Writers and money

The Society of Authors recently conducted a survey amongst members and established that the average amount earned by authors was £12,000  per anum.  That’s not really enough to live on these days. So most of us do other things as well. Sometimes they’re things we want to do and sometimes it’s just work. Occasionally, other work may be more attractive than mere jobbing writing: e.g. doing shift at the pub to pay your rent and for food, then spend all of your creative energy on the writing you’re really interested in.

Even the great and good didn’t necessarily have it easy.

Here are a few examples:

 

Shakespeare

Yes, his plays were good and he was a risk-taker. Instead of just taking the royalties paid for the scripts, he actually also invested in the theatres and the theatre companies until he built his own. He was a business man as well as a creative practitioner.

Note, however, when Walter Scott invested in his publisher and printer, the firm became bankrupt, almost taking him with it.     

    

Wordsworth

He actually only lived at Dove Cottage for eight years. That was a really romantic time, however. He could really spend time writing and also enjoying family life. Financially he only managed to do that because he got a sponsor. He received a legacy of £900 from Raisley Calvert to pursue a career in literature. Someone believed in his work and paid for him to live. Whilst at Dove Cottage he worked on the Lyrical Ballads. At the time, these did not sell all that well. In 1842 he received a government pension and a year later became Poet Laureate. He wrote no poetry whilst he was in the role, however. In his youth he had a day job which gave him financial security. 

Dylan Thomas

He was mainly poor whilst alive though in May 1949 Thomas and his family moved to his final home, the Boat House at Laugharne purchased for him at a cost of £2,500 in April 1949 by Margaret Taylor. Again, someone had faith in his writing and thought he was worth sponsoring.

Louisa May Alcott

Alcott had other means which were just about adequate.  She wrote mainly to supplement these.  She wrote well and professionally for about twenty years and then wrote Little Women followed by the other books in the series. Little Women alone earned her over $5000 which was a fortune in those days. She invested this money wisely in the railways and became a rich woman.  She was so rich that when someone could not afford to pay the mortgage she had set up with them she simply waved her hand and dismissed it.

J K Rowling

Yes. Okay she has done well. Very well indeed.  She has become very rich though has given a lot away to charity. She had a difficult time whilst writing the first Harry Potter book. Chances are anyway that if she had put that amount of good creative energy into any other industry she would have made even more money. Not that it matters- where else would she want to put her energy?

As for me?

I’m not rich or famous but I am comfortably off and known. My big dream isn’t about being published by the Big Five or having a super-duper agent. I wouldn’t turn down a best seller, however. I have yet to find my Little Women. I am mainly where I am because I’ve worked for nine years as a lecturer in creative writing, three of them as a senior lecturer. I’m retired from the day job now but never from writing. My various pensions, my little income from writing and some investment in property make for a nice life style.

The bottom line for me is that I want people to pay for my work so that I feel justified in writing.

Professional jealousy = wasted energy so get over it

However, this isn’t always that easy.  Jealousy isn’t always something we can control. It’s an emotion that takes over. It chips away at us and can seriously damage our well-being. Can we talk ourselves out of it?

I’m probably not alone in being jealous of J K Rowling. She’s a great story-teller, obviously well-read and we all love Harry and co. And darn it, her first adult novel has gone straight to the top of the bestseller charts. But some of my stories are just as good, aren’t they? I’m well-read too and I think my writing is quite good. I have another feeling towards J,K, though. I’m extremely grateful to her for giving us another great example of good versus evil, of getting so many people reading – including some previously reluctant males - that more people are reading my works too.     

It’s sometimes harder when it’s closer to home. My colleague Antony Rowland recently won the Manchester Prize for his poetry. I lecture in creative writing at the same HE institution where he teaches a little creative writing and lots of other things. I immediately felt useless. Shouldn’t I and the others in the creative writing team be achieving this sort of success? Hang on a minute, though.  I’m not a poet and I didn’t enter the competition this year even though there’s a section on short fiction. That spark of jealousy, fortunately, only lasted about five minutes. The next emotion was of extreme pride. One of us has been noticed. I was also extremely touched when Antony said in an interview with a newspaper that he was part of a strong creative writing team.

Frank Cottrell Boyce recently won the Guardian Literary prize. That’s where I’d like to be and maybe I won’t get there because – well, Frank Cottrell Boyce – will I ever be that good? But wait a minute: he writes a range of material for the same readership as I write for. So, my work counts. I’m glad he was given this award. I’ve met him once and even shared the dubious of pleasure of getting lost and arriving late at the same event with him. I will be working with him in the not too distant future. So, someone in my circle of influence is highly regarded … bring it on.

What about when someone in your critique group or another writing friend gets published / represented where you’ve been looking? Or gets a better book deal than the one you were offered? Or wins a competition that you also entered? That can be harsh. You want to be glad for the friend but you are so disappointed for yourself.

