Over on Ask Nicola there’s a discussion about some of the cold hard economic truths about being a fiction writer. I wandered over and entered the discussion with two comments (so far): one fairly brief, and one blog-post-sized arm-waving rant. Here’s a teaser:
But they wants to be writers, precious, they do, and they believe that the only way to be a real writer is that someone should give them a guaranteed living wage before anyone even knows if they can shift the freight or not.
Me, I think the way to be a real writer is to really write and be really read by real readers. Call me a radical…
— from a discussion on Ask Nicola
I was in a place. But apart from the possible entertainment value, I think you’ll find that Nicola’s post has provoked an interesting discussion, with some down-home truths about the state of being a writer these days. If you’re interested in a little peek behind the curtain, head over there and read the post and discussion. And join in if you’re inclined, either here or there.
One thing I have long wished is that more writers, editors, marketers, publicists and publishers would be willing to share details about advances, marketing investments, how print runs are determined, what constitutes a good versus bad return from the publisher’s perspective. Et cetera. Most writers (the part of the industry I know best) are unwilling to share details about money because… well, because talking about “salary” in American culture is rude, or something.
One of the most interesting experiences I had teaching Clarion West last year was spending a couple of hours one evening talking with students about my take on publishing, including the breakdown of how the money works and the general economics of being a writer. I think it was depressing for them, which I regretted, but it’s important for people to know how these things work for most of us.
Recently, a writer of my acquaintance got a first book deal — 2 books for $70,000. That makes most new writers’ eyes light up with oh, if only… and of course getting paid to write is not a Bad Thing at all, it’s Good Good Good. But do the math.
Please note, the writer in question hasn’t discussed the money structure with me. I’m making this up based on how it generally works in publishing.
The advance of $70K is split between two books. So, $35K per book.
Those sums are further split into a schedule of payments — some on signing, most on acceptance of the final manuscript, and a small sum on publication. Let’s say $10K on signing, $20K on acceptance, $5K on publication.
Each of those payments is subject to agent’s commission right off the top — normally 15%. The agent actually gets your check, takes her commission, and sends you the rest. So now our first $10K is down to $8,500. That amount is subject to federal and state income taxes, federal social security tax, and Medicare. Since writers are self-employed, we must pay the employer’s contribution to social security as well as the employee’s — which means that social security alone is a 7.5% hit instead of 3.75%. Depending on how much money you expect to make from writing in a year, you estimate the total tax hit from 15% to 40%. That’s an additional $1,275 to $3,400 that’s gone from your $8,500.
Being self-employed, the writer is expected to pay estimated tax on a quarterly basis, so that money really does go right back out the door, which further reduces your cash flow.
Repeat these calculations for each scheduled payment.
And then look at the schedule. Maybe the first book of that two-book deal was basically already finished when the contract was signed. That’s good. It means that it’s possible the writer got the two big payments in the same calendar year — $30K, which after commission and, I dunno, 28% tax, comes to $18,360.
But the writer has to write the entire second book from scratch. Even if the writer begins that book the day the agent calls and says We have a deal, it is unlikely that there will be an acceptance payment (which for the second book might be along the lines of $25 or $30K, since there is no signing payment) for at least 12 months, and that’s if everything goes amazingly well. More likely, it will be 15-18 months before the next money rolls in. And if the first book doesn’t sell enough copies to earn out the first $35K advance, there will be no royalty money for the author.
And suddenly the $70,000 deal, as good as it is for a new writer in today’s market, doesn’t exactly make a person want to run out and quit her day job. Because after that contract is fulfilled, the two books published, it all starts again — the three chapters and outline, the delay while the agent and editor read and consider, the negotiations, the contract being drawn up. From the moment you send your agent the proposal for your next book, it can take 3, 6, 9 months to get an actual contract and a signing payment.
Is this unfair? No, of course not. It’s a stupid model that benefits very, very few people in the long term, but it’s only “unfair” if one believes that publishing owes one a living. I gave up believing that a long time ago.
Still, it is a broken model. And there’s a new day coming. I can’t wait.
The bit of your rant where you turns into Gollum cracked me up. I can’t say much about this from an author’s perspective, as I’d only be contributing second hand experience. I know of a colleague in the UBC Creative Writing program who got a $30,000 two-book deal for her thesis YA novel. She’s definitely not quiting her day job, though she did celebrate the breakthrough. Then there’s sessional instructor Steven Galloway who managed to get a little more than the six-figure advance for The Cellist of Sarajevo. He could quit his day job, but doesn’t want to.
As far as literary translation goes, which is my field, we certainly does it for the love of words and sharing. We can expect between $1,000 to $3,000 for a 150-page work, as an advance against royalties of 1 to 2%. If a publisher has already signed us up for a particular book, we could apply for translation grants and get an extra few thousand. Most literary translation is done on-spec. I’ll even be putting money into it, beyond MFA tuition and such, by paying my own travel expenses plus professional fees in November to attend the Guadalajara International Book Fair just so I get a chance to pitch the English-language works I’ve been translating into Spanish. Hopefully, a Hispanic publisher will give them a go. Do I expect to make a living from literary translation in the future? No. There isn’t even academic recognition for such work. Will I keep translating, then? Of course! Why? Because I’m mad, probably. And because I love the challenge and insight that comes from experiencing my favorite authors’ words and phrases so closely.