The Business of Writing

False Dichotomies of Publishing

21 September 2016

From Ryk E. Spoor:

Often, both those published in the traditional fashion and those who are self-published present their approaches as though they were equal choices which need simply be chosen between (and naturally extol the virtues of their chosen approach while pointing out all the deficiencies of the other method).

But this is, put simply, wrong. The two approaches are, first of all, not mutually exclusive, and there’s considerable evidence that many of the most successful authors are those who takeboth routes. But more importantly there are areas of contrast and separation which are implied – by one side or the other – to be simple dichotomies when they are not.

The most important of these is the often-unspoken implication that you can choose either path. Well, no, you can’t, not that simply. “In Soviet Union, publishing choose you!” You can choose to submit your manuscript to a traditional publisher, but that does not in any way obligate the publisher to accept and publish your work, and in fact they reject vastly more manuscripts than they will ever accept.

The acceptance of a manuscript also isn’t just a matter of “this is a better story”, although naturally that’s going to be a large part of it. It’s also “does this story fit with the kind of stories we publish”. Certain types of stories, therefore, will have a much harder time making it past that kind of evaluation, because they don’t fit well into any regular publishing category for one reason or another.

. . . .

Another common false dichotomy is “have no control over your manuscript, or have complete freedom with self-publishing”. While there have been, and probably still are, some publishers with really, really bad editors that will take apart manuscripts for their own entertainment, for the most part publishers aren’t there to dictate how you should write your stuff; after all, if they dictate it all to you, why not just write it themselves? As I have discussed before, the purpose of having editors is to make your work better but still in essence yours.

This points to the falsity on the flip side as well. Sure, you can have complete control of your work, write it and throw it right up on Amazon without anyone saying a word against it. But that’s almost certainly doing your work a terrible disservice. There may, possibly, be a few people who are so very good at separating themselves from their own work that they can honestly and dispassionately examine and edit that work. But I have never met someone like that. You need exterior views, and preferably a viewpoint that doesn’t have a vested interest in agreeing with you that your work is perfect. You need people to tell you what needs to beimproved, so that you can do so. So “having complete freedom” is not an unalloyed good, any more than giving up that control in traditional publishing is of necessity evil.

The third common dichotomy has to do directly with money. “Keep most of the money” versus “be paid a pittance by the publisher” is a common refrain – and one that’s pretty much, not to put too fine a point on it, twaddle.

Yes, on pure percentage basis, it does look like the trad publishers give you a raw deal; on paperbacks, royalties are around 7%, sometimes a bit higher for good sellers, and they can go to 10 or 12%, sometimes a bit higher, for hardcovers, and up to 20-25% for eBooks. But that certainly sounds rather puny compared to Amazon’s typical 70% cut.

But.

Every expense of publishing in self-publishing rests squarely on the shoulders of the self-publishing author. Paying for the editors. Paying for the proofreaders. Paying for the cover artist and layout people. Paying for printing, if they’re making a physical book. Paying for any advertising/marketing.

Link to the rest at Ryk E. Spoor and thanks to Patrick for the tip.

 

 

I Published My Debut Novel to Critical Acclaim—and Then I Promptly Went Broke

18 September 2016

From Marie Claire:

Forbes’ list of the world’s highest-paid authors came out last month. My name’s not on it and it probably never will be. My name is, however, on a $786 utility bill that just arrived in the mail. Summer in Texas is expensive, even when you set the thermostat at 85 degrees and tell your husband and three kids there are ice packs in the freezer if they can’t deal.

My name is on the phone bill. The student loan bills, medical bills, internet service provider bills, car insurance bills, the lease. My name is on three bank accounts, the present combined balances of which are insufficient to pay any one of the aforementioned bills. My name is also on a book, my first novel, Love Me Back, which was published by Doubleday two years ago to what they call “wide acclaim.”

. . . .

I had an astonishingly good first run.

Which is, for the most part, over.

Publishing has moved on to Sweetbitter and The Girls and more Harry Potter. Publishing is always moving on. Foolish poet that I am, I didn’t realize how hollow that would make me feel. But of course publishing is moving on. Because publishing is also an industry, employing people who need to pay their own utility bills.

I used to be able to do that. Before my book was released, I worked as the executive director of a small nonprofit, which sounds impressive unless you’ve been the executive director of a small nonprofit, and then you know it just means you’re the one who does everything and still feels guilty all the time. Although I was intensely dedicated to the organization’s mission of funding abortion access, I never felt like I was an ideal executive director and that’s not just imposter syndrome, or my being too hard on myself: I can’t delegate, overthink everything, and generally dread interacting with people.

