the one about author pay

Reporting reveals how advances, marketing demands and industry shifts are reshaping what it means to make a living as an author.

Thank you for your patience this month with the newsletter sends “the one about” is a little later than usual, but “Worst Pitch of the Week” will be in your inbox next week!

I recently wrote a story about author pay (you should really go check it out), and what struck me most while reporting it wasn’t the numbers—I expected those to be bad. It was the gap between expectation and reality.

We all know (in theory) that writing books isn’t exactly a fast track to financial stability. People have been saying that for years. But talking to authors and industry experts crystallized how much the industry is in a period of change.

It’s not just that advances are often modest, broken into three or four parts, or that it’s not enough to survive on a full-time basis, but the job itself — for the author and the publisher — is changing.

We know that authors are increasingly expected to take on an active role in responsibilities that used to fall solely to publishers — especially when it comes to marketing. Platform matters. Audience matters. In some cases, it’s even part of whether you get a deal in the first place.

It can feel like more and more of the burden is being placed on the individual, and I think that’s where the industry is moving. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad thing, just a change.

Here are the 4 (disporate) takeaways from reporting the story that I’ve been thinking about.

1. The visibility problem

After the story published, I heard from readers who said this is exactly why they’re considering self-publishing over trad. And while that path offers control, it does come with its own economic realities. You’re often paying upfront for editing, design, marketing—all the things a traditional publisher typically covers (mainly the editing, which can be very expensive).

Regardless, at the end of the day—whether you’re traditionally published or self-published—the core challenge is the same: visibility.

Books aren’t always solving a clear market need. They’re competing for attention. Which means success often comes down to who can reach readers, build interest, and break through the noise. Not the one with the biggest advance.

2. Transparency in publishing

One thing that came up in my reporting—and that a few readers pointed out—is how much of the industry’s opacity is self-imposed.

There’s actually no rule preventing authors from sharing their advances.

There’s no legal barrier. No universal clause in contracts.

It’s a cultural quirk we keep perpetuating.

People don’t share because it feels uncomfortable. Because it invites comparison. Because it can make it seem like a book’s value is tied to its deal size — when in reality, we know that’s not how success works.

Some of the most successful books in recent years didn’t start with massive advances. Some didn’t start with advances at all. Case in point: “The Atlas Six” by Olivie Blake, “Dungeon Crawler Carl” by Matt Dinniman, and “The Martian” by Andy Weir.

Which makes all those labels—“nice,” “very nice,” “good,” “major”—feel like they matter less and less because of their ambiguity (which I’m cognizant was the original point). They exist partly so we don’t have to say the exact number out loud. It’s an industry signal, not a reader one.

3. The focus on the advance

I’ve gone back and forth on whether I’d ever share my own deal details. Not because I regret anything—I obviously wouldn’t have taken the deal if I didn’t believe in it—but because of the industry might interpret it. There’s this instinct to equate the size of a deal with the quality or potential of a book, even though those things aren’t directly connected.

And in reporting the story, it made me rethink the advance model as the singular way of doing things.

In theory, advances are great. Who wouldn’t want upfront money for their work? But in practice, to me, they can feel like something you’re “earning against” from day one. Even though that’s not technically how it works, psychologically (again, to me, myself and I), it would feel like I’m starting in the red.

That’s why I find newer models interesting.

4. The future of the industry

Jane Friedman mentioned Authors Equity in our conversation—a newer publisher that focuses on higher royalties and profit-sharing rather than traditional advances, and something that I’ll get to in the next article. There’s also Bindery Books, which offers standardized advances with a different approach to partnership.

What’s interesting about these models is the shift in mindset: from transaction to collaboration.

The publisher provides a service (the infrastructure, expertise and investment). The author provides the creative product. And instead of one side front-loading the risk, both are aligned in the outcome.

Personally, I find that framing compelling.

I’d rather feel like I’m building something alongside my team—not working off a debt, even a theoretical one (I cannot stress this enough: this is a feeling, not based on fact, and doesn’t need to apply to anyone else).

That said, I’m also very aware that I’m coming at this from a place of privilege, having a full-time job. I’m not relying on an advance to pay my bills. And that’s not the case for everyone.

But even then, the math is sobering.

Once you factor in taxes, agent commissions, and the fact that advances are often split into multiple payments — over years — even a six-figure deal doesn’t necessarily translate into a sustainable annual income.

Where does that leave us? I think it comes back to expectations and transparency.

The more clearly authors understand the economics going in, the better decisions they can make about how to build their careers. And maybe the future of publishing is about more options and more honesty about what each path actually looks like.

I think when we both move with eyes open, we can traverse the paths together.