Saturday, April 5, 2008

Saturday, April 5, 2008
New Moon
Saturn Retrograde
Pluto Retrograde
Rainy and cool

I finally had a great big “aha” Saturn-Retrograde moment yesterday, in and around all this fretting and whimpering and dealing with scumbag landlords and unnecessary renovations and reading far too many backstage-related blogs and the trade papers: I’m having separation anxiety. MASSIVE separation anxiety.

I was reading one blog in particular, by a television writer, and the frustrations were completely relatable and wrist-slittingly depressing, and then I thought, “But you chose not to go down this road because of all this b.s. Why are you spending so much time fretting about it now? WHY are you updating your portfolio when there’s only a very slim chance you’ll even pitch for any of these types of jobs . . .because you hate the bullshit? Yes, there’s a short list of actors with whom you haven’t worked and with whom you’d love to work, especially on a personal, independent project. Maybe you will; maybe you won’t. Take that as it comes. But why are you fretting so much about other people’s experiences backstage?”

Answer: Separation anxiety.

I’ve worked backstage, mostly in theatre, but also in film and television for my entire adult working life, since I was eighteen years old. I’m in my forties. It’s a long time. That’s a lot of defining myself in that realm of work. And, while I’ve written through most of it, now my focus is the writing, it’s my vocation as well as my passion, which means I have to look at in light of business decisions as well as personal ones.

I know I can cut it backstage. I know I’m good at some things, and I can learn pretty much anything that needs to be done. It’s my security, my safety net. And, although I’ve been a freelancer my entire life, it’s different being a freelance writer than being a freelance crew person.

It’s all part of the transition process, and it’s not necessarily bad. I can relate to the people who still work in these areas, give them encouragement, swap stories, offer advice, but I don’t need to take it all as personally as I have for the past few days.

One of the reasons I’ve lost my passion for the crew work is because there are too many people making decisions who are, pardon my language, fucking idiots, and I’m tired of working for them.

The great experiences are worth it, but fewer and fewer of them are great. I savor the good ones, drop the rest, and the fact is that I don’t HAVE to do this in order to live the life I want.

I have to MOVE to live the life I want, but I’m working on that. And the joke I’ve said for months about how I have to move far away from NY, because as long as I’m in commuting distance, I’ll never really leave backstage – not such a joke, I realize. It’s another aspect of being a backstage adrenalin junkie.

I’ll always love the good aspects of the work, but the harsh reality is that what I want from my life can’t be found in this work anymore. And that’s okay. I’ve always hacked my own path through the jungle – why should now be any different?

I do like writing scripts, though, and some of the ideas flow better in script format, so I’m going to keep exercising those muscles, even if I end up adapting them back into prose. And I’ll always keep writing for actor friends. In fact, I’m thinking of doing an updated Women with an Edge piece of monologues for the post 9/11, facing the Apocalypse world. Actresses, in particular, always need strong monologues. Women on the Edge of the Apocalypse or something.

Once I realized that’s what it was – separation anxiety – it was like a huge weight was lifted off my chest.

And I finished the essay.

Because I stopped sabotaging myself.

Had drinks with friends, and a good catch-up. For the last few weeks, that’s been our Friday night ritual – cocktails and venting. Good for the soul.

So, HarperCollins is creating a new publishing division that won’t allow returns, nor will it offer advances (or sometimes, it will offer low advances).

There’s a way to combat this: Agents should not submit to them, nor should writers. And those of us who buy books should refuse to purchase anything from that imprint.

This publisher plans to punish all writers because a fraction of a percent of writers gets advances so high they never earn out. That’s not the fault of the writers. Heck, if someone offered me $2 million for a novel, I’d say YES. My esteemed colleague, December Quinn, thinks it’s not such a bad idea to get 50% of the royalties, using the 10,000 book figure. I think the world of her, but I disagree. Having worked on the other side of the desk in publishing, getting a 10,000 copy print run is NOT the norm.

In freelance writing, you negotiate, on a big project, for 1/3 up front, 1/3 half way through, 1/3 upon completion. You are paid as you go, so that you can pay your bills and focus on your work. Why should writers write “on the side”? They shouldn’t have to have day jobs. They should be able to make a living at their art and their craft. Writers too often agree to grovel, oh so grateful that someone, somewhere publishes them with a scent of possible but unlikely profit somewhere in the ether. What we do deserves decent pay up front. The phone company expects to be paid on time; so should we. We merge art and craft, which is more than some poor sod in a cubicle does. We should be paid appropriately. And not five years after creation or . . .never, because the publisher can’t be bothered to do any promotion and people can’t find the book.

Hopefully, the people who actually create the product that gives the publisher a reason to exist will take a stand and not allow this to happen. Publishers have no reason to exist without writers. Bards earned a living before books were published. There’s a need hardwired in humans for stories. Good storytellers will always find a market. Publishers don’t make a profit because: They pick the wrong books to promote heavily; they don’t promote their list with any parity; they give a few writers way too much in advance money and it doesn’t earn back; they claim they want new voices, yet too often publish what’s derivative; and, more, and more, they charge high prices for books that aren’t even properly copyedited, merely run through spell check. The amount of errors and inconsistencies in expensive hard covers is simply appalling.

Unfortunately, far too many don’t have the balls to stand up for their worth. Meanwhile, far too many without the worth are getting paid far more than they should. An untried author whose paid a $2 million advance and whose book does not earn that back hurts the next one thousand authors coming down the pike. Whereas a more reasonable advance puts less pressure on the company AND the writer. Yet, there’s also this notion that if the publisher doesn’t fork out a huge advance, they won’t bother to promote the book and it dies in the water. Promote the list with parity – don’t big one “big book” per season. Because you know what? That author who got only a $10,000 advance? With a little push, that one will probably earn back more than the newbie with the record-breaking advance, especially if the second author already has a decent track record.

The reason publishing houses aren’t seeing the profits they want is that they’re making bad decisions, over and over again, and not learning from them. They’re working on a star system, which doesn’t work the same way in writing as it does in television. Pay reasonable advances, promote the entire list with some sort of parity, provide a wide variety in the list, print error-free manuscripts, charge reasonable prices, and you’ll start to see some profits.

Off to Philly for a few days of reading, writing, work, visiting friends, and lots of reflection on life, the universe, and everything.

See you in a few!

Devon