"Why bother writing books?"
"Why bother writing books?"
honest thoughts on the future of publishing
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At a retreat recently, where I was invited as a guest speaker, I did a reading and Q&A for a group of new writers. One person sat with a notepad (who looked quite a bit younger than me) asked me a rather direct question:
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but: why bother to still write books?? You make more money through Substack and get to speak directly to your readers and reach more people. So, what’s the point? Why bother with books?”
I love a juicy question like this — a laser beam right into the heart of something, no beating around the bush. I must admit, it’s something I have asked myself recently. I’m getting the vibe that Gen Z aren’t as enamoured by the old ways of publishing — they probably don’t care as much as Old Millennials (like me) about how prestigious it is to have a little specific logo on the cover of your book. Often the Barnes & Noble-style promo tables feel overtly geared towards Baby Boomers who prop up a big corner of the industry (e.g. loyally buying all those royal family / prime minister memoirs). Sometimes it feels as though there’s a generational divide at play. Millennials are becoming the new sandwich generation. I feel sandwiched between two worlds. I’ve been part of the old; and I’m also playing a big part in the new.
I recently travelled for five hours on a train to attend a tiny book festival to promote my latest book, invoicing a fee of £175 (I wanted to do it because I love books — but that’s a very low fee for my time and I often donate it to charity instead). On the flip-side, I can often make upwards of £5,000 from one popular single Substack post in one afternoon. I’m both a traditional author and have been an entrepreneurial blogger since 2009. I like keeping tabs on trends and shifts, I find it interesting.
Information can be shared in many different ways, and for some, perhaps there doesn’t seem much point anymore in going through the traditional publishing process. The writer at the retreat seemed genuinely baffled at why I still bothered with such an ancient system when I had so much success on Substack. I responded by saying how much I love books, how much they mean to me — but the question certainly made me pause and think.
There can be some major perks when going through the traditional publishing system: industry prestige, a vigorous editing process, your book potentially being on the shelf in a major retailer, invites to book festivals (sometimes), and a big machine behind you with a very smart hard-working team (who are often juggling a lot of things.) It’s also an amazing experience because it’s exciting and full of suspense, you don’t know how it’s going to go. You have no idea how people will react to your book or what life-form it will take on. Your life could change, or it could not. Your book might become famous! Or not. It’s a rollercoaster, and perhaps one could say even slightly addictive. For me, once a book has come out and I’ve gone through the intense book campaign process, I book a holiday, have a lie down, say I’ll never write another one, and then immediately I start brainstorming the next idea.
The question I was asked at the retreat reminds me of a similar thing said to me back in 2010 at an industry event: “Why bother writing for glossy magazines when you reach more people and earn more money through your blog?” I’ve been here before. I’ve watched the magazine world crumble before my very eyes from inside the industry— I saw editor’s private taxis, travel budget and champagne lunches get taken away. The system ultimately failed. No one wanted to read a magazine full of adverts. It was sad, no one wanted it to crumble.
I’ve been questioning ‘the point’ of desperately clinging onto mainstream culture (when you’ve got a thriving online business elsewhere). I think it’s my sentimental love of print that always seems to win out and keep me with one foot in the door.
An article on Substack went viral the other day about how nobody buys books anymore. Personally, I spend a lot of money on books. My accountant has even asked me in the past if I really need to buy all these books (“er.. it’s quite a lot of outgoings…” he says, scratching his head). I respond by saying: yes, I do need to buy them. Books are important to me, my business and my life. I also get free books and advance copies and for that I feel so lucky. My office at home is over-run with books. I might need to build extra shelves. Give me all the books. Take my money.
There is a Japanese slang word Tsundoku (積ん読) used to describe “acquiring books but letting them pile up in one's home without reading them.” I have four different books on the go at one time, piled up next to my bed. I don’t think it’s true that nobody buys books anymore, but I do think the way we buy and read and write books is changing. My accountant also comments on how I spend a lot of money on Substack subscriptions for my favourite writers. The writer’s hardback book now feels like a collector’s item. The cherry on top.
