Is it Money You Need? Really...?

The publishing world was all atwitter last week at the news that Penguin filed lawsuits with the New York Supreme Court against 12 authors. The publisher charges that the authors in question did not deliver the books they were contracted to write and demands the return of not only the advance for the books, but also a significant chunk of change for "interest" on the monies in question.

Ah, Ben. How I wish we were better acquainted...

In short, Penguin is trying to re-collect over $412,000 of advance money and tacking on an additional $138,500 for interest. Which begs several questions -- not the least of which is where the heck does Penguin invest, and how do I get me some of that action?

This will be interesting to watch play out. On the one hand, I firmly believe that if a writer signs a contract he or she cannot honor, any money advanced for the project in question should be returned. Writers rarely get paid enough for work they have done, let alone get paid for work they haven't. If you want to get paid for NOT doing stuff you said you would do, you should be in another profession. Like politics.

On the other, after extensive searching of my book-writing contracts, I find no mention of any "pay us back with interest" clause which my publisher could invoke if feeling especially pissy.

Oh, sure, there's language that says I'm obligated to turn in Project X that follows certain mutually-agreed-upon parameters and to do so at a mutually-agreed-upon time. Failure on my part would result in my being obligated to return the portion of the advance already paid out. But nowhere does my contract say anything about my responsibility to invest my advance in such a way as to afford my publisher a 20 - 33% return on it.

Every day, I read the blogs and tweets of writers who seem to believe that what they really need is a publisher to throw money at them, which will then make all their dreams come true. (Variations of this theme exist, beginning with "I need an agent" at one end of the spectrum and "When my book makes me rich and famous" at the other, but it is pervasive.)

What these writers don't realize is that book advance money doesn't buy you respectability, talent, or even a career. It merely buys you a little time. Occasionally (Praises be!) it puts food on your table and diapers on your kid's butt. More often, it's earmarked for things like publicity and promotion.

Advance money is a business partnership that makes you contractually obligated to get that book not just done, but done to the publisher's satisfaction. (If ghostwriting, make that "BOTH the expert's AND the publisher's satisfaction.")

It's also -- everyone involved hopes, with fingers crossed and breath bated -- money that will, if put to good use, prime the pump to spur sales so the book earns out its advance, thus (HAPPY DANCE ENSUES) earning both author and publisher more money.

So let me ask you... Right now, as far as your writing career is concerned: Is it money you need?

Really?

How would a five-figure advance impact your writing life in a meaningful, positive way? Would it make you take your career more seriously? If so, why? What would a sudden influx of cash allow you to do that you aren't already doing?

Would it make you more productive?

Would it make you more seriously approach growing a solid readership and fan base?

Would it make you write every dang day -- no excuses -- until that manuscript was pitch-perfect?

Would it make you feel validated as a writer? As if you had finally "made it?"

If you're saying Yes! Yes! A thousand times Yes! well butter my behind and call me a biscuit, but that's an awful lot of clout to give to a few pieces paper, innit?

Truth is, lack of money is often a crutch, a widely accepted excuse for not doing what one is perfectly able to do regardless of funding. A five-figure advance -- which includes all of the advances cited in the Penguin lawsuit -- isn't enough for a person to quit his or her day job. It's a nice shot in the arm of liquidity, true. But living advance to advance is still the writer's equivalent of living paycheck to paycheck. Is that what you need?

Lest you misunderstand, I'm all in favor of advances. The bigger the better. Especially those that come on checks with my name written on them. They mean that a publisher has ponied up the dough, put a marketing team on alert, and is joining forces with me to get this book done.

But I'm equally in favor of small (or no) advances. They mean that as soon as the book starts selling, I start collecting royalties immediately instead of waiting for the book to earn out its advance.

I can't speak for all writers, but I don't need money to write a book. I'm perfectly happy to do the work first and then get paid. Big advances don't make me a successful writer any more than big diamonds make a successful marriage. Some of the work that I'm proudest of has earned far less than just fair-to-middling stuff I earned top dollar for.

I'd be a hypocrite if I said I didn't care if I got paid for my work. However, money is not what drives me. I daresay, it's not what drives most writers.

