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Eric: Writing for cash

People sometimes ask me what it's like to be a professional writer. Albeit, a professional writer with a day job, which describes 95% of writers who have received paychecks for their writing. Still, there is a moment of allure that clings to the title. A mystique. "He's a writer," they say.

Usually followed by "I really need to write a book. I just need to sit down and do it. It doesn't seem that hard. And I've got lots of good ideas." So the mystique lasts about twenty-two seconds. But for that near-half-minute, you're a sorcerer possessed of powers beyond the ken of ordinary men.

The practical answer to "what is it like to be a professional writer" can be summed up in two words: humbling and tedious. It's humbling because no matter how good you are -- or consistent and fast you are, which in things like RPG development can be more valuable than good -- there are several million people who are just as good as you are, and at least twenty or thirty people who are vastly better. And the vastly better people are typically looking for exact same work you are. Sure, I'm okay at RPG design, but Bruce Baugh is in the same market for work that I am, and Bruce Baugh has more experience, knows a lot more people, has a better track record and is a better developer. So, if Bruce Baugh and I both put in for the same freelancing assignment, I only get it if he doesn't want it.

And there are several Bruce Baughs in RPG design. And a whole lot more of me. And a metric ton of unpublished freelancers who want that first assignment desperately, and don't mind accepting a half cent a word for it. Or less. Or are willing to write thirty thousand words of a sourcebook for the privilege of having their name on the cover.

Don't believe me? Remember, I pay for the privilege of writing Websnark. And the amount of In Nomine material I've written for free and put up on a mailing list or website vastly exceeds the paid work I've done. By a factor of about fifteen. Seven years ago, I'd have happily done work for free if it meant seeing my name on a Steve Jackson Games product.

Like I said. It's humbling.

The tedious side comes after you get the assignment. I don't mean the writing. I love doing the writing. I mean, some people like being "a writer," and like I said, that's fun enough. And so they suffer through the writing part so they get to go to conventions and wear a badge with GUEST stamped on it and the chance to sit at the front of the room. Or they get to wear tweed and smoke a pipe and hold court at poetry slams or writing circles as "the professional," and speak in hushed tones that imply wisdom.

That's perfectly valid. No one says you have to like your job to enjoy the fringe benefits.

But others write because they really like writing. They like the process. They like putting words together. They like the sense that they are creative. They like hearing the keyboard rattle as the urge starts flooding through their fingers. That's where I fall in. I write all the time. I write stuff no one will ever see because I enjoy writing. I outline projects I couldn't possibly do. I've outlined the way I'd completely relaunch the DC universe as a series of novels, if only there weren't pesky laws enjoining me from doing so. I write articles and short stories and essays and whatever else. I put stuff down in Websnark most every day, because I like to write.

But writing is just part of the "fun" of being a writer, and once you have a gig, it's hardly the part that sticks out.

For example -- as I mentioned a couple of days ago, all mysterious-like, I've got a new gig. There's an NDA involved, so I can't tell you what I'm writing. I probably could tell you who it's for, but I'm not going to take a chance. (The NDA, according to the contract, covers everything but the actual terms of the contract I signed. So, I assume it doesn't cover the company's name. However, it's easiest to just err on the side of caution.)

I can say this much: it's not for PDF/electronic publication work. It's for actual physical pressed pulp with ink on it. And, just because any number of folks have asked, and denials aren't covered under NDA, it's not for Steve Jackson Games, which means no, it's not for In Nomine.

I accepted the gig. They sent contracts. The contracts were okay -- among other things, they were the good old fashioned "sign and send in." Other companies have more elaborate procedures to contract work. One, which shall go nameless, actually requires all contracts be notarized before they're sent. This is a monumental pain in the ass -- you don't exactly trip over Notary Publics in today's day and age -- and I can only assume came from said company having a problem with identity once sometime in the last twelve years, and the president saying "fuck it! After today, every contract gets notarized! I don't care any more!"

Whatever -- this contract didn't need that. But it does need to be physically sent, instead of faxed with sent copies afterward. "So what?" you ask. "Sew buttons," I respond, because I enjoy The Venture Brothers, but I digress. The problem with their needing the physical signature is because there is a large volume of material that I need to A) be sent and B) need to read before I can write the fifteen thousand words I'm committed to. And there's not all that much time before those words are due.

Now, fifteen thousand words isn't hard, and I have an outline, and there's plenty I can do before I get the other materials I need, but there's always nagging questions. "What if there are requirements in the game bible I don't yet know?" "What if my core assumptions for the game are off by a few degrees?" "What if in fact all the characters are supposed to be mutated wombats and I don't know that yet?"

See, I like writing. But no writer likes getting through seven thousand words and discovering he needs to rewrite six thousand of them. Particularly since every word you have to throw away and replace with a different word effectively has its pay rate cut in half.

So you plan, and elaborate on the provided outline, and conceptualize, and prepare to write, but you hold for the other materials. And those materials won't be dispatched to you (hopefully electronically, but that may not be the case) until they get that signed piece of paper, because otherwise they don't have proof you've agreed to the NDA.

