Writing for Love or Money
By Brunonia Barry | November 27, 2015 |
Photo by : ISerg
Many of these posts are dedicated to writing and publishing a first novel, and I have to say there is nothing better. It is magic when you receive that first ARC, hold it in your hands, and see your name on the cover.
But what happens after that is something we don’t often talk about. Especially when what happens isn’t magic.
I don’t often discuss my route to publication, partly because I was asked not to by my first publisher, who had never before bought a previously self-published book and wanted to hide the fact that they had just done so, and partly because I don’t want to jump on the bandwagon with those selling the dream. I know the odds. I know it’s easier to self-publish than ever before. But I also know what a huge issue discoverability can be. What I do say when asked about publishing my first book is a well rehearsed answer: “Emboldened by our ignorance, my husband and I decided to self-publish.”
We started a small imprint, intending to publish the fiction of local writers. As software publishers who had won awards for our products, we were accustomed to selling into the retail channel and had successfully negotiated licensing and distribution deals with major companies, an accomplishment we hoped to duplicate in the world of letters. “How hard could it be?” we asked ourselves. I’m glad now that I didn’t know the odds.
The truth is, it can be amazingly difficult, not just to have your book noticed, but to get reviews, find a distributor for a one book company, and to acquire shelf-space that is more than one copy, spine-out as opposed to the front-of-store displays larger publishers negotiate. This was back in 2007, but, even now, finding an e-book marketing hook for fiction is very challenging. That is not said to discourage, but because it is true. Unless you’re incredibly lucky. We did our homework, though, and decided to proceed. We hired an editor, a PR company, and a printer. Then we held our breaths, wishing for the kind of magic all first time writers need.
I was one of the lucky ones. A starred review from Publisher’s Weekly led to a publishing deal with one of the big five, one that would allow both myself and my husband to leave our day jobs and pursue our long suppressed artistic yearnings full-time. If I said I wasn’t eternally grateful, I would be lying.
But—and this is a big but—my publishing deal came with a contract for a second book, then a third and fourth. My two-week book tour turned into almost six months on the road. Thirty foreign translations (with translators’ questions) came and went, along with interviews and blog posts and all the other promotional details of the writer’s life. I made the deadline for the second book by only 45 minutes. Still, I did make it, and my editor liked the book. I’m on my way now, I thought, still trying to dismiss the impostor syndrome I’d been harboring since self-publishing. I began to relax. My first book had become a New York Times and international best seller. My second book was about to come out. My wildest dreams had come true.
And then, I missed the deadline for my third book by almost two years.
What the hell happened, you wonder? The truth is, I’m not altogether certain. I’ve thought a lot about it. I have a number of theories. There were many life changes, elements that certainly played a part psychologically: The big one was that both of my parents died. Then the publisher reorganized; my original publisher and my editor were let go. My agent quit the business. My second book didn’t do as well as the first. My nephew (of whom we were guardians) developed a heroin addiction. All true. And taken together, all of these things played their parts. Except for my wonderful husband, everything else I had counted on in life was disappearing. I was clearly depressed.
But there was even more to it than depression. The book I was writing as my third book had been just a germ of an idea when I pitched it. We were in a lovely restaurant in NYC: my agent, my editor, and my publisher. I had just finished detailing what was intended to be my third novel, when someone casually asked what I had in mind for my fourth. Driving from Boston to New York, I’d had an idea that excited me. It was quite commercial, something Hollywood might term “high concept.” To the best of my knowledge, no one had approached the subject before.
There was a long silence at the table as I finished my pitch. Bad move, I thought, pitching an idea that was not yet fully formed.
“I love the idea,” my publisher said. “Drop everything and write that one now.”
I was excited at the prospect on the drive back home. Over the moon in fact. A large advance had been negotiated for this book and the next. Along with the promise of huge marketing campaigns. “Set it at least partly in Ireland,” the publisher suggested. I thought it a great idea.
Then reality struck. How do you take a concept and turn it into a book? It proved to be the most difficult project I’d ever undertaken.
First, I read every research book I could find on the subject. There wasn’t much, which gave me creative freedom but not much inspiration. Next, I pantsed it for a while, writing whatever came to mind in a ragtag stream of consciousness, trying to discover a story in the flood of detail and backstory that was filling page after page. When I got to two hundred pages, I read the WIP. There was nothing I could use. I was trying to engineer a story that didn’t exist. All I had to show them was a book that contained none of the elements they’d wanted. It was a mess. So I didn’t show them anything. The deadline came and went.
