Stuck into the palm tree on the cover of my book would be a straight razor.
Here’s the thing.
As mentioned early, I was still in the process of writing Island.
And I now knew that a straight razor would appear prominently on the cover.
So I beefed up the role of the razor.
And the book was better for it.
That razor…
Ooo, the places it went, the things it did!
All because of some decisions about what to put on the cover.
Before leaving the subject of covers, I must mention that nearly all of my Headline dustjacket and cover illustrations have been done by the artist Steve Crisp. They’ve all been great, and I’m sure that no small part of my success in the United Kingdom has been due to his artistry. My deep appreciation, Steve.
On “Real” Jobs
YOU’RE AN ASPIRING WRITER.
But everyone warns you that you need a “real job to fall back on.”
An annoying thing for them to say.
It demeans you from the get-go.
Besides, everyone has it backwards. You don’t need a real job to “fall back on” in case the writing career goes on the fritz. Instead, you need the real job to sustain you during the early years, before the writing career has blossomed enough to provide you with a decent annual income. (See “On Money.”)
There is little doubt that you will need a “real job” during the early stages of your writing career.
Now, what sort of job should you take?
First, it should be one that you like. If you’re very lucky, you may only need it for five years. More likely, though, you may need to turn out fiction for ten years before you’ll be able to make a decent living at it. It may take longer. And some people are never able to make it as a full time writer. (Which I figure is their fault. In my own opinion, those who don’t make it generally fail because they don’t try hard enough. My theory is, I’m an average guy. If I can do it, anyone can. If he works at it hard enough.) Okay. So try to find employment in a job that you won’t mind keeping for a decade or longer. That is most important. But be careful. If you like the job too ‘much and let it consume your time and energy, that’ll be the end of you as a novelist.
Second most important, look for a job that gives you the maximum amount of free time.
A job in education is ideal for this reason. Most teachers get off work in mid-afternoon and receive three to four months of vacation each year. An entire novel can be written during one summer vacation. (I wrote The Cellar during one.) Being a teacher is an ideal side-career for a great many reasons. A possible drawback is that some educators get so caught up in preparing lesson plans, grading papers, etc., that they have trouble getting around to their fiction. This need not happen, though. Even the most conscientious teacher in the world should be able to find an hour or two each day for pursuing a career as an author.
If a career in education isn’t right for you, look for any sort of job that might allow you extra blocks of free time. The fewer hours per day you need to work at the “real job,” the more time you can devote to writing. If you can earn enough money at some sort of part-time job (such as substitute teaching, construction work, “consulting,” office temporary work, etc.) so much the better.
It is probably best to avoid jobs that involve writing. (A lot of people might disagree with this, but it’s my opinion.) In many cases, the writing you do for your job will put an enormous strain on your urge to write fiction in your spare time. You’ve been writing all day. Probably the last thing you’ll want to do, after getting home from work, is to sit down in front of your computer for another hour or two.
The need to hold a “real job” is not entirely a bad thing.
Nonwriting jobs can be valuable to you as a writer beyond their function of providing a stable income.
You might want to seek out jobs that will provide you with colorful background material for your fiction. Some of the most successful novelists have been doctors, seamen, police officers, lawyers, and soldiers. But such jobs require a lot of time and dedication. They aren’t for everyone. Also, some of the most colorful jobs can get you maimed or killed.
No matter what sort of job you take in order to make ends meet, you’ll find that it offers you a lot of valuable experiences. You’ll learn the ins and outs of whatever business it might be.
And you’ll probably be forced into contact with people.
People!
People characters are at the center of everything you will ever ‘write. (They’ll also be your audience.) So pay close attention to everyone you meet at work. Learn their physical characteristics, their quirks, their charms and flaws. Then, when you sit down to write your fiction, use what you’ve learned about them.
Take full advantage of the situation. After you’ve given up the “real job,” you’ll no longer have such close contact with so many people. You’ll actually loose a great source of fresh material.
(However, you’ll be more than glad to lose most of it.)
Finally, you should try to avoid taking any job that involves you to any large extent intellectually or emotionally. Your job should not consume you. It’s something you do to make ends meet while you write. When you’re not actually on the job, you need to be able to shut it out, ignore it, leave it behind.
In a very real sense, you’ll be an imposter at the “real job.” You’re putting on a good show at being a clerk, a secretary, a teacher, a carpenter, a truck driver, an accountant, a computer repairman, a salesman, a lawyer, a doctor, a janitor, a guard, a cop…You should do a good job, but you’re an imposter and a spy you’re a writer.
On Money
NO ASPIRING WRITER LIKES TO HEAR THIS. I SURE DIDN’T. BUT IF YOU want to write fiction for a living, you will need another source of income.
Either find yourself a full-time job or marry yourself a working spouse unless you have plenty family money and don’t need to worry about income.