. . . .

So, two weeks before my book was published, I quit my day job. I was relieved to pass the mantle to someone I thought far more suited to the gig. And I was excited to ride the momentum of the first book—to do the tour and the interviews and then keep it all going forever somehow. I had also recently remarried, following a decade of being single. My new husband had a decent job, and we thought we’d try living on one income (his) while I worked on my next book. So when I said I quit my day job, it wasn’t because I could live on the publisher’s advance indefinitely. It was because I opted to become a financial dependent for the first time in my adult life, which has proven stressful for my relatively young marriage and even more stressful for my writing. I haven’t been able to write since the moment I started thinking I could or should be making money as a writer. I haven’t produced a Second Book.

. . . .

Perhaps you’re thinking: But wait—if your first book was so well-received, don’t you get royalties? Aren’t people still buying it, and don’t you get a piece of each sale?

Back to the Forbes list: Basically John Grisham and Stephen King and JK Rowling are bankrolling the entire publishing industry, and deals for debut authors like me are slot-machine pulls. My book has sold over 12,000 copies, but that’s nowhere close to earning back my advance (which is when you can start earning royalties). In fact, I wonder if my publisher considers 12,000 a failure, commercially, and won’t want to pull the slot machine handle on me again.

Link to the rest at Marie Claire and thanks to Barb for the tip.

Fail Safe

31 July 2016

From author Steve Hockensmith:

There are certain moments a writer dreads. Reading an email that begins “Thank you for your submission, but….” Seeing a one-star review pop up on Amazon. Finding one of your own books in the remainder bin — or, even worse, realizing you’re not in the damn Barnes & Noble in any way whatsoever.

I’ve been through them all. More than once. More than twice. More than…well, lots. And for a long, long time, I let each experience mark me. I’d see the rejection, the bad review, the nothing where my books ought to be, and I’d feel the rubber stamp smacking into my forehead.

. . . .

It got really bad a while back when I found myself, for the first time in years, without a book contract. Money got tight. Mickey Rourke’s cheeks after his fourth facelift tight. So tight my wife started to give me a running countdown to doom.

Her: “We have six months before we run out of money.”

Her: “We have five months before we run out of money.”

Her: “We have four months before we run out of money.”

Her: “You got a royalty check today.”

Me: “Huzzah!”

Her: “Yeah. Yippee. We have five months before we run out of money.”

. . . .

Eventually, I reached the moment every professional writer really dreads. The moment you realize you can’t be a professional writer any more. Not of the “make up fun crap in your pajamas all day” variety, anyway. It was time to go back to a day job.

Of course, Fate being the perverted biyatch she is, the second I landed a 9-to-5 gig, contracts started flying at me. Suddenly I had three series to write…and no time to write them. So a “Tarot Mystery” was a little late. Then a “Nick and Tesla” book was really late. Then another “Tarot Mystery” was reeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaalllllllllllly late. I was a pro again, as I’d defined it, but I was stressed out and burned out and disappointed in myself for letting my editors down. And you know what?

I’d reached the ultimate FAIL, in fact: Writing was making me unhappy. It had been for a long time, I realized. Because how can you be happy with that FAIL FAIL FAIL constantly whacking you in the face?

And who was doing the whacking? Not editors, not agents, not snarky reviewers, not even Fate.

It was me.

Link to the rest at Steve Hockensmith

Here’s a link to Steve Hockensmith’s books. If you like an author’s post, you can show your appreciation by checking out their books.

Missing in Action

30 July 2016

From author Brian Keene via Cemetery Dance Online:

A decade ago, you could find my books in any bookstore. Indeed, most Borders and Barnes and Noble carried a few copies of each book in my backlist, thus creating a Brian Keene shelf, right next to Stephen King and Jack Ketchum. I can’t tell you how crucial this was to increasing my audience. If you’re a customer browsing the horror section (or even the alphabetical K section) your eyes are naturally going to be drawn to an entire row of books written by the same person, rather than a lone book by a lone author.

When myself, J.F. Gonzalez, Mary SanGiovanni, Bryan Smith, and others in our field killed Leisure/Dorchester to save the genre (and ourselves), those Brian Keene sections went away. Since then, readers have been unable to find my books in stores. That’s because many of the publishers I have since signed with—Deadite Press, Apex Book Company, Thunderstorm Books, etc.—don’t have distribution into those stores. And that’s okay. In truth, I make more money from Deadite than I ever made from Leisure (and I was one of Leisure’s top-paid authors) because of Deadite’s distribution. They sell directly to readers and through Amazon, which means I get paid every month, rather than waiting ninety days or more for the bookstore chains to pay them. And since they are selling their books to readers at full price, rather than at a discount for the bookstores, I get paid a much bigger cut of the cover price.

