered--but however they did it, the end result was we get to treat Tuesday just like any other Tuesday, in spite of the Monday holiday.
So, comics fans, when you go into your local shop on Wednesday and everyone looks just a little more relaxed and ready for business, you'll know what's going on, and why something that seems so trivial to non-retailers is such a big thing to the guys who sell comics for a living.
For those who are not privy to the inner workings of comics distribution and retailing, here's a quick rundown. (And for those of you not at all interested... well, this is going to be one of those posts you'll want to skip...) As of January 2011, comic shops have had the option to sign up for Day Early Delivery. That means that shops like Dr. No's, who've chosen to pay a $4 per week DED fee and abide by certain terms (no selling books any earlier than prevailing business hours on Wednesday is the prime requirement) can receive their books Tuesday to allow them to process books, report shortages or damages, and prepare for the next day's business. Prior to 2011, a few stores got their books on Tuesdays, but most stores received their books on Wednesday and then had to scramble to unpack, count, and rack them for sale as quickly as possible.
The new system makes for a much more civilized, professional approach. However (you knew there was going to be a catch, didn't you?), when there was a Monday holiday, books ran a day late. Stores could still sell on Wednesday, but they were also receiving on Wednesday, so we were all back to that hectic rush-unpack-count-and-rack scenario.
But Diamond has boosted the professionalism of the entire industry by arranging to ship comics to most accounts in time for them to receive on Tuesday in spite of the Monday holiday, meaning that Tuesday is business as usual. That's a major step forward; it allows comics retailers to operate with the same sort of professionalism that is evidenced by book retailers, music retailers, and other entertainment media retailers. Books can be properly processed and racked, special orders can be pulled, shipping materials can be removed form the sales floor, displays can be prepared... it's a tremendous benefit to retailers.
This required Diamond Comics Distributors to reinvent their system, which is no small feat. Diamond keeps their distirbution system profitable by operating a relatively efficient, tightly scheduled operation. In order to get books to stores on Tuesday in spite of a Monday holiday, they had to ship everyone's books one day earlier than usual, which means that books had to be ready one day earlier, which requires either (a) overtime, or (b) an even more efficient system. I'm not sure whether Diamond opted for A or B or came up with alternative C that I haven't considered--but however they did it, the end result was we get to treat Tuesday just like any other Tuesday, in spite of the Monday holiday.
So, comics fans, when you go into your local shop on Wednesday and everyone looks just a little more relaxed and ready for business, you'll know what's going on, and why something that seems so trivial to non-retailers is such a big thing to the guys who sell comics for a living.
Musical Grammar
Twenty-six years as an English teacher lead me to notice grammtical errors and oddities in the music that I enjoy. I can't help it--even some of my favorites have some grammatical oddities that stick with me.
Take Paul McCartney's "Live and Let Die," for instance. I enjoy the song, but there's one line that bugs me: "in this ever-changing world in which we live in." There's one "in" too many in that song. I tried to give Paul the benefit of the doubt, assuming he was singing, "in this ever-changing world in which we're living," but then the lyrics were published, and it was clear that the last words were "we live in." Ever since, I've enjoyed the song just a little bit less.
I'm one of the four people in the world who bought Frijid Pink's first album. The album was the source of the group's only major hit, "House of the Rising Sun," but I got the album when I was a teenager with limited resources, which meant that I played the whole album again and again to get my money's worth. And as much as I enjoyed the ballad "God Gave Me You," I was bothered even as a teenager by two mispronounced words: "perform" and "miracle." One of the lines of the song is "Let God perform a miracle." Alas, the singer mispronounces those words as "pre-form" and "mir-ee-kul." It's hard to fully appreciate a seemingly heartfelt ballad when you want the singer to stop and do another take.
And then there's the oddity of a song that changes person. This isn't an error per se, but a distinctive part of the lyrical structure. The best-known example is Elvis Presley's "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear." When Elvis sings, "Oh let me be," the chorus responds with "Oh let him be," shifting from first to third person. There aren't many songs that do this, and it always catches my attention. Iron Butterfly does it in the song "Flowers and Beads." While Doug Ingle sings the line "Girl, I just know I love you now," the chorus responds with "Girl, he just knows he loves you now." It's such a distinctive lyrical quirk that it catches my attention every time it plays.