Do books sell? It’s a big, broad question. Yes and no. Recently I went into a small independent bookshop and the owner was really struggling. Books aren’t selling in her shop, she’s worried about sustaining her business, she was really down in the dumps, she hadn’t been on holiday for years. A day later, I went to a small bookshop in York and the woman behind the till was beaming: so many youngsters are coming in here to buy young adult rom coms like Heartstopper!! Kids are reading again! Books are booming! “It’s amazing, Tik Tok has increased our footfall,” she said.
Maybe it depends on the author, too. Big brand names sell a truckload of books. A middling author will sell 2,000 lifetime copies of their book and it won’t be seen as a success by the industry at all. A bit of a flop, actually. But 2,000 monthly Substack subscribers? You have a six-figure income. What we want to buy is always changing and how authors write for their readers is changing too.
You can sell books outside of the traditional system, too. I published a book with independent publisher The Pound Project in 2018 — it is run by one brilliant guy, JP Watson and we raised £10,148 with 1,351 backers. It was one of the most creatively fulfilling projects ever and we sold a lovely number of books.
On the whole, people are still buying books, of course they are. In 2022, 669 million physical books were sold in the UK alone, apparently. But things are shifting, big time. Can you feel it? Those tectonic plates shifting beneath your feet? It’s an uncomfortable, exciting time. Since the pandemic, things have been changing a lot on a global collective scale. The world is changing rapidly, we have no choice but to hold on, like we’re on a big merry-go-round.
Books matter and are magical — because you can’t just churn them out. Books take time. They take dedication. I have a theory that writing a novel in this current climate is the hardest it’s ever been because there are a bazillion things trying to capture our attention. Putting out a book is really hard. It requires a sort of ‘birthing’ process. The first seed, the stress of selling the proposal, the waiting to hear back, then the long process of writing and waiting and writing and waiting. Then the editorial and marketing and publicity plans that are also stressful. Authors are also expected to bring ‘their platform’ along (if they have one). Then publication: it’s out there! Jazz hands. Then a post-publication dip. It takes a lot out of you. Releasing a book is really not for the faint-hearted.
I like the team spirit that comes with publishing a book. Granted, I am a solopreneur and have been for nearly a decade so I’m not very natural at working with a team. I work quickly and efficiently on my own, but I’ve learned to try and enjoy working collaboratively on my books. I find it challenging when I feel left out of the process, sometimes months will go by and I’ll hear nothing, being told that ‘stuff is happening’ in the background. It’s my book! I worked in marketing for years! I want to know what’s happening! The main reason I respect the book publishing process: I love working with good editors. I have so much respect for them. Someone who can sharpen your focus and help you improve. I don’t take that for granted. Writers have a lot to thank editors for. Editors matter, and editors are needed.
Why bother writing books? To be totally honest: my life right now would be so much easier without writing them. I could just write this newsletter and live a pretty easy life. But books challenge me in a way that I want to be challenged. They strip me bare and put me back together again. The novel I’ve been working on for the past three years has taught me so much about myself — my tastes, my goals, my persistence, my resilience. In a world of ‘content’ it feels meaningful to work on something artistic behind-the-scenes for an extended private period of time. Even if the whole process often makes me curl up in the foetal position and cry. Writing books is hard, and a privilege. Sometimes we have to do hard things to feel fulfilled.
It’s certainly not for the money. In 2018, there was Guardian article telling it how it is: “authors have seen their earnings chipped away while publishers thrive.” Even a good chunky advance has to stretch over years. I only really receive good royalties cheques from my American publisher. Olive is selling well enough there for me to be pleasantly surprised when it’s royalty payment day. None of my other UK books have really changed my life, financially. The Success Myth has had great reviews but hasn’t broken any bestseller lists. I think it’s a really timely good book, but more people have read my Substack article about the book rather than actually bought the book. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’m still so glad I wrote it and that it exists. It is selling steadily which is actually better than one big spike on publication week. The book will live on. People will find it in bookshops all over the world. Internet articles don’t live on in the same way.
