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Good Intentions Aren’t Enough in Publishing Deals: How Creators Can Protect Themselves

Photo by Aashish R Gautam on Unsplash

Today’s post is by fine artist, illustrator, and author Manda Comisari.

The mind/body/spirit publishing market is big business, and honestly, with everything currently happening in the world, it’s not a stretch to figure out why the industry is booming. When the world feels chaotic, people search for meaning in whatever way they can. Cue tarot cards and oracle decks, whose cards promise to unveil opportunities for reflection, guidance, clarity, and a return to the self.

Many of the authors and illustrators behind the decks enter with the best of intentions: they want to promote healing and well-being. No one commits to painting 52+ cards and writing thousands of words without feeling deeply passionate about the work they’re putting out into the world.

However, there is a key difference in perspective between creators and publishers. Creators view their works as meaningful contributions, while many publishers view it as content to be managed and distributed.

To some degree I understand that. Artists and authors aren’t naive. We know we need money to survive. But when you’re specifically working on projects for the wellness space, you would expect the values that these businesses claim to champion to also be reflected in how they treat the creative laborers that make their products.

I’m an illustrator and author whose oracle deck was published a few years ago. It was my first big project, and one I felt deeply passionate about. I was unagented and a novice to the publishing industry.

The deadlines were intense: 51 hand-painted gouache artworks and 14,000 words in 5.5 months. The publisher’s timeline was non-negotiable, so I began work before anything was officially signed. I did my best to negotiate fair(er) terms, with the most important one being clarification on the non-compete clause, which is a section in publishing contracts that prevents an author or illustrator from creating or selling a similar book or product that could compete with the one they’re releasing. Remember this note—I’ll be revisiting it shortly.

I’m proud to say that I met every deadline, but that was only possible because I worked non-stop through Christmas, New Year’s, and my birthday without a single day off.

By the time everything was turned in, I was burnt out. I began experiencing a strange blurriness in my right eye, and a short time later, the problem escalated into a severe case of optic neuritis that left me functionally blind for the next eight months. It took another six months after that to see normally again.

At the same time, I was still sorting things out with the publisher. The process left me with far less creative freedom than I had expected.

The non-compete clause I said we would come back to? I didn’t get it changed in the contract, but I did receive written clarification on what it meant from my original editor, and I trusted that our mutual understanding was enough to move forward. We agreed that only a matching (i.e., identical) theme would be relevant, and that if I came up with an idea that I was unsure about, we could discuss it. After that editor went on leave, however, the interpretation of my non-compete clause was expanded beyond our original understanding, limiting the projects I could reasonably pursue.

That was the catalyst that pushed me to start talking to other authors and illustrators. There’s a lot of us, and we all have different perspectives and experiences. We shared stories and insights, and it turns out that, while my case is extreme, it’s not isolated. In fact, it’s representative of a systemic pattern in publishing: inadequate pay, demanding timelines, contractual overextension, and creative burn out.

I’m choosing to focus on the wellness market because my experience exists within this space. For an industry whose entire market relies on selling ideas of harmony and self-care, the reality of how creative laborers are treated feels incredibly hypocritical.

When people buy wellness decks, they incorrectly assume that creators get royalties. In reality, that widely depends on the type of contract they sign. I spoke to several other authors and illustrators working in the mind/body/spirit space and found that there’s a wide range of arrangements covering timelines, contractual clauses, and payment.

To illustrate, one artist I spoke with had a full twelve months to complete a smaller number of artworks than what I’ve listed for my own deck. They were shocked when they heard my timeline. Another account initially involved a more flexible art deadline, but when timeframes suddenly changed to meet new printing schedules, they were offered a rush fee to get work out quicker.

That kind of discrepancy is unfortunately common, not just with timeframes to complete work, but also in contract details.

The internet is rich with stories about contractual clauses that limit artistic freedom and lock creatives into restrictive terms. This is especially true for unagented authors and illustrators who often find themselves confronting power imbalances within the publishing arena on their own.

For example, some creators had no non-compete clauses or NDAs whatsoever, allowing them to share work as they went, building an audience for their decks and art concurrently. In my case, even though my contract didn’t explicitly state that I couldn’t share my work before publication, during initial discussions I came away with the impression that sharing was discouraged. As a first time author and illustrator without representation, I didn’t know any better. I assumed I couldn’t, and in turn, I shared nothing. Others had similar contracts to my own, especially when it came to obligations set by non-compete clauses, which can freeze your ability to work within your field for years at a time.

