Me, browsing a used book store in California.

I just read a blog post about second-hand books that got me thinking.

The author of the blog post (who is also an author of books) is against buying books used. Really, really against it. They want people to buy their books new. Which makes sense, because when you buy a new book, the author (and the other people who bring the book to the world) get paid. Used books, this author writes, is the same as pirating.

Here’s my take on the ethics of used books: I hope that the ability to buy them never goes away. As a reader, I have always loved used bookstores. I spent a good part of my childhood nosing around the now-(sadly)-closed Acres of Books in Long Beach, California. Every time I set foot in that store, I felt like Bastian looking for the Oracle, or like I might turn a corner and find a door that would let me into Narnia. The smell of used books still takes me there.

When I was a teenager, my family life fell apart. Books, literally, saved me. I’m not talking about books I bought at Borders or Barnes and Noble. I couldn’t afford those. I couldn’t even afford a traditional used book store, where books cost about half price. The books that saved my life came a quarter at a time from garage sales and thrift stores. I spent time at the library, but I wanted to keep my books. I needed them.

I can afford to buy new books now. I like to be able to support authors, especially. And my local indie book store. But I still get a special thrill out of finding a new-to-me author or an old favorite secondhand.

As an author, I’ve spent a huge (no seriously, it’s embarrassing) amount of time thinking about seeing a book with my name on it in bookstores. I could lead you right to the spot where Grimes fits on the shelves at Barnes and Noble. But I also get a little thrill of excitement thinking about looking at the used books at my favorite thrift store and finding myself there. I think about someone, maybe someone like the someone I was twenty-five years ago when books saved me, coming across it. I imagine them looking at the cover, then turning it over and reading the back copy. I imagine them taking it home and reading it, and for a buck getting to go to the world I created for a little while.

Sure, I didn’t get a royalty from their purchase. But, if I’ve done my job, they’ll tell their friends about my story. When my next book comes out, they might not be able to wait for it to trickle down into the used-book venues. Or they might ask their local library to carry it. Or a favorite aunt to give it to them for their birthday. Later, when they can afford it, they might give a friend one of my books as a gift. Much later, they might buy my books for their own kids to read. The way I see it, success is a give and take, and anytime someone reads one of my books–no matter where they get it or how much I might earn from that particular read–that’s a good thing.

Here’s my philosophy: Books are meant to be shared. Stories shouldn’t belong only to the people who can afford to pay full retail for them. Libraries are amazing places, and I’m all for borrowing books, too. But sometimes, you just need to have your own copy. Seriously, sometimes you need to know it’s there. When I was a teenager, I had a collection of used books that I carefully curated and loved. I needed those books like I needed to breathe. I needed them to belong to me. And I could not have had them if I’d had to pay retail for them.

Obviously my career depends on people being willing to buy my books brand new, but I don’t believe that my books finding their way to new readers secondhand is a threat. It feels, to me, more like a vibrant flow that in the end gives more than it takes.