(And I'm ignoring songs that have intentional grammatical errors or lyrical slurring, such as Led Zeppelin's "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You," which wouldn't work quite as well if it were "Babe, I'm Going to Leave you.")
Yep--once an English teacher, always an English teacher...
Take Paul McCartney's "Live and Let Die," for instance. I enjoy the song, but there's one line that bugs me: "in this ever-changing world in which we live in." There's one "in" too many in that song. I tried to give Paul the benefit of the doubt, assuming he was singing, "in this ever-changing world in which we're living," but then the lyrics were published, and it was clear that the last words were "we live in." Ever since, I've enjoyed the song just a little bit less.
I'm one of the four people in the world who bought Frijid Pink's first album. The album was the source of the group's only major hit, "House of the Rising Sun," but I got the album when I was a teenager with limited resources, which meant that I played the whole album again and again to get my money's worth. And as much as I enjoyed the ballad "God Gave Me You," I was bothered even as a teenager by two mispronounced words: "perform" and "miracle." One of the lines of the song is "Let God perform a miracle." Alas, the singer mispronounces those words as "pre-form" and "mir-ee-kul." It's hard to fully appreciate a seemingly heartfelt ballad when you want the singer to stop and do another take.
And then there's the oddity of a song that changes person. This isn't an error per se, but a distinctive part of the lyrical structure. The best-known example is Elvis Presley's "(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear." When Elvis sings, "Oh let me be," the chorus responds with "Oh let him be," shifting from first to third person. There aren't many songs that do this, and it always catches my attention. Iron Butterfly does it in the song "Flowers and Beads." While Doug Ingle sings the line "Girl, I just know I love you now," the chorus responds with "Girl, he just knows he loves you now." It's such a distinctive lyrical quirk that it catches my attention every time it plays.
(And I'm ignoring songs that have intentional grammatical errors or lyrical slurring, such as Led Zeppelin's "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You," which wouldn't work quite as well if it were "Babe, I'm Going to Leave you.")
Yep--once an English teacher, always an English teacher...
Dead Air
What you're looking at here is a dead air conditioning unit. One of the four units that keep Dr. No's relatively comfortable during the hottest Georgia summers has finally given up the ghost; looking at the photo that the Coolray tech took when he was up on the roof, I'm surprised that the unit had functioned as long as it did! This is one of the original units installed when the store was first built in 1977; in HVAC terms, it must seem almost immortal!The wet stuff you can see around the unit? That's oil from the compressor, which ruptured in a most dramatic (and unrepairable) way. Now we have to get a price on a new unit, wait for them to get it in, have a crane scheduled to hoist it up on the roof (how else did you think they'd get it up there?), and then get it hooked up. Oh, and pay them thousands of dollars.
Nothing else to do, though; we gotta have air conditioning! Right now, we can keep the store tolerable so long as the other three units keep working (and we use fans to move cool air from the three functional zones into the non-functional zone). I am keeping my fingers crossed that those units continue to perform their cooling duties well--however, as the tech pointed out, two of those three units are just as old as the one that failed!
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Just Shooter Me
If you're not reading Jim Shooter's blog, you really need to quit reading this and go there right now. Here's the link. I'll wait.
Now you see what I mean. Jim is doing a remarkable job of chronicling comics history--and he knows it quite well, having been a part of that history for more than a third of a century now. I find his posts regarding his early days as Marvel's editor-in-chief to be positively fascinating, and his insightful comments about comic book writing and storytelling demonstrate again and again why Shooter remains one of the most skilled writers in the business--he truly understands how the story and the visuals have to work together.
Again and again, Shooter reminds us how much he values the integrity of the characters-both the visual integrity and the narrative integrity. I only wish that more of today's editors had the same loyalty to the characters they oversee; in a field where too many editors hold the characters in contempt and are more interested in being an iconoclast rather than a protective guardian of established characters. The industry could benefit from many more Jim Shooters, believe me.
I am fully aware that there are some that will not agree with Shooter's takes on comic book history; I only hope that they will be motivated by Shooter's writing to share their own memories of those events. As someone who was an observer, a retailer, and a reporter during the years that many of these events were occurring, I can say that Shooter's blog almost always aligns pretty well with what I remember of those events at the time. At the same time, he introduces some pretty insightful new bits of information that let his readers see what was going on from a more informed perspective.