Now, a writer who breaks an implied NDA, even if he manages to do so in a way that's on the 'legal' side of the law, is a writer asking never to be paid for anything ever again. This goes beyond professionalism and straight into "oh my God, are you stupid?" But remember I mentioned that huge mass of writers who'd be willing to do all this for free? The mass of writers that once also included every single working RPG developer and writer currently producing work? (Well, excepting Gary Gygax and Loren Wiseman. They predated the yearning mass of people who want in.) Well, a good number of those hungry wannabe RPG developers would desperately love to be the ones to break the story on what their favorite company is doing with their favorite line to all their friends. For a brief moment, they would be able to bask in the glory of being the bearer of official tidings. This is a prospect almost orgasmic in temptation.

And RPG companies have no way of knowing if their new freelancer is going to be one of them. So, they require proof of the NDA before they begin. They want that nice piece of paper that says, in effect, "if this person proves to be a self important wanker, we get to sue him to the point that he owes us his own bone marrow, and he has no legal recourse at all."

And it's just good business practice to make everyone sign it, no matter how proven their track record. "Look, kid," they'd say. "We make "Zeb" Cook and Robin Laws sign this. Who the Hell are you again?"

So you wait. With every day bringing you that much closer to the deadline, which wasn't all that far away to begin with. And of course, it's not like the company's going to get my priority mail envelope (no, you don't send it express mail. What, I'm going to pay nine bucks for the privilege of delivering work for them faster? I only sent it priority mail because I like to send contracts flat, and the cost difference is negligible from one nine-by-twelve envelope to the next at this point) and immediately say "quick! Call the editor! Eric Burns sent us his signed contract! Move move move move move!" No, it'll sit in an in box, and then someone down in processing will enter the details and send an e-mail to the editor. And the editor will get those details and think "okay, I've got X number of writers to send this stuff too -- easier to wait until we get at least half of their contracts in, or the end of the week -- whichever comes first. It's not like I'm not buried up to my eyeballs as it is."

Outline. Plan. Research. Scribble notes. Generate skeletons of characters who won't get flesh until you get what you need. Pace a bit.

Sooner or later, the materials show up. And no doubt there will be "fun" with e-mail. There is always fun with e-mail during these processes.

Then, you write, expecting to be done in three days. "Fifteen thousand words?" you say. "Piece of cake!"

Riiiight. And no editor has ulcers from frantically waiting for delivered content. None. Not a one.

But, like I said. The writing is the fun part. So we assume it goes as well as we say it would, and you send it. Then comes waiting for redlines. And there are always redlines. "This needs clarity." "This needs reworking." "This whole section contradicts canon in a supplement you haven't seen that wasn't summarized in the game bible you sent, so we need to cut it and you owe us an entirely different 2,500 word section." "What style guide are you using?" "Do you own a copy of Strunk and White?" "Have you read a copy of Strunk and White?" "Jesus fucking God, Eric -- don't capitalize angels or demons! Do capitalize Djinn and Mercurians! And the fucking plural of Habbalite is Habbalah, not Habbalites! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Okay, the last was kind of specific, not general. But no matter what game line you work on, you end up getting notes like it. Capitalization, word choices and pluralization are black arts in RPG design at the best of times.

Sooner or later, you survive the redlines. You get everything just plain done. And then....

Well, then you wait. You wait for them to get all the same things from everyone else. You wait for editorial to go over it, and make their own changes. You wait for precursor products to get published. You wait for revisions to the shipping schedule. You wait and hope that they don't decide to cancel the project altogether based on sales performance of previous projects. (Which has happened to me -- and kill fees, while better than a punch in the throat, are never as good as your contracted word rate.) You wait.

And then it gets announced. And you get to say, finally, what it is you worked on months before. And talk it up. And get enthusiastic about it. "You're going to love it," you say.

And then you wait through a publication rescheduling and a printing delay, but sooner or later it hits the shelves. Two to three weeks after that, typically, you might get your contributor copies. And then you will open them up, smell the fresh ink, turn quickly to your section, and hungrily read the text that once upon a time was yours. And be surprised at how little of it you recognize, and further surprised when you reread your last known good delivered text and compare it.

But whatever. You're once again in print. You did it. You're holding proof you're a writer. You get to send a copy to your parents for them to put on the shelf next to your other published works.

And then, you start waiting for payment. Typically, it's scheduled for 30 days after publication. It's polite to wait about 60 before sending them nice notes. You usually shouldn't start threatening them with keelhauling until 120 days after payment was due.

(If you're a publisher I've worked for before, you may of course safely assume I'm talking about the other publishers I've worked with, above. I certainly couldn't mean you.)

Meanwhile, if things have gone well, you've been doing the same process with other contracted works and have more stuff in the pipe. Otherwise, you troll for more work and hope your standing has increased. Or that Bruce Baugh is passing on a lot of stuff these days. At any given point in your writing career -- assuming you have gigs at all -- you're spending maybe one tenth of your time actually putting words on paper, and the rest of the time somewhere else in this process.

Tedious and humbling.

And so worth it.

Maybe the materials will come in today. Until then, I've got notes, and it'd be all right to write this section, wouldn't it? I mean, what are the chances the game bible will change that....

Posted by Eric Burns-White at June 9, 2005 11:05 AM

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