In regards to payment, some publishing houses pay a flat fee for artwork and offer zero royalty payments. But the irony of that reality is that card decks primarily sell because of the artwork, and the creative marathon it takes to make a cohesive deck collection is incredibly demanding. An illustrator may spend months creating dozens of intricate artworks either by hand or digitally and never see a dime beyond their initial fee.

In other cases, some contracts do offer royalty payments, but many never materialize after their initial advance. Royalty payments don’t begin until the advance has been earned out, meaning the author has recouped the advance from sales. And truthfully? Royalty percentages are on average frustratingly low. If you happen to be the author and illustrator of a deck, you’re also not paid double royalties or given a larger advance despite doing all the work. One creator pointed out that they had initially been interested in authoring and illustrating their own deck, but once they learned that they wouldn’t be paid more for the project, they abandoned the idea. Double the work for the same amount of pay didn’t seem worth the extra time and effort.

If these realities aren’t already upsetting on their own, artists now face a new challenge with the adoption of AI-generated images. Some publishers have already begun toying with cutting human illustrators out of the equation altogether, opting for lowering costs over paying for creative labor.

Under this system, publishers are reaping benefits at the expense of creatives.

So what’s a creator to do? Let’s talk about options.

If you’re dead-set on being traditionally published, let’s go over some red flags and highlight ways to avoid them.

1. Keep records

First and foremost, keep records of all your communication. Make a folder and keep track of what was agreed upon and when. Remember what I said about the non-compete clause shifting in interpretation? That’s all documented.

2. Hire contract assistance

Ensure that someone looks at your publishing contract before you sign it. That lawyer fee will pay for itself. If you can’t afford to do that, join an association that offers contractual advice. It’s cheaper than hiring a contract lawyer, and they know what red flags to look out for. The Authors Guild and The Society of Authors offers this, and so does the Association of Illustrators and Hireillo. I’ve worked with both and found them to be quick, thorough, and extremely helpful. I was actually warned about the non-compete clause, but I wasn’t firm enough in ensuring that I secured a fair deal in my contract.

3. Be your own advocate

Which brings me to my next point: Become your own advocate. Use your voice, ask for what you need, and be unapologetic in fiercely protecting your IP. Unless the publisher is paying you a huge sum, make sure that you keep your copyright and print rights for your art. If that still doesn’t sit right with you, it’s at your discretion to walk away from the deal. There is always another option to get your work out there.

4. Estimate your time

This next bit is specifically for my illustrator friends. Another oracle deck artist passed down some of the best advice I’ve heard: before committing to any kind of deadline, do a demo piece and time yourself. Whatever that is, do the math and quote yourself properly. Is the amount being offered enough to cover your living expenses without needing to procure supplemental income? Or will you need to take out another job on top of this work to cover your bills? Let that inform how you decide to move forward.

5. Talk with others

Lastly, share your experiences with other creatives. The only way terrible publishing practices can continue is if we let them. Talk to other authors and artists, and share information with one another. Ask the big questions: Does this feel like a fair fee for this amount of work? Are these deadlines concerning? Does the publisher have a good reputation? We can’t know these things or push back on bad practices if we quietly endure.

If after reading all this you decide that traditionally publishing a wellness or tarot deck might not be worth the trouble, it’s 2025. Self publishing is a thing! There’s an abundance of platforms available to you. Yes, you will have to take on marketing efforts by yourself. But realistically? You would have to do that being traditionally published as well. Might as well keep your own IP with that kind of deal.

The irony of the state of the wellness market is that it’s leaving its creators in a state of un-wellness. Burnout is a real thing, both physically and mentally. No project is worth compromising your physical and emotional health, but that’s especially true for one that benefits everyone but you. It doesn’t have to be this way, and I’m positive we can can have a publishing landscape that supports everyone involved. Whether you choose to pursue traditional publishing or try doing it yourself, the most important takeaway I can leave you with is to respect yourself enough to know your self-worth, set boundaries, and be willing to walk away from any deal that works against you.

How a Memoir Became Netflix’s Boots

Greg Cope White is a memoirist, a screenwriter and a producer. As a gay teenager, he followed his (straight) best friend into a summer-long U.S. Marines boot camp (as the back cover copy reads, “he only heard summer and camp”). This was before “don’t ask, don’t tell,” and being exposed as gay would have cost him both his job and his reputation. Yet Greg continued to serve in the Marines for six years; he ultimately attained the rank of Sergeant. After leaving the Marines, he moved to New York and LA to pursue acting and writing. In addition to his best-selling memoir The Pink Marine, Greg has written television shows and movies produced by Sony, CBS, NBC, Fox, Disney, Comedy Central, HBO, and Netflix.

