Calculating ROI – and Accounting for the Intangible

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week is our worst ROI ever. So many to choose from!

ROI is industry shorthand for Return on Investment. It’s basically a calculation for financial health of a business. I looked up the origin and found out that Donaldson Brown created the term.

As the Assistant Treasurer [of DuPont] in 1914, Brown developed a formula for monitoring business performance that combined earnings, working capital, and investments in plants and property into a single measure that he termed “return on investment.” It later became known in academic and financial circles as the DuPont Method (or Model) for Return on Investment. The measure was widely taught in business schools and adopted by many companies as a means of benchmarking the financial health of their products and businesses.

That’s interesting, because I wondered if it was an old model. Turns out it’s over a century old!

Also, the term comprises much more than I think most writers mean when they use it. When I hear writers talk about ROI, it’s always whether a particular effort – a conference, buying an ad, buying into an anthology – will be more expensive than the sales it generates. Many reduced it to the simplest math: “If I spend this much attending a con, will I earn more than that on sales of my books?” Often husbands are cited as putting forth this equation, usually as justification for wives not attending cons.

When asked for my opinion there (and sometimes even when NOT asked), I have always said that conferences of all types provide an intangible ROI. Networking and getting your books in front of people give long-term results that aren’t always quantifiable. Since I was doing a bit of research, I looked up if anyone thinks the DuPont Model for ROI is antiquated. Turns out there’s this:

We demonstrate that firms ‘assets are becoming increasing more intangible, and the traditional DuPont Analysis omits this crucial piece of a firm’s ability to generate profit.

Those folks are talking market equity, but it occurs to me that many authors looking at simple math and short-term sales are failing to account for the intangible value of building recognition for their work over the long term.

But I digress.

The topic today asks about my personal worst return on investment. Since I don’t really do the calculations – see above – I don’t know a precise metric. I can, however, share an investment regret. When my very first book came out, the essay collection Wyoming Trucks, True Love, and the Weather Channel, a friend of mine, Chuck, told me one of HIS great regrets was not buying a case of his first book. The first edition was worth a great deal and he was sorry not to have done that. So, I bought a case of my books!

Reader: I still have most of them.

See, my first book didn’t sell tons of copies and I have not become an NYT bestseller with a TV miniseries based on my books, unlike Chuck. He meant well, and I adore him for thinking that I would have the same trajectory, but I’m not C.J. Box, alas!

I suppose the key takeaway here is that there is no one size fits all advice.

Also, that the ROI on cats is always solid.

 

#1 Thing to Assuage Holiday Stress

I posted this pic to Instagram Stories asking people to vote on whether this is a helpful cat or not. Something like 82% voted “yes.” (I forgot to look at the final score before the story expired.) This only proves that my tribe of followers are TOTAL CAT PUSHOVERS.

And yes, that’s THE FATE OF THE TALA on the monitor. I was amused by how many people messaged asking if that’s what they spied. Those who listen to my podcast know that I’m struggling with this book, but I’m also at 88K now – which I originally thought would be my total! – and I’m getting there…

NOT helped by cats who insert themselves between my hand and the mouse.

Anyhooo….

Our topic at the SFF Seven this week is our #1 Thing to do to keep our sanity this holiday season. Come on over to find out mine!

 

Taking the Leap


Yesterday Isabel discovered the finch nest in the juniper out front. She managed to climb pretty high before I intervened.

For the finch’s sake, not hers.

It’s pretty cliché, the story about a cat being stuck up a tree. They can climb up, but they can’t come down again. The idea makes a good foil. The hero rescuing the cat, the fretting over the cat, the dubious moral about getting yourself into something you can’t get out of.

The truth is, usually the cat doesn’t come down because it doesn’t want to. When it’s ready, down they climb, just fine.

I’ve had enough of hanging out in my particular tree. I’ve taken what feels like a big step and I’m sending directly to a science fiction/fantasy house. One whose imprint I know like my own name, because it’s been on every book I’ve read for the last 4o years or so.

It feels good, too.

