Sell books? That’s far from the mind of many authors.
A panel of writers at a meeting I attended last night candidly shared their experiences in terms of making money with books. Most of the authors have put in years and have spent, not including their time, more than they have earned. And all but one had no expectation of earning money–let alone making a living–from selling books. Several spoke passionately of the joy of writing, of making an impact, of touching readers. And there was little disagreement from the audience, most of which consisted of experienced writers. The group is a local club of a statewide organization, and my guess is that the panel, and the audience’s responses, reflect a widely held point of view.
But not mine.
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I love to write. (Although I strongly empathize with the late William F. Buckley, who, when someone said admiringly to him, “You must love to write!” responded, “Oh, no. I love to have written.”) I do agree it is almost impossible to make money from writing books. To make money you must sell books.
I think the problem for many writers is simply that they do not see themselves as entrepreneurs. They do not view their book-writing endeavors as one aspect or phase of a business. They write because they want to, because they have to, because it allows them freedom of expression. They hope to finish their books, and they hope people will buy them and read them–and be moved by them, one way or another. They don’t want to sell books. These hopes represent their wishes–and “if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” There are numerous authors making a good living (because they learned to sell books), and only a few are celebrities. These are people who are conscious that they are in business. To be in business, you must:
- Find out what people want
- Sell it to them
- Do it again
- Find out what people want to read
- Write and sell books that match that desire
- Do it again
Of course, if your goal is to make money, this is very good advice. But I sense that the writing done with that goal will tend to be derivative, unimaginative, generic, formulaic, the kind that millions of others are already doing. Nothing wrong with it though. But if you want to break the mold, be engaged in what aspires to the creative, discover what hasn’t been done before, the audience has to disappear along with the promised money.
I also question the above advice because present tastes and trends are a poor guide to what people will want two years down the road.
Name me a great poet who wrote for the money?
Thank you for your thoughtful comment, Paul. (I took a peek at your site, and am looking forward to reading more of “Gaia’s Children.” Your science background predisposes me to be willing to check out your fiction–however much a prejudice that may be.)
To the point of your comment: Clearly, if you are directed in your writing only by what will sell, you are indeed likely (but not inexorably) to compromise creative originality. But that was not my point.
The panel I attended was addressing the question, “Can you make money by writing books?” Five of the six panel members said, “I haven’t, but I’m not sorry; I’ll continue doing what I’ve been doing.” One–though not very loudly–said, “My books are making money, and I expect my future books to do so.” My point: If you want your books to make you money, you must consider not only your need to unburden your creative soul, but also the business end of the deal–the selling of books.
Will that negatively affect your creative expression? Perhaps. If it does, you might want to keep your day job, and express yourself in the way that best suits you.
I believe you can have your cake and eat it too–though I don’t think that writing what you want and profiting from it is in any way more meritorious than just writing what you want. I just want to make the point that it is possible, and that some are doing it.
Some great poets achieved recognition, and even a decent living, during their lifetimes–Robert Frost comes to mind. But Frost was quite commercial in his intent, and that did not detract from his poetry (in my opinion). Most great poets were “discovered” after their death. Is that good? Bad? That depends on what their goals were.
(By the way, I live in Silicon Valley, a short walk away from the headquarters of Google, a bike-ride from Apple and Facebook. This is a place where creativity and originality prosper–and where a lot of creativity and originality never achieve any sort of reward. The stuff that succeeds, financially, is often innovative and creative. The stuff that fails is often at least as creative–but doesn’t meet the needs of the market. You can have it either way with your writing.)