Image courtesy of Netflix © 2025

Although I’m now a developmental editor and writing coach, I began my career writing and performing comedy, as well as writing for television. A few years later, I became a national film and television critic. Story and storytelling are my jam, regardless of medium. Many memoirists dream of having their memoir optioned and produced as a series, so when I met Greg via Instagram, I immediately thought of interviewing him for Jane’s readers.

Greg’s bio describes him as an “inveterate bon vivant,” which is both true to my experience and also gives you a sense of the ‘fish out of water’ nature of writing The Pink Marine and being a writer on its Netflix adaptation, Boots, which drops today. Greg generously offered to share his wisdom about the process of going from page to screen.

Sarah Chauncey: You recently posted a quote on social media about the time frame around your writing career. Could you recap that here? 

Greg Cope White: I was 26 when I left the Marines and moved to New York. A couple of years later, I headed to LA to edge into writing. I’m self-taught, so it took time to figure out how to do that and then break into a room. I joined my first writers’ room at 32. By 50, I turned off the TV to write my memoir, which I published at 55. Back to screenwriting: sold my first movie at 57, the next two at 58, sold my memoir to Sony/Netflix at 60, walked into that writer’s room at 61, production (which was delayed by the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes) wrapped at 64. I’m 65, and the series streams October 9. (…If I exercise, eat right and look both ways before crossing the street…)

Moral of the story: Write when you’re ready.

Before you wrote your memoir, you were already a screenwriter. What skills from screenwriting helped you write the memoir? What was most challenging?

Bookshop • Amazon

The hardest part was overcoming my lack of a college education and learning the long-form writing game. Scripts I knew. A book was intimidating. I started, stopped, shoved the book in a drawer, but it kept gnawing at me. For twenty years. My clever boyfriend challenged me to write a short story. Less scary. I wrote one, he built a blog, and after two years of blogging (picked up by HuffPo and others) I finally had the muscles to pound out a first draft. As you know, that’s only the beginning of a book’s publication odyssey. I owe a lot to my editor, Nicole Klungle.

In a script, we use fewer words to establish tone because an actor, director and set designer, etc. will put their own stank on it. In a book, if necessary, I can spend pages on what blue means to me. I wrote the book cinematically, to not only take the reader on my ride, but also to elucidate the potential for a series.

TV comedy trained me in two essentials: timing and relatability. Few readers have served in the Marines, but everyone understands humor. Wrapping the military moments with comedy let me connect with a wider audience.

How did you find your publisher? Was your screenwriting agent willing to submit you to acquiring editors?

My agent found the publisher, but after release it became clear he wasn’t the right fit. I learned that the hard way—on book tour, with a heart attack. I survived, canceled the contract, and with my boyfriend, launched our own imprint. We republished the book ourselves. Now it is a self-published book. Highly recommend all of that—except the heart attack.

You had a significant boost from Norman Lear (creator of All in the Family, One Day at a Time, The Princess Bride and other progressive comedies). Tell us about working with him and the role he played in having The Pink Marine optioned for a series.

Norman was my idol long before he became my mentor. He called me “Sergeant” because he loved my Marine stories. He’s a combat veteran, a legendary LGBTQ+ ally, and a believer in voices like mine. I wrote on two of his sitcoms, The Powers That Be and 704 Hauser Street, as well as developing other shows with him.

Developing the book into a series with Norman was a three-year process of ups and downs. Another producer, Rachel Davidson, optioned the book. Norman then developed the series with us. Once he found his way in, he took it to Sony as a project he wanted to make. It was a ten-year labor of love.

His advice still motivates me: “There’s room for everyone in this business,” and “You never learn anything from praise.” That last one is my motto, whether I’m getting or giving notes.

What were some of the changes made to the story (and why)? How did you feel about them initially?

The book is the book; the show is the show.

The memoir is a deeply personal coming-of-age story about me, my childhood best friend Dale, and surviving Marine Corps boot camp. From the day I signed the enlistment contract, my world view was expanded, constantly. I got to know all the unique characters that made up our platoon.

The show is not a biopic. Our showrunner opened it up to explore the entire platoon—many characters from the book, some newly created. Cameron Cope and Ray McAffey are based on me and Dale, but we also take them to places I never did. And I am very proud of the way Miles Heizer and Liam Oh portray their characters.I write both and love them both—together and separately.

