by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell
“It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up because by that time I was too famous.” – Robert Benchley.
What makes a successful writer these days? Is it money, fame, production, staying out of trouble (like the author whose book was pulled by a Big 5 publisher for using A.I. in the writing, or the author who asked ChatGPT to rewrite text in the style of a bestselling writer, then copied and pasted it in without removing the prompts)?
Is there even such a thing as a common definition of writerly success?
In the not-so-distant past, the answer was pretty simple: Success = published by a publishing house that gave you an advance, and you sold enough books to keep on publishing with the publishing house. In the 1990s, you could even score a crazy-high advance for your very first book, like this fellow.
Author Tasmina Perry describes that era:
It was the age of mega-deals, huge advances, long lunches, glossy author photos, and multi-book contracts that didn’t just pay the mortgage but paid it off. A time when a writer could, with a straight face, describe being an author as a solid, stable profession. Many writers really did live entirely off their novels. A lucky few even made fortunes.
However:
But that golden era was just that – a moment. A blip. A historically unusual spike in the long, wobbly line of author economics. The conditions that made it possible simply don’t really exist anymore. The industry reshaped itself faster than the mythology surrounding it, meaning many writers kept clinging to the old idea, the full-time author who earns a living from novels alone, long after the scaffolding had dissolved.
Because things ARE different now.
Attention is fragmented.
Retail is unpredictable.
Reading competes with scrolling, streaming, gaming.
Publishers take fewer risks.
Editors feel safer commissioning celebrity books.
Algorithms drive discovery more than posters at train stations.
A single viral BookTok can outmuscle a year of curated marketing, yet no one really understands how to make that viral magic happen.This is the new reality of 21st-century publishing and it’s time we rewired our expectations.
And there’s this from Jane Friedman’s The Bottom Line (subscription required):
What might the traditional industry look like in 10 years?
This commentary by publishing-industry vet Paul Bogaards focuses on editors and acquisitions but also includes some sobering observations. He writes, “I could point to books that were acquired for seven figures but sold under 10,000 copies on BookScan . . . Also, the track of many brand-name authors is in decline. I could point to several (many) brand-name authors whose tracks are experiencing double-digit declines but will not, because, you know, it is what it is, but it being what it is doesn’t explain why it is, and that’s what makes it so unsettling when you think about what the industry might look like in 10 years.” It reminds me of the last Authors Guild survey that revealed top authors have been seeing a decline in their earnings.
Perry finds a silver lining:
We are not witnessing the death of the full-time author.
We are witnessing the death of a myth, and the rebirth of a new, more resilient, more expansive kind of writer.Instead of betting our entire livelihoods on one book every year – which, when you say it out loud, is an absolutely bonkers business model – you can, and should, build something sturdier:
A portfolio career.
Multiple revenue streams.
Multiple creative outlets.
Multiple ways to reach readers.Maybe the ‘career author’ is fading.
But the writer?
The writer is evolving.
Let’s go back to money as a measure. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with writing for money. Dr. Johnson famously said, “No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.” Over the top, as the good doctor was on occasion, we must admit we all like to see income from our output.
And if we create a desirable product (a good book) it’s a fair exchange for readers to pass us a little lettuce. But paradoxically, the chase after money alone often negatively impacts the quality of the writing.
That being so, maybe we need to hitch ourselves to a more stable definition of success, one that can survive the seas of change, no matter the size of our bank account.
In high school I attended the John Wooden Basketball Camp at UCLA. Wooden was at the apex of his career as the greatest basketball coach of all time. He had developed his famous “Pyramid of Success” and gave one to all of us. I have mine framed. His definition of success is as follows:
Success is peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you did your best to become the best you are capable of becoming.
I like that. To it I would only add this, from author Michael Bishop: “One may achieve remarkable writerly success while flunking all the major criteria for success as a human being. Try not to do that.”
So how do you define success as a writer?
I love a good epigraph. That’s the quotation some authors put on a standalone page right before the novel begins. It is not to be confused with an epigram, which is a pithy and witty statement. However, if placed at the front of a book, an epigram becomes an epigraph, thus epitomizing epiphenomena (secondary effects).