The next year was a journey into publishing hell, with threats of publisher lawsuits and financial ruin. But by now, the story had begun to gel. The problem was, it wasn’t the story they had contracted for, and they hated it. I couldn’t go forward with what they’d wanted me to write, and I couldn’t go back. I began to hate writing. It had become about product not process. It was no longer a passion, it was a job. I felt chained to my desk. My family’s livelihood depended on it. I was resentful. And growing to hate the career I’d longed for all my life. I told myself, I’d finish the book, but it would be my last.
You know the old saying:” the darkest hour is just before dawn.” It was true for me. I had a new agent who’d inherited me when my first agent quit. She suggested I consult with a talented freelance editor she knew who would talk through the story with me, without any agenda beyond creating the best book possible. And then she told me to forget about the deal.
Both pieces of advice turned out to be good ones. In talking to the editor, I realized I knew the story far better than I’d thought. It wasn’t the book I’d pitched. It still contained the idea that had first inspired me, but that idea was no longer the unifying concept. All the locations had changed. And the Ireland thing? Couldn’t do it. I had lived there briefly several years ago, but the truth was I didn’t know the place well enough to write about it, and no amount of research would change that. Ireland went. Then Boston disappeared. Soon I was back in Salem and in neighboring Pride’s Crossing, places I know well. The story was taking on a life of its own, and it was working.
It seems a lifetime since then. The book is arguably the best I’ve written so far. It sold in two days to a better publisher who offered (ironically, I think) an even better deal. I am now a hundred pages into my fourth book, and I’m once again loving the process. But I will never again elevate the deal over the work. Or pitch a story I’m not yet sure of just for the sake of fulfilling a contract or receiving an advance. Lesson learned. For me to write anything I’m proud of, it can only be for love.
How about you? What are the challenges you face with your writing? Do you write for love or is there another reason?
Brunonia Barry is the New York Times and internationally bestselling author of The Lace Reader, The Map of True Places, and The Fifth Petal, chosen #1 of Strand Magazine’s Top 25 Books of 2017. Her work has been translated into more than thirty languages and has been an Amazon Best of the Month and a People Magazine Pick. Barry was the first American author to win the International Women’s Fiction Festival’s Baccante Award and was a past recipient of Ragdale Artists’ Colony’s Strnad Invitational Fellowship as well as the winner of New England Book Festival’s award for Best Fiction. Her reviews and articles on writing have appeared in The London Times, The Washington Post, and The Huffington Post. Brunonia served as chairperson of the Salem Athenaeum’s Writers’ Committee, as Executive Director of the Salem Literary Festival, and as a member of Grub Street’s Development Committee. She lives in Salem, Massachusetts with her husband, Gary Ward, and their dog, Angel.
A cautionary tale for someone who is where you started: the ebook of the first book is out, and the POD will be ready, well, as soon as I finish the pdfs that go into it.
Life keeps interfering, and I’m slow.
The only problem is that I CAN’T follow where you’ve gone. It is not physically possible.
At least I KNOW I can’t allow myself to promise anything to anyone ever, and knowing that about yourself is a good thing. Keeps you out of trouble.
Thanks for sharing your story – and I’m wishing you the very best with the fourth book.
Thanks, Alicia. It sounds as if you already know what took me a while to learn. I wish you great success.
I wholeheartedly agree, Brunonia. Over and over, it’s been proven to me — both in my work and the work of others — passion for the story makes all the difference. I’m so glad your story had a happy ending.
I’m happy about that, too. Either way, I would have chosen the same path. I only wish I’d learned the lesson a bit sooner. Passion is everything.
Very wise post. I suspect that writers may feel this intense resistance to the process when they are either pushing forward with the concept they know is wrong–or when outside pressures like deadlines or contracts loom too large. I’ve felt that resistance, and it’s miserable for the writer.
I like the happy ending too, Brunonia, especially this last sentence: “For me to write anything I’m proud of, it can only be for love.” Yesterday after Thanksgiving dinner, I had a long talk with an old friend who is a song-writer musician. He spoke of tweaking a tiny part of a song over and over to get it right. Same idea there, I suppose. He wants to produce work he’s proud of, not matter what it takes.
No matter what it takes… that’s a key phrase. So true. It took me a long time to learn this.
They still do advances? I thought those things were of a by-gone era. I think what I learned from this is to know the difference between my passion and my ego.
Very astute comment, Pamela. Ego was a big part of this. I might have recognized that in another area of my life, but I missed it here. Especially in light of being self conscious about self publishing. And deciding to share the story probably sounds like ego as well, when actually it feels more like therapy. Quite embarrassing, but truthful.