And that’s the way it has been for many years now, starting with the publication of my first post-Leisure novel, Entombed. I’ve released a dozen plus books since then, and none of them have been available in bookstores. Based on my sales and social media imprint, I had assumed all this time that my former bookstore readers had followed along with me, and were now buying those books via Amazon or on Kindle.

But I was wrong.

Yes, my post-Leisure sales stayed the same (and even increased, somewhat). But it wasn’t older readers following me into the brave new digital publishing landscape. It was newer, younger readers discovering me for the first time. Many older readers hadn’t followed me at all, because they were unaware I had continued writing and publishing.

. . . .

I saw the same dynamics in play the next night at The Poisoned Pen in Phoenix. A standing-room only crowd showed up to see Stephen Coonts, Ben Coes, Weston Ochse, and myself. Half the crowd were over the age of forty, and happy to see me apparently writing novels again. The other half were under thirty-five, and happy that I had never stopped writing novels.

Link to the rest at Cemetery Dance Online

Here’s a link to Brian Keene’s books. If you like an author’s post, you can show your appreciation by checking out their books.

PG says if typical bookstore customers are becoming older and older, there’s another nail in the coffin of the way things used to be.

In all the data PG has read about the publishing industry, he doesn’t remember seeing any reports comparing the average ages of bookstore and online book purchasers.

Protecting Your Content and Your Name

29 July 2016

From Kristine Kathryn Rusch:

Back when I was writing a lot of tie-in novels for Pocket Books’ Star Trek division, a brand-new editor asked me to help him rescue a short story anthology. It seems that the main writer on the project had quite unexpectedly. The writer had outlined the story, and the outline had been approved by Paramount, which was a major hurdle. What the editor needed from me was an actual draft of the story.

In other words, none of the characters were mine. The plot, setting, and theme were not mine. The editor needed my style as a writer and my name on the cover. That was it.

I had never worked with this editor before. My usual Star Trek editor advised me to stay clear. But, I figured, it was just a short story. What could it hurt?

Well…it didn’t exactly hurt. But it was perplexing. I wrote the 6,000 word story as requested from a 2,000 word outline. Turned the story in on time. Got an acceptance, and the ridiculously high acceptance payment.

Then I got the copyedit.

Which wasn’t a copyedit. The editor himself had rewritten every single sentence of the story. Every single one. Sometimes adding passive voice. Sometimes making the meaning unclear. Always dumbing down the content and the voice and the point of each sentence, let alone each paragraph.

I looked at that, glanced at my contract, and realized that even though this short story was written as work made for hire, I could make a huge stink about this. I could pull my name or pull the story or cause all kinds of grief.

In the end, I decided to leave it alone. If you look up this short story now, you’ll see the most poorly written thing ever published under my name.

. . . .

That is the only time in my recollection that I can recall allowing an editor’s or copyeditor’s full rewrite of my work to get into print. I’ve had worse rewrites in my career, including a copyeditor who changed every single piece of punctuation in one of my romance novels, but I never let those go through under my name.

I cited contract terms, refusing to allow the changes. I pulled books from publishers because of shenanigans like this. I got copyeditors fired. Repeatedly.

I defend what I write. My writing in some story or novel or nonfiction article might be awful, but it’s mine. If I put my name on it, guaranteed—except for that one short story—every word in the piece is a word I wrote or approved. Every single one.

. . . .

I told you that most writers check their traditional book contracts for the advance, the payout, and the due dates. They don’t look at anything else. Writer after writer, and editor after editor, have told me this.

I always look toward the editing clauses first. Because if they’re ugly, the rest of the contract usually is as well.

This applies to all kinds of writing for traditional markets, especially for nonfiction and short fiction. I’ve seen terrible editing clauses in those contracts, and what’s ironic is that those clauses often seem to be the most innocuous.

What you want is complete control of the content of your work. In every single short fiction contract I sign, I change the publisher’s right to “edit the Work” to “copyedit the Work.” I always add a line that ensures I must approve any changes, including those copyedits, to the Work.

If I don’t like the copyedit, my version stands. If my version isn’t going to stand, then the story doesn’t get published. Period, end of story.

. . . .

The British publishing company has the right—if the publisher deems that right necessary—to completely rewrite my article. They could change everything. They could add stuff I find objectionable—political points of view, for example. They could libel someone through careless writing or even deliberately. They could take a piece in which I say I love something, and change it to say I hate it.