(As an aside, I will mention that I was fortunate enough to be on hand for the Jim Shooter roast, held at an Atlanta convention back in the early 1980s. It was a hilarious event that underscored the affection that many creators had for Shooter at the time--and the standard-for-all-roasts sharp tone of the presenters never seemed to bother Shooter, who smiled and laughed and seemed to have a great time. I know there was once a full videotape of this event; I hope that someone has transferred it to digital form. I've seen bits and pieces of it on Youtube; if you run across it there, watch it and appreciate the fact that even as late as the early 1980s, Marvel had a true bullpen sense of camaraderie that comes through very clearly.
Now you see what I mean. Jim is doing a remarkable job of chronicling comics history--and he knows it quite well, having been a part of that history for more than a third of a century now. I find his posts regarding his early days as Marvel's editor-in-chief to be positively fascinating, and his insightful comments about comic book writing and storytelling demonstrate again and again why Shooter remains one of the most skilled writers in the business--he truly understands how the story and the visuals have to work together.
Again and again, Shooter reminds us how much he values the integrity of the characters-both the visual integrity and the narrative integrity. I only wish that more of today's editors had the same loyalty to the characters they oversee; in a field where too many editors hold the characters in contempt and are more interested in being an iconoclast rather than a protective guardian of established characters. The industry could benefit from many more Jim Shooters, believe me.
I am fully aware that there are some that will not agree with Shooter's takes on comic book history; I only hope that they will be motivated by Shooter's writing to share their own memories of those events. As someone who was an observer, a retailer, and a reporter during the years that many of these events were occurring, I can say that Shooter's blog almost always aligns pretty well with what I remember of those events at the time. At the same time, he introduces some pretty insightful new bits of information that let his readers see what was going on from a more informed perspective.
(As an aside, I will mention that I was fortunate enough to be on hand for the Jim Shooter roast, held at an Atlanta convention back in the early 1980s. It was a hilarious event that underscored the affection that many creators had for Shooter at the time--and the standard-for-all-roasts sharp tone of the presenters never seemed to bother Shooter, who smiled and laughed and seemed to have a great time. I know there was once a full videotape of this event; I hope that someone has transferred it to digital form. I've seen bits and pieces of it on Youtube; if you run across it there, watch it and appreciate the fact that even as late as the early 1980s, Marvel had a true bullpen sense of camaraderie that comes through very clearly.
Kane Not Entirely Able
The recent Solomon Kane film has been adapted into a novel courtesy of horror writer Ramsey Campbell. Campbell is a superlative horror writer and a man with great expertise at creating mood, but he has never impressed me as a writer of action adventure. As a result, his Solomon Kane seems to move forward in fits and starts; the parts that are horrifying are really powerful, while the segments in between seem to be constructed in a more workmanlike manner, moving the story forward in a capable fashion but never fully drawing the reader into this fictional world.I don't really fault Campbell for the fact that it's an adequate book; I am convinced that novelizations are inherently problematic, since they require an author to tell a story that's not his, trying to adapt its visual construction into a prose narrative. In this case, it's even more complex, because we have screenwriter Michael Bassett trying to capture the tone of Robert E. Howard's Solomon Kane, then handing the story off to an acclaimed novelist who has to then translate that into a prose style that's not really Howardian. The result is a story that isn't Howard, it isn't Bassett, and it isn't Campbell; instead, it's an amalgam of the latter two trying to capture the feel of a character created by the former.
(The worst example of a novelization of this sort was the Francis Ford Coppola film Bram Stoker's Dracula, which was then novelized by Fred Saberhagen, creating the seemingly absurd book "Bram Stoker's Dracula by Fred Saberhagen based on a film by Francis Ford Coppola.")
There are moments where Campbell shines through, and his storytelling sense makes this an above-average novel, but I'm not sure that it's a book that will really satisfy fans of Robert E. Howard or Ramsey Campbell. Fans of both (like me) will appreciate it as an intriguing experiment, even though it doesn't fully coalesce.
(The fact that Bassett's script doesn't adapt a tale by Robert E. Howard doesn't mean that the film is bad, mind you; I truly enjoyed Michael Mann's Last of the Mohicans, which has very little to do with James Fenimore Cooper's novel of the same title and much more to do with the 1936 Randolph Scott film. Truth is, a film and a book are totally different creatures, and in some cases the very same elements that make a good book are impossible to translate to film, which is why I'm convinced there will never be a truly good, faithful film based on the works of H.P. Lovecraft or Edgar Allan Poe.)
