The Writing Life: Two Years on From My First Novel, I Have Learned What Many Authors Already Know (Which is Nothing)

Last week marked the two-year anniversary of the publication of my debut novel, Voodoo Hideaway. I’m not sure where I imagined the book would have taken me in two years’ time. I suppose I had the usual empty-headed delusions when it comes to these things, half believing that somehow it might catch fire with reviewers and the reading public and soar onto best-seller lists, where I would play the role of the humble first-time novelist just happy that people enjoy my stories – all while splashing around in an ocean of vainglory and cash, trying to decide which major movie studio to sell the rights to…..

Well, that hasn’t happened.

Voodoo Hideaway has gotten some very nice reviews in certain quarters – but those quarters don’t move the sales needle much, which is a polite way of saying they don’t move it at all. The handful of reviewers who could move the needle have taken a pass. They probably get dozens of queries a week, and unless a book has an established author or publisher behind it, you can bet it lands in the recycle bin pretty much immediately.

I haven’t splashed around in an ocean of cash, either. More like a puddle from the world’s saddest rainfall.

My younger, 2021 self believed I would be working on a sequel about now, because the novel was written with a sequel in mind. I even had the plot loosely outlined. I have occasionally diddled around with the sequel, writing a few pages here and there. But mainly I have tabled the idea, and will get around to it later, if at all.

Right now, I’m more interested in the money I can make from writing than the money I might never see.

The publication of Voodoo Hideaway happened to coincide with a steep increase in my free-lance writing work. The assignments coming my way now have roughly doubled over the last couple of years. Writing web content is a full-time job now, and I’m happy to have it. It’s nice to get paid for writing something, as opposed to writing something that may or may not earn a nickel – as is the case with much of the fiction being produced these days.

As mentioned before on this blog, I can make more in a month or two writing web content than I’ve made in total from writing fiction. Should I cut down on the free-lance assignments to devote hour upon hour to the Voodoo Hideaway sequel?

Are you insane, asking that question?

I bet I can make more in half-a-year writing web content than 80% of the world’s fiction writers make in total. That’s not a commentary on my value as a content writer – it’s a commentary on how few fiction writers make a living at it.

Here’s some earnings data I referenced in a blog from April 2022:

In 2018, the Authors Guild partnered with 14 other writers’ organizations as well as some publishing platforms to conduct a survey of 5,067 professional writers in the United States. The median 2017 income of participating authors was $6,080, with just $3,100 of that being from book income alone (as opposed to speaking fees, teaching, book reviewing, and other supplemental activities). The median income of people who described themselves as full-time authors was just $20,300 when including all book-related activities.

Keep in mind that the “median” income is merely the middle point between the highest and lowest earners. Which means that for every Stephen King earning $1 million a year, there are 50 other authors earning nothing at all. My personal theory is that for every Stephen King, J.K. Rowling, James Patterson, etc., there are 20,000 other book authors out there earning zilch.

As I noted at the time, the $20,300/$6,080 figures seem pretty accurate, and I doubt things have changed much in the six years since the survey was taken. If anything, they’re probably even lower now. Every year, hundreds of new book authors enter the field – and the vast majority earn next to nothing from their books.

I hear what you’re thinking: Writing should be a labor of love, not of money. Understood, and duly noted!

But for now, I’m more into the money than the love, because we have a young family to support, and bills to pay.

*****

Here’s something else I never imagined a couple of years ago, in all my bottomless naivete as a first-time novelist: I have no communication with my publisher anymore, and haven’t for months. They put the book out, they got money from me for various ancillary services, they made a few token efforts to stay in touch, then they shuffled along.

I’m not sure what I expected from them. But at the bare minimum, I figured they’d at least touch base every now and then, share their support, even if they were just going through the motions. That they haven’t says more about my expectations than my publisher.

They’re a small-time outfit, operating on a shoestring budget. They probably consist of a few laptops at a few desks that belong to a few literary types scattered here and there. They don’t have the people or resources (or desire) to engage with writers for any length of time, and they don’t have the industry juice to do much more than put books out there, provide a modicum of marketing support, and shuffle along. I’m guessing nearly every author they’ve published has had a similar experience.

They won’t mind me writing this, because I’m not going to mention their name, and they probably don’t even know this blog exists – and wouldn’t care if they did.

Anyway, the book is still out there on the usual book sites (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Waterstones, various other sites). So at least that hasn’t changed.

*****

What does the future hold two years on from Voodoo Hideaway’s publication? I couldn’t tell you. I’m not that invested in it anymore. I have done next to nothing to promote it beyond this blog and the occasional social media post. I have zero interest in this kind of thing.

On the other hand….

I really, really believe in this book. I think it’s a good novel with interesting characters and a suspenseful plot. I think it’s funny and engaging. I say that not just as the person who wrote it, but as someone who reads probably 30 novels a year, and knows a good story when he reads one. I believe there is a ready market of readers who will enjoy it – if only I could find them.

As noted before, we are moving back to the States in a few weeks after 5.5 years in London. We’ll be right across the Hudson from New York City, one of the world’s publishing capitals, if not the publishing capital. It’s home to a bunch of literary agents, influencers, and publishing types.

I need to talk to these people – in person. I need to corner them in their office, on the sidewalk, in a café, in line at a Shake Shack, where all they want to do is order a burger in peace, and then I need to sell them on the merits of Voodoo Hideaway. As a fellow American, I can relate to them better than I can to all the publishing folks in London, with their high tea and bespoke suits.

On the other hand, I used to live in New York City. I used to trade insults with them on subway rides. I know these creatures!

Can I do this?

Will I do this?

Check back in two years….