“Don’t write books for the money” is an annoying statement, but it’s sort of true. I always feel like I’m bursting someone’s fantasy by saying it. It doesn’t mean we should accept bad payment terms, or we settle for a flawed system that doesn’t really get writers paid very well. But only a few books really take off and earn a big profit. The reprinting of a back catalogue is what brings in a lot of revenue for publishers (such as old classics, student textbooks, The Highway Code, or The Very Hungry Caterpillar). And we all know the people (usually men) at the very top of the publishing food-chain are still getting their big bonuses, while professional writers, according to a 2022 ALS report, are earning a median of just £7,000 a year. It sucks, but it’s the reality. Which is why Substack has really plugged a gap for a lot of writers.
Most authors just get a sort of ‘OK’ experience. An OK advance, an OK publication day, and OK experience. It (probably) doesn’t change your life. And yet: we still want to write more books, because it’s what we do and what we love. One of the problems is: it feels like there is no discovery system for books. Lots of books launch and then disappear into the ether. It’s not good enough to just go on a few podcasts, or just post about it on Instagram. Authors need more support.
I understand why writers are sacking off traditional publishing and writing in other ways (like on Substack) for better payment and better sanity. But I also feel like we have to have some optimism for the industry too, otherwise it’ll be too depressing. In my opinion, we need books, we need fact-checkers, we need editors, we need long-form stories. I don’t want to turn my back on it, I want to have conversations, help shine a light, help improve the conditions, help it grow and change. So many clever publishing people are leaving the industry to set up their own things now — so many people are exhausted and done. But that doesn’t mean it’s all over. It’s just changing. There are always teething problems during major change. I admire those people who realise they need a break so they can come back stronger.
The love is real. When your book is published, you get to hold a piece of yourself in your hands. Books have a different life force, they live on separately to you.
The question I’m asking myself, as an author of six books, is tinged with some sadness: is a love of books enough? To keep going?
Do I love books, or do I simply love reading, writing and being read?
Can my writing reach more people in different ways, without the burnout-adjacent publishing cycle?
If it’s the latter, then maybe books will soon no longer be the best way for me to communicate and tell my stories. There are plenty of other ways to write and be read. This makes me feel both hopeful and sad in equal measure.
This is just my personal story, not a ‘think-piece’ as such. I’m really only speaking on behalf of myself here. Substack has enabled me the privilege of being financially secure through my writing outside of the publishing industry, so that I can (ironically) spend more time writing my books (plus teaching and donating my time to charitable things.) Substack’s monetization tool has allowed me to be more generous with my time and put boundaries in place.
As a professional writer, Substack complements the book publishing world. I enjoy and want both. I still want to be a part of the ever-changing industry. I still care about it even though it’s left me battered and bruised over the years.
Dear publishing industry, I find you extremely difficult to navigate, but for my sins, I still love you. Let’s see where this all goes next.
What does the future hold? Will Substack create the future of books? Will self-publishing platforms like WhiteFox become more tempting for authors? Will authors do a Tavi Gavinson move and print their own zine and take it into bookshops themselves? Will authors/creators take matters into their own hands and start their own publishing imprints? Will publishers have no choice but to publish a smaller amount of books? Will book deals only be for influencers on Instagram now? Will publishers focus less on launching new writers and instead partner with brands, launching a ‘branded books’ division? Will audio and podcasts continue to take over our devices pushing print further and further away? Will joint venture/profit share models between author and publisher like
make a difference? Will publishing, as we know it, survive?Additional reading/listening:
— Podcast: My Industry is Failing: Writing Edition with
(talking to ) Listen here.— Podcast: on Why Publishing is Broken and her Substack . Also: on getting real about book publishing.
— Article: Why I left corporate publishing by
— Article: How will the publishing industry change over the next ten years?
— Blog: Seth Godin’s advice to authors from 2005(!) that still stands true today.
And some other Substack articles to read:
I’ve made this article free to read. If you’d like to support my writing and join the community — click here for a 20% offer code. ♡