People Find Strange Ways to Celebrate
'Cuz, you know, nothing captures the joy and optimism of a wedding like an H.R. Giger wedding cake. Look here and you'll see what I mean... Here's a quick look to prove that it's worth the jump. App[arently these folks at Jet City Cakes have some pretty unorthodox offerings!
Comics Five-O
Over on Facebook, Jack C. Harris has created a fascinating album called "On Sale Fifty Years Ago Today," depicting five DC books that were on sale this week in 1961. I have distinct memories of buying all five of those books, although probably not at the same time (and probably not fifty years ago today, since books tended to get staggered release dates in Rome, depending on when the magazine distributor serviced each store on his route).My favorite cover of the bunch is the Gil Kane cover for Green Lantern #8, finished in an ink-wash by Jack Adler that was designed to give the book a painted look. It's a remarkable cover that's every bit as distinctive today as it was the day I bought it, and no colorist working (or overworking) in Photoshop today can come up with anything half as eye-catching.
But the cover that most appealed to me as a reader was the cover for Flash #123, "Flash of Two Worlds." Two guys called the Flash? What the heck was going on? Earth-One and Earth-Two were new concepts back then, and this was an incredibly exciting innovation for a young comics reader like me.
Thanks for stirring up some pleasant memories, Mr. Harris--please keep it up!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Missing Dad
This is my fourth Father's Day without Dad. I'm still not really adjusted to it, and doubt that I ever will be.
Dad was always incredibly difficult to shop for, but incredibly easy to please. Dad came from a generation that had relatively little, growing up as he did in the tail end of the Depression (Dad was born in 1932 in rural northwest Georgia--not an affluent part of the country in the best of times). As a result, he was one of those people who never really wanted or expected anything from others, and would never tell anyone what he really wanted for his birthday or for Father's Day or for Christmas. With sufficient cajoling, he would furnish a terse list of possible gifts... a list that always included mundane necessities like "disposable razors" or "a can of coffee" or "socks." If Dad ever truly desired a gift, we never knew about it. When Mom was still with us, she was pretty good about ferreting out a gift idea or two--but even she admitted that Dad was relatively uncooperative as far as gifts were concerned,a nd I can recall many times when she was as stymied as we were.
At the same time, Dad was grateful for every gift he received. A CD of music by someone he once enjoyed, a VHS tape (and later, a DVD) of a film featuring an old Western star he remembered from his childhood, a bag of sugar-free chocolate candy that Dad had never previously sampled... each of them would elicit a wide-eyed look, then a beaming smile, then a satisfied chuckle, usually followed by a soft-spoken, "This is wonderful, but you didn't have to get me anything." And when Dad said it, he meant it.
The thing is, we really wanted to give Dad things. I think that Kim and Susan and I always hoped we'd find just the right gift, the surprise that would truly make the holiday for Dad. I've begun to understand over the past few years, though, that there really wasn't any such gift.
The closest I came to understanding Dad's outlook towards gifts came in late 2004, three Christmases before Dad left us. That was the last Christmas when Dad seemed to fully embrace his love of the season, the last Christmas when he seemed self-assured and confident and as happy as he could be without Mom beside him. I was trying to get a list of potential Christmas gifts, since neither Kim nor I had any real gift ideas. "I don't really want anything," Dad said. "I've got everything I want and a lot more. Anything anyone gets me is fine, because it's something that they thought I would want. It's enough to know that they wanted to give me something." And he wasn't just talking--he truly meant it. Dad was touched to know that his friends and his family cared enough to try to find the right gift for him, to choose items tailored for his tastes and interests and needs. Coffee, socks, razors, a $6 shirt from the Belk's sale table, an unexpected lunch with the family... he loved them all, because he really, truly didn't want anything other than to know he was loved and that people cared enough to try to find a gift for him.
