More than 4,000 books a year. That’s how many it will take before I receive a penny of benefit from Obamacare. (I’m factoring in the monthly cost and the deductible. I’m ignoring copays.)
As an author I am a small business. A very small business. I write books, they get published, and people buy my books. I only receive a small portion of the price of the books, but the theory is that if I can sell lots of books the small portions will bond together to create something that approaches a decent salary.
My royalties are my wages. If no one buys my books, I don’t get paid. End of story.
Yet, whether I sell a single book or not, I’m still expected to purchase health insurance. Even though I’ve only had reason to visit the doctor twice in the last four years. Visits, I might add, that I paid for with cash.
Every book counts. No doubt about it. I rely on those royalties to help me keep writing. They help pay for the electricity that allows my computer to run, the groceries that keep hunger at bay, and all those other little incidentals of daily life that drain the wallet but make life livable (like coffee).
Which explains why the thought of being forced to use the profit from more than 4,000 books just for my healthcare is, frankly, a sickening prospect.
4,000 books a year. Every year. (And that’s with me rounding down.)
That stinks!