Brunonia, trying to keep it all together in such difficult times through only your artistic endeavors is amazing. But you did it! I might say that because you had no fall-back you *had* to make it work. And I am happy to hear you did. Too many others have to abandon their dream and be practical, writing during their limited free time. Nothing wrong with that. It’s persevering that counts.
I do not face this kind of challenge. My husband brings home the bacon (and can cook it too) and I stay-at-home with our children. We live simply. Writing is a luxury. Although I write for money (as in getting paid) I have yet to take on a project I do not enjoy or that will interfere with family life. My priorities are God, family, writing, in that order, so it is easy to make decisions regarding the writing projects. I save the conflict for the story :)
It sounds like you have a healthy relationship with your work, Vijaya. Something I’m trying hard to develop. “Save the conflict for the story,” is a quote I’m going to put on my wall. Thanks.
So agree with you. At the end of my last contract, I was flogging myself through. All the joy of writing had left in the crunch of deadlines and expectations. So I asked for an extension, to write the book of my heart, that I’d been afraid I wasn’t good enough to write.
In the writing of that book, I rediscovered why I began writing to begin with. Never again will I be tempted by the golden ring.
Thanks, Laura. The golden ring, such a classic temptation. I’m sure there will be other temptations along the way, but it’s good to know this one is over. Good for you, writing the book of your heart. That’s the only way to go, I think.
Ah, Brunonia. Been there with any number of my agency’s clients. Publisher wants something commercial and pitch-able–high concept–for book 3 (or 4) and so you come up with it.
And then, as you say…reality. “How do you take a concept and turn it into a book?”
From cocktail napkin to finished novel is a long, long way. This is where a solid grounding in craft and trust in process comes in. You have to know how to make it work, and how to know (quickly) when to hit delete when it’s not working. It’s the true life of the working novelist.
Heart over money? I think writing for love is actually the core of the process from the start. You come to realize what elements of what we sum up as “story” need to be meaty enough for a project to sing to you. Place? Characters? A problem with no solution?
Doesn’t matter. You discovered what you needed along the way. So will everyone else, trust me When you oriented to what speaks to your storyteller soul the wasted days grow less and the cocktail napkins aren’t so deceptive. Thanks for sharing, you certainly are not alone.
Thanks, Donald. So comforting to know I’m not the only one. In the end, the project did sing to me. That’s how I’ll figure this out from now on.
Thank you for being so open about your journey with your latest novel, Brunonia, and for generously sharing lessons from the other side of the challenge. It’s important to hear these writerly war stories, don’t you think? It’s important to know that when you’re in those dark moments with your work, you are not experiencing anything truly singular; others have been there, too, made it through, worked it out, and created something strong, that demanded to be created even if it drove its writer a little mad.
It sounds like you have a great team behind you now — so important — and you’re writing a book you’ve already connected with on a core level — also important. What I find most heartening about your account is that you’re excited about book four, regardless of the contract, and that you have your finger over the pulse of that story. You know I can’t wait to see it on the page. Onward. And thanks again.
Thanks, Therese. I thought it was important to share this, though, I have to admit, it wasn’t an easy thing to do. The best news is that I love writing again. I ended up loving book three as well, but not until the team was in place.
Neurologically speaking, creativity is shut down by fear. You had enough going on, Brunonia, that it makes perfect sense you’d have trouble finding your way to the book. I’m glad that situation has resolved! You’re a well-resourced woman.
I’ve got through many situations in my life by the dint of sheer will and hard work. It’s been humbling and illuminating to see that in creative pursuits I can’t command my brain to work to order. Also freeing, in a sense. It’s a great feeling to put in the effort without the need or ability to control every result, especially when surrendering means surprising oneself.
Thank you Jan. I didn’t realize that creativity is shut down by fear. It certainly was a fearful time on many levels. Surrender was the key. Next time I’ll know.
You ask, “Do you write for love or is there another reason?”
I write for the satisfaction of creating books that make a big difference in people’s lives — but I also write for the money just as much. That’s how I earn a good living without having to get a real job.
Since having gotten to a point where I only have to work an hour or so a day to earn an income better than over 95 percent of the population, I am not that motivated anymore to write more books. In fact, I have not created a new book in four years. I know that I can write another certain book, self-publish it, market it for three or four years, have it sell over 100,000 copies, and have it earn at least $500,000 in pretax profits for me. I know this because I have created three true bestsellers (each with over 100,000 copies sold in print alone). What’s more, I know that I don’t need a major publisher to help me achieve this. In fact, I will do much better without the help of a major publisher and make more money at it.
Yes, I have a big ego. When I hear writers or artists tell me that they have no ego or are working toward having no ego, I tell them, “That’s pure garbage. Claiming that you have no ego is the biggest ego trip anyone can be on. Any Zen Master will tell you that. You will always have an ego. The key is being in control of your ego instead of your ego being in control of you.”