They can do all of that, because I would have signed that right away. Then I would have waived my right to remove my name as the author of the piece. So they could write all this stuff, and claim I meant it, because my name is on it.

. . . .

Oh, and one that drives me as batty as the editing clauses: they have the right to my name. Not just to use my name in publicity. I “empowered” them to use my name in any situation they “considered necessary.”

My name.

I see this clause a lot. Writers give up the right to their own names to a corporation for a few thousand dollars and the publication of a novel.

. . . .

She wrote back, refusing to change the editing clause, and then said this:

I’m afraid the moral rights clause is not one that I am able to make any alterations to. It is a standard clause across all of our contracts and our lawyers will not accept changes to it. As you say, this is a clause that relies somewhat on trust; I can only assure you that we will not act unreasonably, as it would not be in our interest to do so….

I kid you not. She wrote “Trust us. We won’t hurt you.”

. . . .

Make sure the editing clauses in your contracts—from short story contracts to article contracts to novel contracts—limit what the publisher can do to your work. You essentially should allow them to change some things to house style (like whether or not you put a capital after a colon). You should have the right to review a copyedit—and to have the final say on that copyedit.

You also need a clause that limits revisions. When there’s a clause in the contract that says that the finished book must be “accepted” by the Publisher, then you have to define what that means. If it means revisions, then those revisions should be limited to no more than two or three before the contract terminates.

I’ve known writers who rewrote their books for years before the books finally were tossed back as unacceptable by the publisher. One author I know rewrote her book every year for ten years for a textbook publishing house I worked for. When my boss left, and the next editor took his place, that editor saw this continual revision, and canceled the contract. the writer had to repay her entire advance.

Link to the rest at Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Here’s a link to Kris Rusch’s books. If you like the thoughts Kris shares, you can show your appreciation by checking out her books.

Regarding responses such as our lawyers will not accept changes [to a standard contract provision], PG says that the lawyers work for the publisher, not the other way around.

If a publisher tells its lawyer to modify a contract provision to reflect a request from an author, the lawyer will do so. The lawyer may advise the publisher not to make the change for this or that reason, but if the publisher instructs the lawyer to make the change anyway, the change will be made.

Other Evil Clauses

22 July 2016

From Kristine Kathryn Rusch:

Writers tend to go through their business life like Pokémon Go players, looking for something that isn’t there, hoping to score a magic number of points, and not seeing what is there.

It’s impossible to show you all the bad contract terms. I’ve delineated several that you need to watch out for. I’m going to go through some important ones quickly in this blog post, and then look at a few more major terms in the next few weeks before we go to agents and attorneys.

After that, folks, you’re on your own.

. . . .

Definitions: Make sure all of the important and dicey terms in your contract come with an attached definition. And make sure that definition is in your favor, extremely clear, and very narrow. The biggest and most important definition in modern contracts is the definition of the word “net.”

Most contracts leave out the definition of the word “net” altogether. Those contracts assume, apparently, that we all agree on what the word means.

Here’s the thing about contracts, folks. Contracts create their own language and their own definitions. So if the word “net” is undefined, it means whatever someone wants it to mean.

If the publisher does define the word “net,” the publisher often does so in a way that benefits them. (Horrors! They don’t do that in other things…oh, wait, never mind.)

Publishers have moved to “net” in royalty payments at the same time as the rise in ebooks. But that’s not why publishers did it. They did it for the same reason that they have discount clauses in the contract, such as the ones we discussed in last week’s blog, to make sure the writer gets almost no money for the books the publisher sells.

If the publishing contracts end up defining the word “net,” then the clause usually looks something like this:

As used herein, the term “Net Receipts” means monies received by the Publisher on the sale or license of the Work after all discounts, fees, and returned copies have been deducted, and before addition of freight charges and/or handling charges.

It’s all very, very loosy-goosy. Monies received by the Publisher. I suppose you can audit for that, but there’s lots of room for dispute in that language. And lots of room for abuse.

. . . .

Basket Accounting: speaking of screwing the writer, let’s look at this old favorite, that has existed since the 1970s. Basket accounting refers to the fact that the publisher throws all of the books in one contract into the same “basket” before paying out royalties.

So if you have a three-book contract, and book one sells 5 times its advance, but books two and three never earn out, you probably won’t see a dime in royalties.

If each book were accounted separately, then you’d receive royalties for book one, making you significantly more money.

The clause is not called the “basket accounting” clause. Every contract does it differently.

And I have to tell you: in this modern world, it’s a lot more probable that you’ll get a basket accounting deal if you have a multiple book deal with a publisher. That publisher will guarantee that you don’t see a dime in royalties by underpublishing at least one of those books.