Though it is certainly possible to earn a living at the writer’s trade, the chances of making much money early in your career are very slim. Virtually non-existent.
First, be advised that you can’t earn a living by writing short stories. There aren’t enough markets. And the markets that do exist (anthologies and a few magazines) don’t pay much.
Unless you sell a story to a really top market (such a Playboy) you’ll be lucky to get more than a couple of hundred dollars for it.
Take a look at the math. If you’re incredibly good and prolific and write a story every two weeks and they all sell, you would have 26 stories over the course of a year. If every one of them sold for $200, you would be earning an annual income of $5,200. (At least you wouldn’t have to pay income tax.)
To earn a living, you must write novels.
Here is another tough truth: the first novel you write probably won’t sell. When you hear stories about a “first novel” that takes the literary world by storm, they’re referring to an author’s first published novel. It might be the second, third, or twelfth novel that the author actually wrote. Those earlier ones just weren’t fit to be published.
Almost nobody’s first attempt at writing a novel results in anything worth reading except maybe as a curiosity. (This truth wouldn’t necessarily apply to the first attempt at a novel by a seasoned poet, playwright, screenwriter, journalist, or short story writer.) Why bother to write the first novel if it won’t sell?
For one thing, there is a chance, however slim, that it might sell. For another, you have to write the first novel or you’ll never get down the line to the one that does sell.
It’s a step toward your destination. Without taking the first step, you just don’t get there at all.
Okay.
Let’s move on to your first novel that sells.
When you finally hear that a publisher has made an offer to buy your novel, celebrate! No matter what the publisher intends to pay you, this is one of the great mome
nts of your life.
Your book has sold! Almost everyone dreams of selling a novel, but you now stand among the select who have done it. Enjoy your triumph. You deserve it. Scream and dance. Call everyone you know and blurt out the news. Break out the adult beverage of your choice. Go to a fine restaurant if you can afford it.
But don’t quit your job.
You’ll want to.
Oh, boy, will you want to!
In the euphoria of your first novel sale, you’ll have an overwhelming urge to quit your job and write full time.
Resist it.
Here’s why.
For one thing, the publisher probably won’t let you have the full amount of the advance all at once. Depending on your contract, you may get half the money when you sign the contract (known as “on-sign” money) and the other half upon publication of the book.
That second half can be elusive. They probably won’t publish the book for at least a year.
Maybe not for a year and a half. After the book is published, you’ll have to wait two or three months longer before you actually receive the payment.
As for the “on-sign” money you probably won’t see a penny of it for four to six months.
A couple of months might pass before the contract is even finalized. After that, most publishers will keep the on-sign money for at least two more months before sending it to your agent. Only the very best agents will then send the payment to you immediately.
They have clerical work to do such as removing their 15% (very few agents take only 10%). Like the publishers, many agents will take their time about sending your money to you. (It appears that they have other uses for it.)
The upshot is, don’t expect to see your on-sign money any time soon. My advice: after a month has gone by, start bugging your agent. Ask where the money is. You might get it faster particularly if your agent isn’t naturally aggressive if you pester him a bit. (The squeaky wheel gets the oil.) Encourage him to pester the publisher.
In my own situation, I had an excellent agent named Ralph Vicinanza who was very diligent about getting money from publishers. After a reasonable amount of time had gone by, he would start phoning the publisher daily to ask about the missing payment. My current agent, Bob Tanner, does a great job of getting the money and sending it to me as fast as possible.
If you have an agent who isn’t aggressive about obtaining your money or who doesn’t forward it to you promptly find a new agent. Find one who cares about you, who realizes you need that money, sometimes desperately.
Let’s move on.
You finally receive the on-sign payment for your first novel less your agent’s fee.
Look at the check.
How long will you be able to live off it?
At the lower end of the scale, you might get only $1,500 to $2,000 for a first novel, especially if it’s to be published as a paperback original. Somewhat better houses might offer you $5,000. You’d be lucky to get an advance of more than $5,000 from a U.S. publisher for a first novel.
At that rate, how many novels would it take to earn a good annual income?
If you wrote four books in a year, they all sold and you got the entire amount on each acceptance you would be up to a grand total of $20,000 for a year of writing. ($17,000 after the agent has taken his fee.)
Not exactly a fortune, is it?
And I hate to write this but your next novel might not sell. Mine sure didn’t.
After your first sale, your publisher will have an option to buy your next work. But they don’t have to buy it. And for any number of reasons, they might not. You can then try to sell it to a different publisher, but that might not be easy.
The advance money from your first sale could very well be the only writing income you’ll get for a whole year or longer.
How far can you stretch $2,000 or even $5,000?
Of course, your advance might be higher. Sometimes, a writer really gets lucky comes up with the right book at the right time and gets it to the right editor and your advance might be astronomical. If that happens, you’re in a different realm. You can probably do without most of my advice. Enjoy!