I can see Dad's point more clearly now. I think that, as we grow older, the importance of the gift becomes subordinate to the importance of the gift-giving. We appreciate it when someone cares enough to actually give us a gift that they thought we would like, because it means that we were important enough that someone went to some trouble, inconvenienced their own life just a little to show that they cared. Just as email largely supplanted the handwritten letter, so has a Facebook greeting replaced the birthday card and/or gift for most people. And that makes it all the more meaningful when someone goes to the rouble of finding a gift or delivering a card or sharing a meal. It says, "you matter enough for me to do something I don't normally do."
Dad never expected anyone to do anything to celebrate his birthday, which is why he was always so touched when someone did. The same for Father's Day; Dad really meant it when he said that no one had to go to any trouble to come by or to bring him a gift. And that was why he was all the more touched when we did.
I loved Dad when he was with us, and I love him now even though he's not. I miss him terribly; sometimes I miss him so bad that I feel a yearning ache to hear that appreciative chuckle one more time, to hear his mellow, resonant voice say "hello dere!" again, to her him reply "just wonderful!" when someone asks how he's doing. I long to hear the stories of his time in the service once more, to hear about his childhood, to hear him share the little details of his life again.
Today I pulled out some of the family photos and remembered the stories that Dad would tell us. I remembered the happy times, the family gatherings, the shared meals, the laughs, the stories--and I missed Dad a lot.
I wish I could give Dad one more gift, take him out for one more meal.
I miss you, Dad. More than you could ever know.
Dad was always incredibly difficult to shop for, but incredibly easy to please. Dad came from a generation that had relatively little, growing up as he did in the tail end of the Depression (Dad was born in 1932 in rural northwest Georgia--not an affluent part of the country in the best of times). As a result, he was one of those people who never really wanted or expected anything from others, and would never tell anyone what he really wanted for his birthday or for Father's Day or for Christmas. With sufficient cajoling, he would furnish a terse list of possible gifts... a list that always included mundane necessities like "disposable razors" or "a can of coffee" or "socks." If Dad ever truly desired a gift, we never knew about it. When Mom was still with us, she was pretty good about ferreting out a gift idea or two--but even she admitted that Dad was relatively uncooperative as far as gifts were concerned,a nd I can recall many times when she was as stymied as we were.
At the same time, Dad was grateful for every gift he received. A CD of music by someone he once enjoyed, a VHS tape (and later, a DVD) of a film featuring an old Western star he remembered from his childhood, a bag of sugar-free chocolate candy that Dad had never previously sampled... each of them would elicit a wide-eyed look, then a beaming smile, then a satisfied chuckle, usually followed by a soft-spoken, "This is wonderful, but you didn't have to get me anything." And when Dad said it, he meant it.
The thing is, we really wanted to give Dad things. I think that Kim and Susan and I always hoped we'd find just the right gift, the surprise that would truly make the holiday for Dad. I've begun to understand over the past few years, though, that there really wasn't any such gift.
The closest I came to understanding Dad's outlook towards gifts came in late 2004, three Christmases before Dad left us. That was the last Christmas when Dad seemed to fully embrace his love of the season, the last Christmas when he seemed self-assured and confident and as happy as he could be without Mom beside him. I was trying to get a list of potential Christmas gifts, since neither Kim nor I had any real gift ideas. "I don't really want anything," Dad said. "I've got everything I want and a lot more. Anything anyone gets me is fine, because it's something that they thought I would want. It's enough to know that they wanted to give me something." And he wasn't just talking--he truly meant it. Dad was touched to know that his friends and his family cared enough to try to find the right gift for him, to choose items tailored for his tastes and interests and needs. Coffee, socks, razors, a $6 shirt from the Belk's sale table, an unexpected lunch with the family... he loved them all, because he really, truly didn't want anything other than to know he was loved and that people cared enough to try to find a gift for him.
I can see Dad's point more clearly now. I think that, as we grow older, the importance of the gift becomes subordinate to the importance of the gift-giving. We appreciate it when someone cares enough to actually give us a gift that they thought we would like, because it means that we were important enough that someone went to some trouble, inconvenienced their own life just a little to show that they cared. Just as email largely supplanted the handwritten letter, so has a Facebook greeting replaced the birthday card and/or gift for most people. And that makes it all the more meaningful when someone goes to the rouble of finding a gift or delivering a card or sharing a meal. It says, "you matter enough for me to do something I don't normally do."
Dad never expected anyone to do anything to celebrate his birthday, which is why he was always so touched when someone did. The same for Father's Day; Dad really meant it when he said that no one had to go to any trouble to come by or to bring him a gift. And that was why he was all the more touched when we did.