The best way to avoid this?

Have a one-book contract. Never ever ever sign a multiple book deal, no matter how much they offer you.

Traditional publishers and agents will tell you it’s in your best interest to sign a multiple book deal. After all, you’ll get money for years, and you’ll know how much. But you won’t necessarily get actual money for years, especially if there’s an “acceptance” clause in your contract. (Meaning your book is not considered publishable until the publisher deems it “accepted.”) And there’s no guarantee, in this publishing environment, that your publisher will be around five years from now.

Besides, if you have a one-book contract, and your book is successful, then you have the opportunity to negotiate a better contract for book two. And with the rise of indie publishing, if you can’t get a contract for book two, who cares? You can publish it yourself.

. . . .

Time limit on publication.

This one is sneaky. It caught me on my very first novel. What you want here is for the clause to read in your favor. Something like:

If the Work is not published within two years of the date of this contract, the contract terminates, and all rights revert to the author.

Usually this clause isn’t quite so writer-friendly. But something like this clause is in most good publishing contracts.

The contracts that leave it out—well, the publisher never has to publish the book.

. . . .

Why have the audit clause? Because right now, you’re going on faith that the publisher will be honest with you. They have no reason to accurately calculate your royalties and payments. Publishers have never been accurate in their royalty calculations. Never. Why should they start now?

So, get an audit clause on your book. Be prepared to use that clause, especially if you have royalty clauses in your contract that are different from the norm. Because publishers might “accidentally” default to the old way of doing things, and only shape up if you prod them.

An audit clause prods them.

Link to the rest at Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Here’s a link to Kris Rusch’s books. If you like the thoughts Kris shares, you can show your appreciation by checking out her books.

Book Length, Cliffhangers, and the Economics of Paper Publishing

27 June 2016

From M.C.A. Hogarth:

This issue comes up often enough that I think having a permanent post about it would be good. Here it is then: “Why does Jaguar write so many cliffhangers! It’s annoying!”

I feel your pain, my readers. I, too, dislike cliffhangers. (Actually, I hate them.) But as Business Manager Jaguar implies, this is an economic issue, not an artistic one… or rather, a place where art and practical reality collide, and art loses.

Physical books have a presence. We know this because when we rhapsodize about them, it’s what we talk about: their weight, their heft, their smell, the sight of them, the sound of the pages whispering as we ruffle them. But in particular, I want to talk about weight, because this is a primary point of interaction between the reader and the material. The weight of a book will influence how long you want to hold the book, how comfortable you are while reading it, and the ability of the book—the physical object—to disappear and the story to seem to form in your head without aid. If the book is too large or too heavy, you will get dragged out of the story when your wrists or arms start complaining. Likewise, if the book is too small, eyestrain will pull you away.

. . . .

Here, then, is the takeaway: If you write big stories, stories that take hundreds of pages to unravel, you will quickly run into the problem that they don’t fit into a comfortable-sized print book.

What do you do, then?

Some publishers handle this by decreasing the font size and the whitespace of the layout. You can squeeze a lot of text into a “four-hundred page” book if you mess with those variables. For a while, in fact, this is what I did in order to make my books more handy. But I had one reader tell me one day, “I really wish you would make the font bigger on your print books. I find them hard to read.”

. . . .

So here’s the rock and the hard place: my choice is to fit an entire story into a single package and have it be impossible to read and uncomfortable to hold, or to break up a story into bits that might not have satisfactory endings. If you’ve read commercial series fiction, you know the choice that publishers have historically made: they chop the books up. (Lord of the Rings is a famous example.) Despite hating cliffhangers with a passion, I too found myself making the same choice, and consoling myself that at least I wrote fast enough that my readers wouldn’t have to wait long for the conclusion of the story.

But wait! you say. E-books aren’t affected by length at all! Why don’t you break up the story into pieces for the print books, but have the e-book sold as a single story?

Would that I could! But unfortunately, when you post books for sale, they’re linked to their various editions. This is not just a computer/sales/data issue, but a reader issue. Say you’re a reader who read the (enormous uncut) e-book version of The Godkin Saga, a story that was cut into two volumes, Flight of the Godkin Griffin and The Godson’s Triumph. You enjoyed that book and want the print book because you’d like to see the illustrations on paper. You go to Amazon and there’s no print edition linked to the e-book edition that you bought. Confused, you search for ‘godkin hogarth’ and discover there are two other books with different names (Flight of the Godkin Griffin and The Godson’s Triumph) with print editions but no e-book editions. Are these sequels? If you buy Flight, does that include everything you remember from The Godkin Saga? Or do you need Triumph as well? You try buying one of them, receive it, and are extremely irritated to discover that it’s not the entire book. Now you feel Extremely Cheated.