At this point I have to remind myself of what I often tell my students. You can do it IF you really want to. It is of course an enormous “if”. You will have to face rejection, feelings of inadequacy, possibly poverty, they say 10,000 hours working on your craft and this occasional jealousy for which you may well hate yourself for a while. You have to hold the vision. There is some luck involved but you usually find when your scrutinize the more successful work, that guess what, it is actually better then yours even if it is by only a small margin.

This is where those fellow-writers who make us jealous for a few moments can help us.  They provide the bench-marks. It’s the Manchester Prize, the Guardian Literary prize and a decent book deal with representation by a decent agent that you set as your goals. Our friend / colleague / writing buddy has done this, therefore it is possible for us as well. We may have to try a little bit harder, though.

I always take much comfort in remembering Louisa May Alcott who worked as a jobbing writer for twenty years, no doubt earning a meagre living but being content in her work, and then wrote Little Women. Aren’t we glad that she did? She invested what she earned from that in the railways and became quite rich. Possibly after 10,000 hours of other writing?  

We can’t help the feelings but can we turn them into something that can work positively for us?                         

   

How Writers Earn Money

At what point should writers be paid? Do they qualify for the job like a doctor or a teacher does, after a lengthy apprentice and is part of what they are paid for all those years of training?

Parallels with other professions

I used to be a language teacher and it looked to many as if I worked 9.00 until 3.30 39 weeks a year.  Of course, that isn’t really true: teaching weeks tended to involve 52 hours’ work and some work carried on during the holidays. I had to keep my languages up also. This meant going abroad and reading books and watching films in other languages. Or were those leisure activities? Did it ever really stop?

It is similar for me now as a writer. Is reading work? Or thinking about my plot and characters as I drive, cook or iron? Or perhaps watching and critiquing TV dramas?

Or are we rather like those who work in the catering and beauty industries? The basic wage (the advance or the fee) is very small so we rely on tips to bolster our income (royalties, PLR and ALCS payments, and revenue from advertising)?

Content cannot be free

One of my books has been downloaded several thousand times from a site that is displaying it illegally. It’s getting good reviews, mind. My publisher has requested its removal twice. It has been removed but up it has popped again. I’d be at least £2000 better off if those people who had downloaded it had bought a copy of the book or borrowed it from the library. There is still the impression that if something is available electronically it should be free.

No guys, people who write, produce music and make films, need to eat, be clothed and be sheltered.  They also need some money in order to be able to carry on producing content.

But for goodness sake, IT people, shouldn’t it be the easiest thing in the world to be fair to everyone? Charge a low rate for the content – there are fewer overheads, no stock to carry or ship - yet pay enough so that the years of experience and hours of work are rewarded – including those of the IT experts?

Sidelines

Writers often do other things to keep the cash flowing. Here are a few examples:

• Offer  readings. Again there is a strong parallel here with the music industry; the live performance is a type of value-added commodity
• Edit others And why not? It’s hard, perhaps impossible, to edit yourself.
• Teach creative writing - hopefully because they have something to offer and not because “those who can’t, teach”. In fact, most people who teach creative writing accelerate their own learning as they teach. There is, anyway, a sort of obligation for those who can to pass it on.

The point is, even those who are recognised as writers who produce something worth reading often have to supplement what they earn directly from their writing by earning something from extra activities.

Who should write?

Anyone who writes is a writer. Only the very best, so it seems, however, are allowed to earn purely from writing. And many who eventually do serve that long apprenticeship. Charles Dickens, Louisa May Alcott, and more recently David Almond and Philip Pullman, worked as jobbing writers before they found the big time. J K Rowling may seem to have struck gold at the first attempt but she had a long creative development and a few hard knocks first. 

The Dutch offering state benefits to any artist who has sold anything in the last five years and the Irish exempting writers from tax recognise this a little.

It is hard, but anyone who truly wants to get there can, if that person perseveres. But it’s a big if. It is certainly not easy. We have to pass the gatekeepers. It’s probably going to be a little easier if you have some talent and a heck of a lot of self-discipline.

Who are the gatekeepers?

If you are published traditionally, then agents and editors are quite significant. Then come the booksellers, the reviewers and the general public.

Anyone can self-publish directly to the Internet. Then the popularity of the writer can have an influence on what is read and what is liked. We all become gatekeepers as we select, recommend and comment. The writers themselves play a role as they ensure a fine balance between maintaining visibility and overloading others with information about their texts.    

Can it be done?

Get it all right and eventually you may be allowed to spend your time writing and doing activities related to it. Pass all of the gatekeepers and you may even eventually earn enough that you do the secondary activities out of a sense of moral obligation rather than because you need the money.

Above all else, you must, of course, write brilliantly.