I got to experience the true feeling of camaraderie while in boot camp and then again with our writing staff and cast on set.

Image courtesy of Netflix © 2025

What were some of your “darlings” from the memoir that had to be cut for the series? 

The toughest loss was the title. We all loved The Pink Marine, but for the series we needed something that reflected the ensemble. We pulled on our Boots. Forward march.

As a writer on the show, my job is to support the showrunner/creator Andy Parker’s vision. Which meant I sometimes participated in the murder of my own darlings. But often those Greg-centric stories got resurrected to support another character’s arc, which made the whole show stronger.

What advice would you offer memoir writers who want their stories to appeal to development executives?

Write the story you want to tell. Don’t reverse-engineer it to fit the perceived market. Your story has value because it’s your story. Authenticity is what gets noticed and what holds up when the cameras roll.

What’s next on your writing horizon?

To be back in the Boots writers’ room for Season Two, should the viewers decide they want more.

Also my next book is out hopefully mid-2026. The Pink Marine is about wanting to find my place in the world via an extreme, unlikely path. My next book is a collection of short stories: Marines, misadventures in 1980s New York, and my literal wild ride to LA to find out where my voice fits in the writing world—and, sorry, but there’s a love story tangled in there.

And then I’ll write a book on what to expect when you’re expecting your book to be a series.

Thank you for your time, and congratulations!

Learn more about The Pink Marine, and watch Boots on Netflix.

New UK subscription box service for debut literary fiction

Indie bookstore Goldsboro Books has launched Fresh Ink, a subscription service dedicated to debut literary fiction.

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New UK children’s imprint: Tangle & Twig

Educational publisher BookLife wants to expand its reach into trade (consumer) publishing with the new children’s imprint.

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Bookshop launches ebooks in the UK

The virtuous alternative to Amazon launched ebooks in the US market earlier this year and has now followed suit in the UK for Apple and Android.

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Garlic press: Hellmann’s spreads its flavor into Armentrout’s new release

In a brand partnership with Hellmann’s mayonnaise, Armentrout’s latest is now available in a special edition printed with garlic-infused ink.

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New Christian imprint at Penguin Random House

Align Insight will publish on topics such as self-help, lifestyle, psychology, relationships, memoir, and leadership.

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How Do Freelancers Survive Today? An Interview with a 20-Year Veteran

Earlier this year, I met freelance writer Noah Berlatsky as part of a panel I was moderating on Substack. What caught my attention right away is that he’s been in the freelance writing game for 20 years now, while supporting a family, all without bailing and moving to a different occupation with more dependable work and money. After our panel concluded, I asked if he’d be up for a conversation about his career and how he sustains it in an increasingly difficult environment for freelancers.

Currently Noah runs a Substack newsletter, Everything Is Horrible, that people pay to receive (even though they don’t have to), in addition to traditional freelance work. He also writes and publishes poetry.

Our conversation took place in August over Zoom; it has been edited and condensed for publication.

Jane Friedman: As you know, the impetus for this interview is that you have been in the freelance game for so long and you still, at least outwardly, appear to be … I don’t know. Cheerful might not be the right word.

Noah Berlatsky: [laughs]

You’re not a total Eeyore. You seem to have a dark sense of humor about it, which maybe is necessary. And when I looked at all of the places that you’ve published, you’ve outlasted a lot of the outlets you’ve contributed to.

Yeah, that’s true. Outlasted even more than it looks like, because a lot of places, they’re still doing stuff, but the section that I was involved with is gone.

Precisely. You haven’t yet gone into accounting. [laughs]

You know, if I had accounting skills, maybe. [laughs] The other options for me, I feel like are somewhat limited. I don’t know what I’d do.

Maybe that’s why you’ve stuck it out. You have no choice. Regardless, it takes an amazing amount of stubbornness and a belief that it will work itself out. There will be another gig or there will be another opportunity. Do you have a good network that keeps things rolling along?

There’s a couple of things that make it possible. The biggest one is I’m married to somebody who has a steady job and health insurance. People maybe don’t talk about that or underrate how important that is. But, I mean, that’s huge, right? That means there’s really a cushion. I started before the ACA really kicked in and when my daughter was born [in the early 2000s]. When my daughter was born, we decided that was a good time for me to start freelancing and have a more flexible schedule. My wife, she went into work, so that I could do more childcare.