Link to the rest at M.C.A. Hogarth

Here’s a link to M.C.A. Hogarth’s books. If you like an author’s post, you can show your appreciation by checking out their books.

The Midlist Rules!

24 June 2016

From Kristine Kathryn Rusch:

Inspired by the Author Earnings Report, someone asked people on that forum to report in, if they were in the top 1% of indie published writers. Meaning, according to this forum, that these writers earned at least $100,000 per year on their indie published books. Not on one book. On all of their titles combined.

Overall income.

That’s an important point.

I spent an hour reading the self-selected responses. Of course, folks who didn’t earn that much responded as well, and frankly, those posts were just as interesting as the others.

What I found fascinating wasn’t the number of writers who earned $100,000 on their Amazon sales alone. It was the other numbers in their reports.

Unit sales.

My little brain was blown.

And it shouldn’t have been. It really shouldn’t have been.

. . . .

I have known for years now that all of us earn more money on a per sale basis when we self- or indie-publish a book than we do when we sell our traditionally published books.

. . . .

To make $100,000 in a year, the traditional writer would need to sell 113,636 ebooks that year [with a net royalty of] 88 cents each.

Got that?

For an indie writer to make the same money that year, the math is pretty simple.

The indie writer gets 70% of the $5.00, just like the traditional publisher does. So the indie writer gets $3.50.

To make $100,000 per year, the indie writer needs to sell 28,571 ebooks in a year.

. . . .

You see, in traditional publishing, how much writers earn cumulatively doesn’t matter. Traditional publishing is all about The Book. One book. Not a series of books. Not all books by author. One book.

Royalty statements are based on the contract. If the contract is a one-book contract, then the only thing counted on those royalty statements is that one book.

That thinking is deeply, deeply engrained for me. And what’s worse, I have two sets of traditional calculations in my head.

The first is how many books per year I needed to sell to a traditional publisher to earn $100,000 by advance only. Because the advance is the only thing a traditionally published writer can guarantee.

Since advances are never paid as one lump sum amount, a writer would have to do one of two things—sell a book to a traditional publisher for at least $300,000 or sell a lot of books to traditional publishers that same year so that the total paid out would equal $100,000.

First, the $300,000—divided into signing, acceptance, publication. $100,000 for each third. Book contracts are still structured like this, although often, these days, it’s divided by four or more.

. . . .

My very first novel, The White Mists of Power, came out in 1991 as a mass market paperback with a cover price of $4.99. I was a baby writer, with my first novel. So my royalty rate was 6% on that book. Which meant that for each copy sold, I made 30 cents.

To earn $100,000 on that one book, I would have had to sell 333,334 copies of that title at full price. (Getting the full price royalty was easier to do in those days, by the way.)

. . . .

For me—and people like me, people who “grew up” in traditional publishing—earning $100,000 on one book in one year meant you either had a great agent who managed to bump the advance on that book or your book sold at bestseller numbers. Pre-2010 bestseller numbers.

So…when I hear that a writer makes $100,000 per year, and is only doing so on a handful of books, I default to my training. Oh, I think, they’re selling hundreds of thousands of copies.

Nope. They’re selling tens of thousands of copies.

Most of my traditionally published novels—including the absolute failures, the ones that never earned back their advances—sold more copies in their first year of publication than the books that are making their indie writers $100,000 per year.

I am not saying this about my traditional books to say that traditional is better. It no longer is. In fact, if you look at the Author Earnings numbers, you’ll see that a traditionally published debut author will actually sell fewer copies than an indie published debut author. And not by a few hundred copies, but by thousands of copies.

I’m making this point because so many long-time traditionally published writers get stuck in the wrong number.

We look at copies sold rather than income earned.

. . . .

Back in the 1980s and 1990s when a lot of us started, we sold at least 30,000 copies of a single title in the first month of release.

Book sales figures went down rapidly in the years 2007-2010, yet most midlist books in the first month of release sold at least 10,000 copies . The sales would fall rapidly after that because the book would disappear from store shelves, but the initial sales were high.

Now, sales build. They start small and grow.

. . . .

You can make what I call bestseller money—$100,000 per year or more—without selling more than 5,000 copies per year of a single title. Look at the numbers above.