What, pray tell, drives you? What is it you need... really?

The "Time Is Money" Secret Weapon For Adding Hours To A Day

I've recently found more time to exercise, increased my productivity, and found a way to spend more time with my family. It didn't involve turning my back on Twitter (the horror!) or blocking the rabbit-hole time-suck of YouTube from my browser.  It's literally as if I have discovered several more hours in my day.

It's so simple, I can't believe I didn't think of it before, but it took Dave Ramsey's zero-based budget to smack me over the head with the obvious.

For those of you unfamiliar with money-management-guru Ramsey's tactics, he advises giving every dollar a name (I call many of mine "Phil." Or "Shirley." As in "I shall use this dollar to fill in this gaping fiscal hole" and "surely I didn't spend that much!"). Every dollar is earmarked for something at the beginning of the pay cycle. In essence, it is spent on paper before it is spent fer realz.

At first, I'll admit, I was skeptical. I had previously approached a budget with the enthusiasm usually reserved for un-anesthetized oral surgery. I had also tried (with a stunning lack of success) to make it to the end of the month with still-unspent dollars. But Phil and Shirley always had other thoughts.

Ramsey's zero-based budget has three main tenets:

1.) Before spending a cent, plan in advance how every single dollar will be spent.
2.) Every month is different, so every month gets its own budget. Expenses in June differ from those in December. Don't try to use a cookie-cutter, one-size-fits-all plan.
3.) If you don't control your money, the lack thereof will control you.

Not only did budgeting my money with intent revolutionize my spending habits, but it also made me think about something else that -- no matter how much I wish things were different -- has a zero-based budget: my time.

"Time is Money."

Every day, I (like you) am allotted 24 hours. No more. No less. I must spend them all. Regardless of whether or not I like the idea, I do spend them all. I cannot save an hour from a day that has few things clamoring for my attention in order to spend it later, when I really need it.

I'm one of those writers who can work all day without taking a lunch break, get to suppertime and wonder just where the dang day went. Especially when I have so little to show for it.

I'm a mom, so I feel guilty for spending time with my fictional characters rather than with my own child. I have horses, and have been known apologize to my four-footed beasts for not riding more because I'm orchestrating knights and battles instead. I have a sainted spouse who could always use more quality time. And I have a body that insists on aging, requiring an exercise plan in order to keep gravity from sucking quite so much... 

I've never gotten to the point where I used the Dilbert "Time is Money! Meeting Cost Calculator," mainly because I am not brave enough to use it to calculate what my Twitter obsession is costing me. But I have often lamented my inability to add hours to my day, or to be as productive as I think I should be.

Which is why the concept of the Zero-Based Time Budget works so well.

The first day I did it, I focused only on my time for that day. I divided the day into thirds, allotting 8 hours for sleeping, 8 hours for work, and 8 hours for personal time. Sleeping is self-explanatory. I took each of the 8 work hours and got specific:

1 hour for email.
2 for client work.
3 for my work-in-progress.
1 for publishing pro research & querying.
1 for social media.

I did the same thing for my personal time, allotting specific hours for things like working out, playing with my daughter, doing farm chores, spending quality time with my husband, making & eating meals, etc.

At the end of the first day, I looked at what I'd accomplished and felt as if I'd had a religious experience. Not only had I gotten several thousand words written on my novel in progress, but I'd also had several lively Twitter exchanges, kayaked the lake, run a mile, groomed my horses and dogs, played a game with my daughter, and queried several projects to industry professionals I thought would be good fits.

I got more done in a day than I usually did in three! Furthermore, for the first time in forever, I didn't feel guilty for either spending too much time on my work or for spending too much time away from it.

In the ensuing days, I discovered that my first experience with a zero-based time budget was not an aberration. Planning how I will budget the next day's time is now an important task that is completed before I go to bed.

Like Ramsey's money budget, the zero-based Time Budget has three main tenets:

1.) Plan in advance how every single hour (or half-hour) will be spent.
2.) Every day is different, so every day gets its own budget. Time demands on Monday may differ from those on Thursday. Don't try to use a cookie-cutter, one-size-fits-all plan.
3.) If I don't control my time, the lack thereof will control me make me feel like I''m running just to catch myself.

