Zen and the Art of Making Money
Samurai disdain money.
They are taught to. Money, they are told from a young age, has nothing at all to do with bushido, the sacred samurai “way of the warrior.” Money is beneath the noble pursuits of the samurai: the fighting arts, the tea ceremony, the perfect arrangement of flowers.
Yes, the samurai practiced flower arranging. But that's another story.
The point I'm really trying to make here is that the samurai had the same problem that many writers have today. They don't talk enough about money.
The One Question I Always Get Asked
If there's one question I invariably get asked at writer conferences and school visits, it's this one: How much money do you make as a writer?
And I'll tell you what—I love getting this question.
A lot of writers will immediately shy away from any talk about money. Some demur when asked questions like this. Others give vague answers. “I do pretty well,” they'll say. Or maybe they'll compare writing to a previous job: “I make as much as I did when I was a teacher.” That's what I used to say.
Then one day I realized I wasn't helping aspiring writers when I was coy or vague. If it had been me asking the question at any point in my pre-published life, from the time I was seven and banging away on my grandfather's old Underwood typewriter in the garage to when I was in my thirties and teaching eighth grade English and wondering if a career as a writer was really possible, I would have wanted a straight answer. I could have really used one.
Telling the Truth
So one day I actually answered the question. Instead of beating around the bush I came right out and told my listeners exactly how much money I made on my first advance. (Which was $8,000, since I'm talking about not being coy here.) That, of course, opened the door to talking about all the other ways I make money off my books—the royalties, the audio book sales, the foreign edition and film rights—and soon I was giving a crash course on what makes a professional author professional.
It was eye-opening, for them and for me. It was liberating. It was empowering.
Now I answer this question the same way every time. I launch into a discussion of the different ways authors make money, how much I make off the sale of an eighteen dollar book (the answer might surprise you), what the difference is between midlist and bestselling authors, and on and on. I tell audiences to stop me when they want to hear about something else, because I can talk about this stuff all day.
And the funny thing is, they rarely stop me.
It turns out that most everyone interested in writing for a living is also interested in the small matter of how people make money at it.
Go figure.
The Untaught Topic
Why are writers of all levels of experience always so eager to talk about money when they gather? Well, where else are we supposed to learn this stuff? A writing workshop? An MFA program?
Not likely.
Let's face it: writing programs are great at teaching people how to write, but they're lousy at teaching people how to make a living as writers.
This is something we're going to have to take care of for ourselves.
The Phone Call
Before I sold my first book, I thought I was pretty savvy. In addition to focusing on my craft, I had learned as much as I could about the business of writing. I studied the market. I went to conventions. I read books. I did all the things you were supposed to do to be “professional” before you were officially professional, like writing clean, concise query letters, not cold calling editors and agents, and including SASEs with every submission. I kept spreadsheets on what I had sent to publishers and when I had sent it, followed up on constructive rejections with thank you notes, and kept sending out round after round of queries.
Three manuscripts and four years' worth of slush pile submissions later, I got The Phone Call.
An editor at Dial Books for Young Readers called and made me an offer on Samurai Shortstop, the manuscript that was to become my first published novel. She told me what advance they were offering and what rights they wanted to buy, and I said, “Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes!” and did a little happy dance in my living room.
Some creative-type friends of mine immediately advised me to use the sale of Samurai Shortstop to get myself an agent, so I started calling around to see if anyone was interested in representing me. The first question each of them asked was: “Did you say yes on the phone?” Well, of course, I told them. Who wouldn't? Then they explained to me that by saying yes on the phone, I had made a verbal agreement to the terms, which were probably now no longer negotiable. At the very least, I had already demonstrated that I would be very happy to take exactly what had been offered. In short, I had tied any prospective agent's hands before she was ever signed on.
All the reading I'd done, all the conferences I'd gone to, all the preparation I had put into setting myself up for success, and I didn't even know how to handle the first phone call!
Experience Is a Harsh Mistress
That wasn't the only mistake I've made along the way. Not by a long shot. Not even after meeting other authors and talking candidly about the business. I've had to leave an agent. I've had a book fall into limbo. I've written entire books that haven't sold, and I've sold a book off a two paragraph pitch. I've had books that sold out their first print runs before their first royalty statements, and I've had a series that sold so poorly it was canceled after two books, even though I'd already signed a contract—and been paid—for a third.
Am I losing you? Good. All the more reason for you to stick around and learn what you're getting into. Does some of this sound painfully familiar? Even better. You stick around too, and we'll figure things out together.
We Are Not Alone
Think writers are the only ones in the dark about the business side of their chosen profession? Try going to the bookstore and looking for books about business in the music section, or the filmmaking section, or the crafting section. You might find one, but the shelf will be dominated by books about craft, not business.
What do we all have in common? We're all artists. We have to learn our craft before we can be expected to get paid for it, of course, which is why there are so many how-to books. And no one wants to go to art school or get an MFA or apprentice with a master to learn how to learn how to incorporate as an S-corp for tax purposes.
But maybe we should.
The Writing MBA
What I propose is a free, ongoing business course for writers. A Writing MBA, if you will. The missing MFA class. A public forum where we can talk honestly about money and contracts and social media and branding and remainders all the other things that nobody ever teaches, but which authors have to make decisions about all the time, often every day.
Why Me?
You've never heard of me. I write kids' books and you don't. I've never been a bestseller.
So why him, I hear you asking?
I'll admit it right now: I'm no expert. Do I know everything there is to know about the business of writing? Pardon me while I pick myself up off the floor from laughing. No. Not by a long shot. I've been a full-time, professional novelist (meaning, I've been earning a living wage at this) for eight years now, and I've learned a lot—but not nearly everything. What I do know, I'll tell you about; what I don't know, I'll find out.
And then I'll share.
It doesn't matter what you're writing, or who you're writing it for. If you're looking to get paid to write novels, you're going to be dealing with the same issues all professional writers deal with. And it's time we started talking openly and frankly about this stuff.
Why You?
Maybe you've just sold your first book and you're feeling lost. Maybe you're got a few books out, but you've still got a day job you want to break free from. Maybe you're already made the leap to full-time author, and you suddenly find yourself adrift in the uncharted waters of professional writing. Maybe you're a wildly successful, bestselling author, and you still don't know what the heck is going on.
Or maybe you're me, ten years ago. Maybe you're an aspiring author who dreams of selling a first book, and a second, and a third, and a fourth, and establishing a career. Maybe, like me, you're doing everything you can to prepare to be successful, long before you make success happen.
The Writing MFA is for you.
The Way of the Warrior
The samurai didn't really hate money, of course. They loved it. It was, on a practical level, what most of their lives were all about. (As is the case with most of here in the present too.) What the samurai found contemptuous was the idea of being associated with the lower classes. Money matters were the province of merchants, not the nobility—and yet the samurai had to do something to keep themselves in tea and armor.
If we're going to be professional authors, if we're going to make a living at our craft, we're going to have to get over this feeling that business lessons are for Wall Street wonks and Internet startups, and not writers. That money is a dirty word. That it has no place in art.
In short, we're going to have to earn our Writing MBAs.
