March 22nd, 2004

bear by san

The Starving Artist, Part le Soixante-Neuf brings us the Tragedy of a Midlist Author.

Personally, I wouldn't call it a tragedy so much as the saga of somebody who wants to be An Author, rather than a writer. Which is fine, really.

But considering that this young lady brought home on *one* advance something like five times what I made on advance for a three-book deal (and frankly, I don't think talking about how much we get paid is breaking "the most sacred rules of modern authordom"--anybody who reads Locus can figure out pretty much what I got paid), I don't know many working writers who would complain about the money she's bringing home. And that assumes that in that time she did not sell any nonfiction or any short stories to paying markets.

And how did she manage not to get paid for the movie option if a script was in development? Because, you know, normally somebody options the work and they pay you for the right to develop the script: because so many movies do not get made, authors are normally paid before the rest of that work gets done.

How much does pay for an article, anyway?

Admittedly, I'm a writer of the genre ghetto, and so are most of the writers I spend time with. And the money isn't really in SFF.

Which is why I'm in it for the sweaty, buff, half-naked, lust-crazed fanboys.

Oh, damn. Wrong genre again.

Other comments on the article:

Tobias S. Buckell Does The Numbers

Nick Mamatas Does The Numbers Another Way
  • Current Music
    Alanis Morissette--Hands Clean
bear by san

Things I learned in school today:

I can learn more about how the publishing industry works by chasing links across the blogosphere than I can by reading

It's been 23 days since my last rejection. I need some of Greg's Mailbox Voodoo or something. Anybody got a black chicken?
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    Tom Waits--"Everything Goes to Hell"