Insofar as the times that I have been dejected or depressed, these are the times that I have written some of best material in my most successful books. As Joe Vitale says, “Turn it into something good.”
One more note: There is another reason for writing primarily for the money at the start of your writing career. Once you achieve the prosperity like I have from my main creative works, you no longer have to write for the money. You can then concentrate on pet projects that may not have much potential to make you the big bucks.
Ernie J. Zelinski
The Prosperity Guy
“Helping Adventurous Souls Live Prosperous and Free”
Author of the Bestseller “How to Retire Happy, Wild, and Free”
(Over 275,000 copies sold and published in 9 languages)
and the International Bestseller “The Joy of Not Working”
(Over 285,000 copies sold and published in 17 languages)
That’s great news, Ernie. Congratulations on you success! It’s great to hear from someone who has such a healthy relationship with his craft, writes books that help people, and makes money along the way. Seems like the perfect writer’s life to me.
Thank you for sharing your story, Brunonia. You’re so right that we don’t hear much about what happens after that first book is published. I, for one, became so overwhelmed with marketing and promotion that I didn’t touch my WIP for two years. And when I think of how the original germ of an idea for that WIP morphed over time, even before that break, I shiver to think of being held to a legal obligation to produce the book I started out to write. Congratulations on your success! And how lovely to be reminded that when one door closes, another opens.
Overwhelmed is a good word, I think. And it’s good to hear that I’m not the only one. Contracts are an interesting part of this business, I’m finding. Thanks.
I love how most writers are so willing to share their journey, both the nuts and bolts of writing and the journey itself. Thank you. I learned two things about myself in my long-ago-past as a visual artist: 1, if I produce for the market, the piece is usually weak and I am not proud of it. And 2, only promise a work I have already finished. This doesn’t mean not setting deadlines for myself or challenging myself to work faster, but for me working to a deadline for which I’ve signed on the dotted line (including commissions) froze my creative juices in my veins. I’m now at the point of having slogged through the querying/contest process for a number of years, being very close, getting lots of great feedback and back and forth with the above, but in the end, no cigar. The more I hear about the current publishing industry from those in the trenches, the less I want to sign on the line. So next spring I plan to self-publish my trilogy. It is a choice, not a capitulation. I could be convinced by the right deal, but for now sign me, Happy With The Road I’ve Chosen.
Congratulations, Judy, on your choice to self publish. I probably won’t do another book on contract, but adhere well to deadlines I set myself. I’d also self-publish again, if I had the right project.
I believe most successful people have a passion for their line of work first; then they manage to turn that into a career. Many people in the entertainment industry, for example, could retire on what they’ve earned monetarily. But they don’t simply because they love what they’re doing. Jay Leno is one example. I’m sure with the millions she’s garnered from her “Harry Potter” books, J.K. Rowling could recede to a tropical bungalow and never appear in public again. But I’m certain she’d rather continue writing, mainly out of her love for the craft.
I know there’s a limited chance for me to become wealthy through my fiction writing, but I still do it. Story ideas keep developing in my ever-active mind, so I really can’t stop writing. It’s just what I’ve always wanted to do with myself, and I can imagine nothing better in life.
Thank you for your brutal yet wisdom-filled details. My first self-published novel was a work I had to write because I’d (foolishly?) made a promise to the woman who was my protagonist that I would write her story. Those circumstances became confining and actually quite creatively stifling. Now I am working on a totally fictional short story collection and it is fun. What a relief to read of your travails expressed so honestly.
Hi, Brunonia, l am very close to finishing the first of a three-book thriller/conspiracy story, and am absolutely adoring the process. It feels as if the characters are very real, and they practically write the story, themselves. Knowing l will possibly be diving into the publishing juggernaut soon is quite daunting. If the first book is optioned, l know the pressure would be on to complete the second and third books quickly. I have a friend whose husband is a publisher, so l have heard a lot about how the industry actually works :-/ Your comments, and the comments of others, have just confirmed my trepidation of what the next possible steps in the journey may bring. It won’t stop me, however. The reaction l’ve had from other writers who have been reading my first book as l write it has been great, thank goodness, and l trust their opinions. If the first novel is optioned, then the real pressure will begin. If you have any advice on how to deal with this next step, should it occur, l would very much appreciate hearing what you have to say.
It was interesting to read your story and see your journey when it comes to this debate. Personally I am unpublished and am writing for love at the moment. But yes, sometimes you are going to have to force writing when it becomes a living, but if you can hold true to loving it somewhere in there, then I think you’re doing it right :)
Great Article.