To earn $100,000 per year, the indie writer has to sell fewer than 50,000 books per year. If the indie writer has one series of five books that sells better than her other series, she could sell 10,000 copies of each book in the high selling series over the entire year, and make that $100,000 (at the $3 price point). If the other non-series titles are trucking along at a much slower pace, the writer could be selling, say 8,000 copies of her books in her series, and 10,000 copies of all her other books combined, and make more than $100,000 per year.

Those book sales figures are small by old traditional publishing standards.

. . . .

People who work in traditional publishing have been making the same mistake I continue to make. They weren’t thinking about the real numbers. I know better. But they apparently do not.

They’re buying, say, paperback rights to ebook series and expecting to get bestseller numbers out of those books. Or even midlist numbers.

Even those indie authors are extremely successful, their single titles are often not selling at the kinds of numbers that make an international conglomerate happy.

Which is why so many formerly indie writers—and their traditional publishing editors—end up confused and disillusioned. The indie writers who’ve gone traditional expect their numbers to increase, which is a reasonable expectation, given all the hype that traditional publishing shells out about its ability to market books.

The traditional editors expect the formerly indie writer with the proven title to sell at old-fashioned traditional numbers—30-50,000 copies out of the gate. That usually doesn’t happen any more, and rarely happens with the paper-only deals.

Everyone gets disillusioned. Of course, the traditional editors aren’t doing their due diligence because hey! that’s numbers, and they do numbers much less often than I do. They go with their gut.

Or they do something else entirely. Like this absolutely terrifyingly accurate piece from the May 6, 2016 Entertainment Weekly, titled “The Million Dollar Book Club.”

The article purports to explain why publishers are “betting big” on some debut authors. The amount of “gut sense” and ignorance of actual numbers in that article is so staggering, the reporter noticed it, and asked one of the publishers interviewed about it.

That lead to the article’s final paragraph, and it’s a doozy:

Given the amount of books a publisher needs to sell in order to make a profit, it’s possible that none of these novels will actually make money. But Random House publisher Susan Kamil believes that the honor of having a sparkling literary talent on your list can offset any financial loss. “We want to have the best writers in the world at Random House,” Kamil says. “Sometimes those writers come at a premium—and we have paid it.”

Think about that for a moment. This is someone who is charged with running a for-profit business, trying to make sales, and boosting a bottom line, and she’s saying, “The honor of having a sparkling literary talent…offsets any financial loss.”

Um, no, honey. It doesn’t.

That’s how authors with big advances and sparkling debuts end up getting dumped by their publishers.

. . . .

What I’ve been telling all of you for years is this: you can make more money indie-publishing than you can as a traditionally published writer. More money faster, and more money in the long term.

I’d been seeing it in my own income. However, I also saw the sales figures and good old-fashioned me felt odd about it. Because of those high velocity numbers my books used to have back in the day.

Right now, the new books in my various series (with all but one pen name) are selling annually at much higher numbers than they ever sold when published by New York. Not in that first month. But by the time the books would be off the shelf in the old model, the sales I have are greater than that first month of traditional publishing sales. And the numbers are cumulative, meaning next year and the year after those books will still have very good sales, growing sales.

Link to the rest at Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Here’s a link to Kris Rusch’s books. If you like the thoughts Kris shares, you can show your appreciation by checking out her books.

PG will observe that Kris is describing a textbook characteristic of disruptive innovation.

The industry incumbents don’t want to compete in the market where the small disruptive businesses are selling their products. Those markets simply don’t generate enough profit to support the cost structure and profit needs of the incumbents.

Good sales for indie authors – sales of all their books sufficient to generate $100K in annual royalties – won’t move the needle for big publishers.

Once the small businesses reach or exceed break-even, they can continue to operate, compete and expand. PG predicts the number of authors who earn $100K or more in annual royalties will continue to increase in future Author Earnings reports. And so will the number of authors who earn seven figures or more in annual royalties.

More and more of these authors will be those who, absent indie publishing, would have signed with a traditional publisher and made money for a traditional publisher. But no $100K indie author is going to be satisfied making $30K as a traditionally-published author. And no $1M author is going to be satisfied making $200K as a traditionally-published author.

Any indie author who is supporting him or herself with their writing and who looks past an attractive one-time advance to consider their future ten-year or twenty-year income from indie publishing is not going to be tempted to take the traditional route.

From the indie author’s perspective, the cost of doing business with a traditional publisher is so high that the publisher will have to sell a large multiple of the number of copies the author would sell as an indie and keep selling that large multiple year after year to beat what the author would earn from self-publishing the same books.

How to Become a Ghostwriter

23 June 2016

From author Roz Morris via Jane Friedman:

Could you become a ghostwriter?