I loved Dad when he was with us, and I love him now even though he's not. I miss him terribly; sometimes I miss him so bad that I feel a yearning ache to hear that appreciative chuckle one more time, to hear his mellow, resonant voice say "hello dere!" again, to her him reply "just wonderful!" when someone asks how he's doing. I long to hear the stories of his time in the service once more, to hear about his childhood, to hear him share the little details of his life again.
Today I pulled out some of the family photos and remembered the stories that Dad would tell us. I remembered the happy times, the family gatherings, the shared meals, the laughs, the stories--and I missed Dad a lot.
I wish I could give Dad one more gift, take him out for one more meal.
I miss you, Dad. More than you could ever know.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
A Defining Moment
A few distributor terms and the meanings I have come to recognize after more than three decades of retailing:
Net price: This is distributorspeak that translates to "you, the retailer, are getting such a horrible discount on this item that we're just going to tell you what you'll pay and hope that you're not smart enough to figure out your actual discount."
No guarantee of mix: We promise you six units in a case, you'll get six units in a case--probably six of the units that Target and Walmart didn't want.
May ship after mass market: You're going to get your orders on this about the same time that the big box retailers and Amazon mark theirs down to liquidation pricing.
Hobby market will have a two month exclusive on this product: You're going to pay through the nose to help us develop a player base for this product, and two months later you'll find out that it's available at Walmart with a retail price about 10% lower than the wholesale price you've been paying.
Timed for (insert name of convention here) release: We're going to sell every copy we possibly can at the con at retail, and we'll urge people who don't have enough money to order it from us when they get home. Then, after we've filled all those, we'll sell you whatever gleanings are left.
Please Inquire: The price on this is so high that you'd choke if we actually told you.
Will be be printed to order: We have so little confidence that anyone is going to want this once they see it that we're not risking any of our money on it, hoping that you'll risk yours instead.
Strictly limited: 80% of the time, this means "we'll print as many as we can trick you into ordering, but no more." 10% of the time, it means the same as Timed for (insert name of convention here) release; the other 10% of the time, it means the same as Will be printed to order.
Contains a mix of original and classic material: You're going to get about 10% new pages and a whole lot of reprints that no one really wanted, but the digital files were just sitting there, and we figured there was something to be done with them.
From the vault: We knew you didn't want this stuff the first time, so we stuck it in a drawer for a decade or so. Now we hope you're less discerning...
Digital day and date release: We're counting on your cash to pay our production costs so that we can sell it for less online and try to snake those customers from you.
Net price: This is distributorspeak that translates to "you, the retailer, are getting such a horrible discount on this item that we're just going to tell you what you'll pay and hope that you're not smart enough to figure out your actual discount."
No guarantee of mix: We promise you six units in a case, you'll get six units in a case--probably six of the units that Target and Walmart didn't want.
May ship after mass market: You're going to get your orders on this about the same time that the big box retailers and Amazon mark theirs down to liquidation pricing.
Hobby market will have a two month exclusive on this product: You're going to pay through the nose to help us develop a player base for this product, and two months later you'll find out that it's available at Walmart with a retail price about 10% lower than the wholesale price you've been paying.
Timed for (insert name of convention here) release: We're going to sell every copy we possibly can at the con at retail, and we'll urge people who don't have enough money to order it from us when they get home. Then, after we've filled all those, we'll sell you whatever gleanings are left.
Please Inquire: The price on this is so high that you'd choke if we actually told you.
Will be be printed to order: We have so little confidence that anyone is going to want this once they see it that we're not risking any of our money on it, hoping that you'll risk yours instead.
Strictly limited: 80% of the time, this means "we'll print as many as we can trick you into ordering, but no more." 10% of the time, it means the same as Timed for (insert name of convention here) release; the other 10% of the time, it means the same as Will be printed to order.
Contains a mix of original and classic material: You're going to get about 10% new pages and a whole lot of reprints that no one really wanted, but the digital files were just sitting there, and we figured there was something to be done with them.
From the vault: We knew you didn't want this stuff the first time, so we stuck it in a drawer for a decade or so. Now we hope you're less discerning...
Digital day and date release: We're counting on your cash to pay our production costs so that we can sell it for less online and try to snake those customers from you.
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