When a woman inquired about my writing I directed her to the two places she could order collections online. One is Amazon and the other is Lulu.com. The latter is print on demand, so there is no inventory taking up shelf space. The first was a run that ended, leaving a box full in our guest room should anyone suddenly take an interest in marital vignettes. They are also available from used dealers.

I did not expect to see a stream of them for sale, with two positive reviews. That made me smile.

Then I noticed that there are currently three being offered for fifty six bucks and change. Huh? Who would charge that? Who would pay that? Maybe they forged my name on the title page and are presenting them as collector's items from an obscure but rising author. It comes out to two stories for a dollar, which will not quite pay my electric bill. But wait. The money does not go to me anyway.  It goes into the pockets of sellers whom I will never meet face to face, and who will not even buy me lunch for my troubles. 

Should I be flattered? Should I be indignant? 

Remember when your toddler fell flat on his face while racing across the living room, then looked up at you to ascertain how he should feel?

Sometimes we know unequivocally what our response is. There is no waffling. But other times the verdict is out. It is almost as if we have a choice. 

Maybe we do, more often than we are willing to admit.