Five Ugly Realities of Being a Full Time Writer
I found myself, earlier today, in a position I’ve been in before: telling someone who came to me, asking for advice on a writing career, not to pursue one. Which, taken out of context, sounds really horrible. And maybe is really horrible, even with all the context in the world. But I’d like to explain myself, even so, and explain what I mean. Because, truthfully, I love writing and I think anyone else who loves writing should absolutely write. The last thing I want is to perpetuate the kind of scarcity mentality bullshit that’s plagued the writing community for so long. But at the same time, I want you to know…
Don’t quit your day job. There’s a myth out there that publishing a book is like winning the lottery: that acceptance letter, from whatever publishing house picked you, is a ticket to riches. Everyone pictures themselves, on some level, as the next [fill in the name of famous, highly respected or, at least, highly prolific author here]. Maybe they’re straight up telling their family and friends that they’re the next E.L. James; maybe they only daydream about ousting Neil Gaiman from his throne in the shower. But the truth is that the average traditionally published author makes ten thousand dollars per year. The average self-published author makes half that.
And even if you do fantastically well, if you live in America those royalty checks also have to cover healthcare and all the other benefits you don’t get if you work for someone else. Even those jobs where you’re paying a copay for health insurance…that copay is a lot smaller than what you’ll be forking over once you’re on your own. Then, of course, there’s the uncertainty of royalty checks: how much will you earn this month? Because even if you land yourself a bestseller…
Each single doesn’t last very long. I’ve talked before, on this blog and via podcast, about how The Demon of Darkling Reach paid for my son’s college education. Well, he’s three; it funded his college fund. Thanks to a history-heavy story about flesh eating demons, in fifteen years or so he’ll be able to attend the college of his choice, anywhere in the world. I feel pretty good about that.
But it’s only one book and you can quickly go from selling upwards of 1,500 copies per day to selling 5. Or none. Each book has a, pardon the expression, a shelf life. People want to know when the next installment in the series, or indeed the next series is coming out. You can’t rely on selling so many copies of one book that your future is secure. Traditionally published authors are in a rockier boat, here, than their self-published counterparts because guess what: if they don’t hear a single, they drop you. All it takes is one underperforming book. This is a very competitive industry and goodwill, sadly, doesn’t always go that far. You have to keep writing, and not simply writing but finishing. All in the knowledge that your next book may tank. Because you can’t predict what people will, and won’t like. They barely know themselves and, to some extent, sales are a product of fashion.
Your coworkers are terrible. Writers can be a jealous, mean-spirited bunch. The same scarcity mentality I referenced earlier often keeps them from supporting each other and, indeed, encourages them to tear each other down. I wish I could say that this was true only of the posers but it’s not; successful writers, too, can be real jackasses.
Your hours are even worse. However you publish, you’re responsible for doing your own legwork. You promote: yourself and your work. You create a product, and you do all this while also writing to deadline. There is no such thing as clocking out early and going home. Your work follows you home–it follows you everywhere. And don’t expect to get much sympathy, when you complain about your soul-crushing stress at family dinners. You’re “only” a writer. They’re more likely to respond with penetrating questions about how, exactly, you’re paying your mortgage.
You’ll wind up with at least one stalker. And I’m not even talking about the people who make it their life’s mission to trash you on Goodreads, because they’re frustrated authors, themselves. And yes, even published authors–even reasonably successful published authors–troll each other, on Goodreads and elsewhere, hoping that their searingly insightful, 5,000 word review will be the one to trash your chances of ending up on any bestseller lists. No, I’m talking about the people who see something in your work, often something that utterly is not there, and then send you dick pics and lurid first person essays about their sexual fantasies. Who make worrying remarks about your children. Who tell you how much they hate you, based on something you shared on Twitter. These people have serious problems, for which they’re determined to make you their scapegoat.
Everyone’s an expert. They’ll tell you that your carefully researched book, written by you, the person with a degree in medieval history, is “wrong.” Because they picture things differently. They’ll tell you that your writing is ruining their life. And if you write queer-positive stories like I do, you’ll get a whole different class of hate mail. Some people just do not like the transsexuals, bisexuals, and brown people in my books. Well, too bad for them…but, at the same time, the negativity can get wearing. If you’re thinking about writing, because you’re excited to share your stories with the world and get positive feedback, pick a different profession.
Yes, you do get positive feedback, and that makes all the difference in the world. Knowing one of my books has touched someone makes everything worthwhile, for me. But I’m fortunate in that my books are really starting to find their niche, with people who love them. It…wasn’t like that when I first published. I had to wait a long time for that first positive review. And even then, it’s an unfortunate truism of writing that, for the most part, the people who leave reviews are the ones with an axe to grind. To see what I mean, check out one of your favorite YouTuber’s more popular videos sometime. And then check out the hit counter versus the number of “likes.” I think, speaking for myself, that I’ve probably sold a couple thousand books at least for every positive review I’ve gotten.
What gets you through, at the end of the day, is that you love writing. It’s loving writing, it’s needing to write. For me, writing is like breathing. It’s just something that has to happen and I don’t question it–although I occasionally do worry about my ability to do it being, for whatever reason, taken away. My characters are, I’m ashamed to admit, more real to me than many of the people in my “real” life. I love my fans, too, and I love hearing from them–more than they realize, trust me on this, hearing from someone that they liked one of my books is the next best thing to Taylor Swift appearing in my living room–but I never would have gotten to the point of having any fans if that first, that strongest love hadn’t kept me going when nothing else could have.
So is it worth it?
For me, yes. What about you? Let me know in the comments.