The fact is, however, a first novel makes an author rich so rarely that you don’t really need to bother your head about it.
Let’s talk about more likely sceneries.
Your first novel is bought for $5,000 or less. About a year later, it is published. Suppose it does really well? That can happen. It happened to me with The Cellar.
Your initial $5,000 is an advance against royalties. You might be entitled to 8% of the book’s cover price, meaning you get eight cents for each dollar. If the eight cents add up to more than $5,000, you have earned back your advance and you will be owed additional money.
Say your book sold so many copies that you earn $80,000 over your advance. The publisher has to send you $80,000! You’re in the chips! Your ship has come in!
Now, at last, you can quit your job!
Well, maybe not.
There are things called “accounting periods” and “monies being held back against future returns.”
The first accounting period generally ends about six months after a book’s publication date. About two months after the end of the accounting period, your agent should be sent a royalty check. That is at least eight months after the book was published but frequently longer.
But will you get $80,000? You wish.
You’ll get more like $34,000.
$40,000 minus $6,000 for your agent ($4,000 if you’re lucky enough to have an agent that only takes 10%).
The missing $40,000 of the $80,000 you think you’re owed is being “held against returns.”
In truth, it is being held so that the publisher can keep it longer. They use your money for other purposes, such as paying salaries, printing costs, advances to other authors, whatever.
Unless maybe they’re just going for the interest on it.
Okay, so you ended up with $36,000 instead of $80,000.
No big deal, right? You’ll get the rest next time.
Wrong.
Six months later, you should receive your second royalty statement for the book. But it won’t be for the $36,000 you probably expected. It’ll be in the amount of $17,000.
($20,000 minus your agent’s fee.) Six months after that, you’ll get $7,225. Six months later, it’ll be half that amount. Six months later… Each payment will be half as much as the previous one until the amount has been whittled down to nothing. Eventually, you do get your full $80,000. It takes five or six years, though.
If that shocks you, it should.
Somebody is getting screwed, and it is the author.
However, you should consider yourself very fortunate if you have earned out your advance. It is a sign that your book did better than the publisher expected, and that they didn’t pay you a high enough advance in the first place.
Many writers never see a royalty check.
Let’s get back to advances something writers do see if they sell a book.
If your first novel does reasonably well (but is no blockbuster), you might be offered the same amount for your second book. Or maybe a couple of thousand more. (Or they might dump you. Who knows?)
After a few novels that have all sold reasonably well, you might be able to get your advance up to $10,000 or $15,000.
Which isn’t too bad. You’re fairly successful if they offer you that much.
But they probably won’t buy another book from you for a while because, all other factors aside (such as rejections), most publishers don’t want to publish more than one book per year by any author.
So, can you live on $15,000 per year?
Let’s take it to the next step. If you’re very successful (but still not a bestseller), you might be offered an advance of $50,000 or even a little more. And maybe you get a contract for two or three books at that amount. Now we’re talking real money.
Say it’s a three-book contract for $150,000. Sounds great. And it i
sn’t bad.
The contract, of course, will divide up your payment like a pie being fed to the 101st Airborne. You’ll get a good chunk of on-sign money. (Which will lead to owing a big chunk to your friends at the IRS you need to pay quarterly estimated income taxes, you know. After the on-sign money, your payments will be divvied out in much smaller portions. You’ll get a payment on acceptance of each book, and on publication of each.
Already, we’re talking about a sevenway split. If your contract includes both hardback and paperback publication, the money will arrive on ten different occasions. (These matters vary a lot, depending on many factors.)
If all goes well, you’ll receive most of your $150,000 over a period of three years. This would give you an income of approximately $50,000 per year.
But something might go wrong. Maybe the publisher doesn’t accept your second book, or your third. Maybe your first book doesn’t sell as well as they’d hoped, so they look for ways to get our of the contract.
A lot can go wrong, and usually does.
Many U.S. publishers don’t exactly keep their promises… or their contracts.
Even if you’re lucky enough to get the entire $150,000, it doesn’t seem like quite so much money after it has been spread over a period four or five years.
On a really bad note, the sales of your first or second or third novel might disappoint your publisher, so you don’t get offered another contract. And word gets around that your stuff doesn’t sell so well…
I’ve painted a very gloomy picture, haven’t I? Well, plenty of writers will be quick to point out that I didn’t paint it gloomy enough.
The thing is, you need to know the score.
You don’t want to be taken by surprise by the tough facts of a writer’s life after you’ve sold your first novel and quit your job.
Hang on to that job.
Unless you’ve got income from another source, you’ll run into extremely bad times if you try prematurely to make a living from your writing alone.
I don’t know much about inherited money. If you’ve got so much that you don’t need a job, you can write full time without any problems. Whether or not you’d be driven by a hunger to succeed might be a different matter.