As I discovered a few months ago, printing the book out is satisfying in a way the electronic attachment can never be. Mindful of those lessons, I used my best paper. This house earned extra points from me because all they want is a cover letter and the full manuscript. No dinking around with synopses or partials. All or nothing baby.

I sent it all.

And it feels like taking action in a way that nothing else lately really has.

And I tweeted the fabulous Robin McKinley to tell her I was sending it, not that she’d care, and that my cover letter says I want to be her when I grown up, so I was tweeting her for luck. And she tweeted back a “Good Luck!” Which, okay, is probably silly to get all thrilled about, but I did. I am.

Now we wait and see. I bet the cat will come down on her own.

My Old Wyoming Home


I don’t think about the old house much.

Which is kind of odd, because it once meant so much to me. Last week, when David and I went to Ten Thousand Waves to celebrate our anniversary by soaking in a private tub, he asked me if I thought the new people were using the hot tub much.

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“Our hot tub?” he says. “The people who bought our house — do you think they use the hot tub?”

Ohhhh. The hot tub we used to sit in pretty much every night for five years. In the house we bought for love. For jts beauty and the sunlight. I just hadn’t thought about it. “They’re from California and it’s been a cold winter — I hope they’re using it!”

And then I started thinking more about how they were doing. If they figured out how to set up the pond heater so the koi in the pond will overwinter. The upstairs gets cold when it’s really chilly — I should have left a note telling them of my trick of closing the downstairs heating vents and turning on the upstairs ceiling fan and heating from the top down on those super-frosty days.

Last night I dreamed that we snuck into the old house. The person we were with — maybe a real estate agent? — knew they were out of town. So we went in to look around and all the windows were shaded so no light came in! Enraged, I went around opening shades and doors. I heard voices behind one door and there was a woman inside, reading to a little girl who was sick.

Oops.

So I fled. Fortunately she didn’t see me. (How she couldn’t when I opened the door to the bedroom is silly, but that’s the great thing about dreams.)

Anyway, I think I’m connecting with the timing. It was one year ago now that we put our house on the market. I started to say good-bye then. I wasn’t sure of the date until I checked this blog post. Amazing to me how our subconscious notes and commemorates anniversaries, even if we consciously don’t.

Coincidentally, I wrote about that house (okay, that part isn’t a coinicidence – I write about every damn thing, like cats and New Mexico weather) and the essay appeared in Going Green.
Recently the Wyoming Library Roundup published an article on the anthology and they used a picture of our old house. (Look at page 9 – I can’t seem to get it to bookmark.)

So now it’s immortalized the way I liked it, for all to see. Which is a lovely by-product of writing. It doesn’t really matter if they use the hot tub, if the fish survive the winter or if they close the shades.

It’s their house now. Mine is in the book.

Cats and New Mexico Weather

One of my very good friends, first and faithful readers and giver of really good advice gave me some suggestions the other day to make this blog even better.

I’m sure it’s really good advice, for me to stick to a particular theme. She thought I could focus here on one thing and have another blog for subjects like cats and New Mexico weather. She even threw in some flattery about how I’m good at adding whatever thematic frame I want to, to a given mini-essay/blog post.

The thing is: I don’t think my brain works this way.

The last few days I’ve been valiantly trying to follow her advice. Really, I have. And I find myself dreading composing my blog post. When I started doing this, I promised myself I could write about whatever I wanted to.

Which often includes things like cats. And the New Mexico weather. Cuz, hey, I’m a creature of my immediate surroundings. Also, in some ways, all things are alike to me. It all intertwines. Kind of the tesseract view of the world. Even though a cat sleeping on a big blue exercise mat and a full moon aren’t the same pattern at all, somehow in my twisted mind, they reflect each other.

And today, all the roads in and out of Laramie are closed. It’s Homecoming Weekend and there’s a foot of snow on the ground. The pic above is courtesy of Kate Stein. The Wyoming coaches were ferried from Cheyenne in a snow plow. It’s Rockies play-offs in Denver and it’s snowing away.

We’re to hit 70 today in Santa Fe. It’s sunny and clear. Which makes all of us happy. Including the cats.