So, I think that that’s probably the single most important thing, being married to somebody who has a less precarious job.

And the second thing?

After that, I feel like it’s a lot of luck. I’m constantly pitching. I try to pitch somewhere every day, and I try to constantly try to find new outlets and connect with old outlets. Sometimes it’s useful and sometimes I’m just annoying editors. But [laughs] I don’t really know how else to do it. You try to have as broad a range of clients as possible so that when one thing collapses, you’ve got something to continue with. It’s still very anxiety producing, I have to say.

[One outlet] went bankrupt owing me $10,000. So that was terrifying and horrible, right? I thought I’m never gonna see that money. But in fact I did, because they wanted to keep going with some things, so they figured they needed to pay me. So they did eventually pay me out. But it was super stressful. I mean, it was so stressful in fact that I had a seizure. [laughs]

Oh, my God.

Yeah, I mean, it sounds like, “Oh, my God.” But it wasn’t really that. I mean, people have seizures more often than you think. [laughs] Apparently. Basically I was dreaming and I couldn’t wake up, wouldn’t wake up. My wife was terrified. She called the ambulance. I had to go to the hospital. There’s been no long-term effects. But, you know, obviously that’s the side of how stressful it was that I had this kind of medical event. Because it was like, “I’ve lost $10,000. What the hell am I gonna do?”

Every time you think you’ve got a steady client where you can kinda count on them and it seems like it’s gonna be okay, like as soon as you think that, it’s gone.

You’ve done a lot of op-ed work in your career, and it seems that work is hard to come by—or most of it is now destined for Substack, I’d say.

There was a brief period there where I had regular op-ed columns at like three places. And I thought, “This’ll work. I could do this forever.” I was at The Independent, NBC Think, I was working for this kind of blog called The Editorial Board. [But] there aren’t really op-ed outlets anymore. I think in part because like a lot of stuff’s moved to Substack but you know there’s also political incentives.

I had somebody reach out who I’d worked with before. They wanted me to write about the Texas Democrats leaving Texas, right? I said, “Oh yeah, I could write about that.” They said, “Well, they’re in Illinois, so talk about the Illinois context, and, make it funny, and, you know, don’t be like ‘Republicans are the bad guys.’”

And, you know, I did my best … but they didn’t use the piece. I think that that kind of logic has shut down a lot of op-eds. They want to feel like they can appeal to conservative voters … but they’re also afraid of like, you know, getting pushback from Trump or the people who own them like Trump. So those kind of things have caused there to be fewer outlets for op-eds, which is bad for op-ed writers like me.

So that all collapsed. And I was writing for CNN Opinion, and I was writing mostly movie think pieces, which was a lot of fun. Arts criticism is what I would do if I had a choice of what to do. And that’s all dried up too. I used to write book reviews for the LA Times. Their culture section was destroyed, right? … They don’t really have an arts section. All the editors I worked with either got fired or shifted elsewhere.

You’ve also had to deal with getting canceled.

Yeah, there was sort of a content mill I was working for. I mean, it wasn’t a great place to work for and they didn’t pay that much, but it was sort of steady. It was, like, semi-employment in terms of you could write two or three articles a week and that was money I could count on.

And the right-wing people were like, “Oh, this guy’s a bad guy. Don’t publish him.” And [my editors] weren’t saying, “Oh, you’re a bad person.” They were just like, “Oh, I hate cancel culture, but we’re gonna fire you anyway.” [laughs]

People just don’t necessarily treat their writers that well. I mean, the whole reason to hire freelance people is because you can fire them, you know, without really having to do anything.

So let’s talk about what’s going right. We were on a panel together to talk about Substack, and you’re making good money there.

I started writing for Aaron Rupar’s Public Notice, which is a huge Substack. He has a huge subscription list. And I’m basically writing op-eds for Aaron, who’s fantastic. Like, in my 20 years of experience, he’s one of the best handful of editors I’ve worked for. It’s great to work for him, and because of Substack’s network effects, that means a lot of people find [my Substack] through him, which means that I kind of have a sustainable income stream on Substack. It’s around $36,000 a year, $37,000 a year. I still need to get other income, but that’s a good cushion if things fall through.

But I don’t necessarily know that Substack’s gonna last forever either. They don’t really tell you what they’re doing, but I saw a dramatic decrease in free subscribers coming in earlier this year. I mean, basically, I kind of flatlined. I was getting as many people in as were leaving. And then I had a post that went semi-viral, and I got a couple hundred more subscribers. And now I’m back to kind of flat-lining again.