Earlier this year, I posted One Writer's Guide to Cheating Time, a list of 3 tips I used to make the most of my writing time -- all of which I still use. But the zero-balance time budget is my secret weapon for keeping my life balanced and spending my time intentionally and wisely.

What's your solution to managing your time? Comment below and we'll all share our secret weapons!

Money Matters

I recently wrote an article for Writer's Weekly on the challenges every writer faces in determining what to charge and how to estimate what a job will cost.

"For What It's Worth" is 500 words that I wish someone had told me when I started making words my business.

Too many writers I meet feel guilty or even ashamed to charge for their services.

Too many of them have given little thought to their long-term business plan.

Too many are happy to simply cash the occasional check from a publisher and dance with fervent frenzy until realize that it works out to roughly 14 cents an hour for all the time they invested in the piece.

I've been there. I used to live there, in fact. And, truth be told, some days it's a struggle not to go "back home."

Last week, I received an e-mail from a first-time published writer. The publisher wanted the writer's social security number in order to issue a check and the writer had security concerns.

My response was something along the lines of, "The publisher is a long-established one that printed your piece and wants to hire you for more. If you want to get paid and don't have an EIN, give them your SSN."

(Actually, I think my exact response was, "Give them the #. Laugh all the way to the bank. It'll be fine.")

I often find that writers get uncomfortable when talking about money. Evidently, others have noticed the tendency as well.

Last week, Freelance Writing Jobs compiled a list of 32 blog posts about writers' rates.

Some are more useful than others. "How Much Should I Charge?" by Allena Tapia is full of relevant, useful links. It also includes the caveat:

"Remember that your billable hours will generally make up only 20% to 60% of your total working hours."

Yet another thing I wish someone had told me when I was just starting out.

It's a good thing for writers to talk about money. (It's an even better thing for writers to make money, if you ask me.) The more we share ideas and strategies for making the most of our writing time, the more we'll be able to make a living doing what we love. And nothing matters more than that!

Not in A Million Years

What's the difference between a million, a billion, a trillion?

A million has 6 zeros (1,000,000)
A billion has 9 zeros (1,000,000,000)
A trillion has 12 zeros (1,000,000,000,000)

A million seconds is 11 days, 13 hours, 46 minutes and 40 seconds.
A billion seconds is 31 years.
A trillion seconds is 31,688 years.

The United States of America has not existed for a trillion seconds.
No civilization -- Western, Eastern, or Middle Eastern -- has been in existence for a trillion seconds.
Recorded history has not existed for a trillion seconds.

A million minutes ago was 1 year, 329 days, 10 hours and 40 minutes ago.
A billion minutes ago was over nineteen hundred years ago -- just after the time of Christ.

A million hours ago was in 1894.
A billion hours ago, man did not exist -- regardless of what "Origins of Man" theory you adhere to.

A million dollars ago was five seconds ago at the U.S. Treasury.
A billion dollars ago was late yesterday afternoon at the U.S. Treasury.
A trillion dollars ago, we were halfway into the current "War on Terror."

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, there are an estimated 300 million people in this country.

If Bob Herbert's New York Times editorial is to be believed, the current war our Fearless Leaders have waged in the Middle East will cost this country (read: us) at least $2 billion.

The war in Iraq will ultimately cost U.S. taxpayers not hundreds of billions of dollars, but an astonishing $2 trillion, and perhaps more...

On Thursday (Feb. 28, 2008), the Joint Economic Committee, chaired by Senator Chuck Schumer, conducted a public examination of the costs of the war. The witnesses included the Nobel Prize-winning economist, Joseph Stiglitz (who believes the overall costs of the war — not just the cost to taxpayers — will reach $3 trillion), and Robert Hormats, vice chairman of Goldman Sachs International.

Which means, if you do the math, that 3 hundred Million people will bear the financial burden of at least 2 TRillion dollars.

To the tune of $6,667 per person.

Did I authorize that expenditure? Hmmm....

Not in a Million Years.