Before I ever published anything with my own byline, I’d already sold 4 million books as a ghostwriter.

Book ghostwriting is much more widespread than you’d suspect. Many writers—even well-known names—also use their skills for hire. Sometimes they’re credited. Sometimes they’re completely incognito.

Why do they do it? Well, money—obviously. Established ghostwriters get paid at a rate that’s fair for the time they spend. That’s pretty remarkable at a time when book advances are dwindling and authors are struggling to earn a decent living from book sales. Journalists, too, are finding that ghostwriting is a good career move. While magazines and online publications cut their staff to the bone, the book trade needs reliable wordsmiths who can quickly produce manuscripts to a brief, or interview a notable person to write their life story. But the ghostwriting world is broader and deeper than memoirs and celebrities. The deeper you dig, the more opportunities you find.

Even fiction publishers use ghostwriters. Funnily enough, people are surprised to hear this. But if you’re a fiction writer, you already know you didn’t learn your craft overnight. Neither can many of the people whose names go on novels.

. . . .

Publishers might look for ghostwriters to help an author they’d like to publish. You might spruce up an existing manuscript or write the book from scratch. Ghostwriters are also needed by literary and entertainment agents. A client might have a book idea and need to get a writer on board to sell it to a publisher. Writing book proposals is a significant part of the ghostwriter’s work.

. . . .

You need to be good at interviewing and earning the trust of the subject. That’s lovely if you get on well with them. You have to be willing to respect their work, their achievements and their goals. But sometimes you have to use ingenious wiles to get enough good book material.

Link to the rest at Jane Friedman

Here’s a link to Roz Morris’s books. If you like an author’s post, you can show your appreciation by checking out their books.

The Grant of Rights Clause

26 May 2016

From Kristine Kathryn Rusch:

I am revising the Dealbreakers 2013 book. I had hoped to revise it every year, but I get so discouraged looking at the contracts as they exist now. I actually started to revise in the hopes of having the new book in this Storybundle, and then discovered I had so much new material that I didn’t have time to finish the book by mid-May.

Why is there new material? Because traditional publishing contracts have gotten ugly (or should I sayuglier?). And they’re not alone. Contracts for movie deals, gaming rights, comic books, and now works in translation are also getting more and more draconian.

Corporate entities have finally gotten a clue about the value of copyright and trademark. Now, those entities which own many of the companies you’ll deal with—even as an indie writer—want to own each piece of the copyright to any property they put their grubby little fingers on.

. . . .

As I’m revising the old Dealbreakers book, I am finding a lot of material that no longer applies. 2011-2013 was a transitional period in the ebook revolution. Traditional publishers didn’t know anything about ebooks, and writers had a lot more leeway in what they could do.

Now, things are so different that some of the contracts I’m touching feel toxic to me. I want to wash my hands after holding them.

. . . .

Let me show you an example of something you should never ever sign. This is from a real contract, offered to writers this year, which someone sent me a little over a month ago:

Effective immediately upon the execution of this Agreement, the Author hereby grants to the Publisher the following:

1) The sole and exclusive worldwide rights and license to print, publish, distribute, sell and sublicense, and generally exploit the Work, in all languages, whether in print, electronic, digital, audio, video, television, film, theatrical, or any other form or format now known or hereafter discovered or created, in all languages, including any and all editions and formats of the Work, in whole or in part and all revision of the Work and any edition thereof. As used herein, the term “editions” shall include worldwide rights: the term “formats” shall include all print, book club, and all electronic formats including download (whether over the Internet, through an “app” or otherwise), audio, disk, CD, or any other electronic or digital format known or to be invented, enhanced ebooks, mass market, large print, and any future formats/technologies for the duration of the contract term;

The Grant of Rights section goes on, with three more points that I’m not going to deal with here, because that clause all by itself is so squiggy that I shuddered as I typed it. Ugh.

. . . .

Any writer who signs this damn thing can’t even publish an author’s preferred edition with the text dramatically altered. Or compile an omnibus. Or publish half the book in Spanish, a quarter in Italian, and the rest in English. Signing this contract, with this one clause, gives the publisher rights to everything.

The contract goes on in terrible, awful, horrible ways. The noncompete is actually in a section calledAuthor Rights (!) and says that the author cannot “publish or permit to be published during the Term of this agreement any book or other writing based substantially on subject matter, material, characters or incidents in the Work without written consent of the Publisher.” And then there’s another non-compete later, and a third even deeper in the contract.

Link to the rest at Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Here’s a link to Kris Rusch’s books. If you like what an author has written, you can show your appreciation by checking out their books.

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