I’m not panicked. I still have new people finding me, I still have people paying. But it’s kind of an indication that, you know, Substack can f— you. [laughs] You know?

That’s the sort of thing I’ve been worried about all along and why I would not move my newsletters to Substack.

I mean, I know Aaron, so I feel like if I really had a problem, I could probably get help. But it doesn’t make you feel stable. It doesn’t make you feel, “Oh, I found the one true solution and I can just ride this to retirement,” right? My livelihood is dependent on these people who I don’t trust or like. That’s not that different than, like, any kind of job. But it’s precarious.

What else are you earning from these days?

I do writing for Mariame Kaba, who’s an anti-prison activist, and she’s amazing. And that’s kind of regular. And we’re friends, and she’s also an amazing boss. I have a couple things that feel stable or stable-ish. But you’re also constantly trying to find new outlets. Whenever I’m like, “Holy sh—, I’m doomed,” my wife is like, “Well, you’ve said that before and it always works out.”

Let’s say you’re at a writer’s conference or some industry event, and a fresh-faced grad walks up to you and they say, “I want to start freelance writing.” What would you tell them?

The best preparation for being a freelance writer, the absolute best thing, the thing that will ensure success and ensure financial stability, is to be born rich.

And if you can’t be born rich, you should marry somebody who’s rich. And if you can’t do either of those things, you’re kind of screwed. [laughs] The way the industry is now, I couldn’t in good conscience recommend anybody do this.

You know, one of the things that sort of keeps you going when you’re a writer is that you have dream jobs. You’re like, “Oh, I would love to do that.” Right? I mean, maybe I’ll never get there, but it’s nice to think about maybe getting there at some point. Now it’s not my own employment that’s disappearing but all the dream jobs.

So what do you aspire to now?

I just aspire to getting to retirement. That’s really where I’m at. I wanna be able to have an income for another 10 years. There aren’t any staff jobs, and the ones there are, people just get fired. Looking at the Washington Post now, all these respected columnists and writers who worked there for years, they all had to leave. They go to Substack, the New Republic has picked up a bunch.

You’re competing with the editors you once worked for, it seems.

Right, right. You’re competing with people who have been staff writers for years or decades. Or if they’re like, “We wanna be young and hip,” they’ll hire somebody who’s young and hip. Which isn’t me. I’m old, I’ve been doing this forever [laughs]. You just hope that you can sort of scrabble along for another 10 years.

You know, I’d love to feel like Substack will just keep growing, and eventually I can transition to just doing that full time. And then retire, and I can keep writing a little. But I don’t really believe in it. I don’t think Substack’s gonna be around for another 10 years in that way.

Well, shoot. I thought we would end on something encouraging.

I can’t really encourage people. I wish I could. I try to point young writers toward editors who might help, but there’s fewer and fewer people. It’s all been devastated, and that’s a problem for theaters, it’s a problem for film, it’s a problem for museums, it’s a problem for local music scenes. Like, anybody who wants to make art or write about art, this stuff has all collapsed.

It wouldn’t take that much money from Democratic funders to revive that. Like, if they took the money that they’re spending on trying to find a liberal Joe Rogan, and they said, “Wait, we have this entire infrastructure. If we’d only support it…” Part of that is that local weeklies used to write about politics, right? So you’d have lots of arts coverage and then you’d have progressive politics, and it was all sort of in one place, and that helps people form an identity around culture and progressive politics.

Democrats have a lot to worry about, but even at the local level, I mean, there’s just no real interest in funding arts or funding writing, treating it as a public good. There’s no real sense that anybody cares, right? We can’t even defend public broadcasting.

Or libraries. [IMLS was one of the first federal agencies to be cut by the Trump administration in 2025. Learn more.]

Exactly. Even in the best case scenario … it looks pretty bleak. Everybody’s getting rid of their critics. There were content mill jobs where people would get started in freelance writing, and those were exploitive and horrible jobs. But it’s even worse now if there’s some sort of AI slop quasi-review, which is just there to get clicks and maybe let people know some movie exists.

Note from Jane: Are you a freelance writer? How do you make it work? Let us know in the comments.

New book review publication: Oakland Review of Books

On its About page, you’ll learn that the Oakland Review of Books is “an exercise in counterprogramming.”

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New nonfiction publisher: Titchwell Press

The UK-based press is a new, independent publisher of illustrated nonfiction books, focusing on gardens, plants, nature, art, and creativity.

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