www.inkthinkerblog.com — by Devon Ellington
Writers are in a unique position. Not only do most civilians think they can write (but have dozens of excuses why they don’t), they think their ideas are better than ours. They think we should get down on your hands and knees, kissing their feet in bliss when they tell us what we “should” write. Sometimes they even sweeten the pot by offering us a small percentage of the profits after we’ve done all the writing, editing, marketing and other work involved with getting a piece from concept to publication. Would the same conversation happen with a brain surgeon or an astro-physicist? I think not!
Am I bitter? It’s impatience. I face the page every day, no matter what else is going on in my life. I work in a variety of genres, and I juggle more deadlines in a week than a typical office worker does in a quarter. I research, I interview, and, most importantly, I create. Sometimes it looks like I’m staring at nothing for hours at a time, but I’m actually working. So when someone who thinks half-time entertainment is high art tells me what I “should” write, I resent it.
The only time I want to hear the words “You should write” is if it’s coming out of the mouth of an editor, publisher or packager who’ll back it up with a contract for a paid assignment. You want me to write for your successful series? Not a problem. I’m there. But I’m tired of non-writers trying to get me to do their work for them, especially for free. Ninety percent of the time, people who tell you what to write think they can write, but can’t be bothered to do the work. They want the glory (glory? Right there you know you’re dealing with a non-writer) without the effort.
Instead of tossing the offender through the nearest plate glass window (which gets messy and causes insurance problems), I’ve crafted a few pleasant, persuasive and professional responses to get out of the situation gracefully. It took several years of trial and error, and plenty of drinks flung at offenders, but now I have the patter down, and it works. “You should write . . .” begins the spiel. Or “I have a great story. You should use it sometime. . .” and off the person launches into a long, twisted anecdote guaranteed to drive the meanest of Hell’s minions back downstairs out of sheer boredom.
“No, you should write it,” I reply, keeping the tone pleasant and sincere. “Obviously, you’re passionate about it. And that’s one of the most important elements in good writing.”
“Oh, I can’t write,” the person says immediately. “I mean, I’m sure I could, but I don’t have time. Hey! Why don’t you write it and we’ll do a split of the profits? You could get, like, thirty percent.”
“My schedule’s pretty tight right now,” I respond. “But give me your information and I’ll send you a standard contract along with my hourly rate.” When he asks for the rate, I quote it. Or, if the person is particularly annoying, I up it by at least 20%. The offender usually starts hyperventilating.
I hand him a brown bag, and hopefully he shuts up. However, if he doesn’t, and the pressure tactics start, I refer him to my lawyer for negotiations. Then I go into the bathroom and call the lawyer to warn him, instructing him not to agree for less than three times my normal rate. Pressure tactics may include a detailed list of how this is an opportunity I can’t afford to miss (although there’s no money up front or anywhere in the foreseeable future), and I should be grateful he chose me to work for nothing.
At that point, I smile and say, “This is my business, not my hobby. Would you expect a contractor to build your house or a mechanic to repair your car on spec?” And, while he makes fish faces trying to come up with an appropriate response, I walk away.
Devon Ellington writes daily at Ink in My Coffee, and you can find her work under half a dozen names in at least as many genres.
(photo)
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