WRITERS LIFEGUARD: Don’t Let the Bastards Rip You Off
Posted on | August 12, 2010 | 3 Comments
By Jules Older
I’m not one who regards editors as bastards. I yam an editor. I try not to be a bastard. Sometimes I even succeed.
Jules Older
Ditto publishers. They’re the ones who feed my family, and I don’t go around biting the hand that feeds.
But. But the ones who don’t pay… ah, now yer talkin’ bastards. And if there’s one thing I hate worse than bastards who rip off writers, it’s the impotent rage writers feel when we can’t get our money from said bastards.
OK, that’s the last time I’ll refer to illegitimate offspring today. From here on out, it’s about how to collect what’s owed.
My ski-writer friend Steve, who has four or five brothers, swears that his solution is to visit the editorial office with his brothers in tow. They conspicuously look around for a while; then the biggest brother quietly says, “You got a lot of expensive equipment here. We wouldn’t want to see any of it damaged, y’understand? Please pay my brother what you owe him. Now.”
That might not be for everyone. Multi-purpose writer David Goodman pulled one of my all-time favorite tricks when he was living in Boston. The publisher — one of the few Black publishers in Boston — wasn’t paying his writers but was throwing a party for advertisers. By mistake, he’d somehow sent David the guest list. David sent him a five-word message; it read: “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”
The checks were delivered before the party began.
When a magazine publisher said he couldn’t pay me the couple of thou he owed, I knew he was nearly broke. So I put him on a schedule. And to his credit, he stuck to it, paying me a couple of hundred each month until the debt was very nearly paid off. By then, he was broke, and I figured we were close enough to even anyway.
There was one debt — a big one — I could not collect. I’d been promised an advance on an outdoors book, but when I delivered the ms, the publisher decided that the words they’d originally loved, they now hated… and were thus under no obligation to pay me a brass farthing. Then they stopped answering my letters. And calls. Can you spell impotent rage?
So I contacted the National Writers Union, which at the time was a righteous organization of which I was a paid-up member. It took the NWU’s Phil Mattera, may his tribe increase, less than 24 hours to get them to pay up. I donated 10% on the spot to the union; without them I’d still be stuck in wrath and dearth.
But the best revenge is success. A year or two later, I re-sold the book… and thus collected that advance not once, but twice.
I’m no longer a member of the union, so these days I have to be even wilier on my own. Here’s what I recommend whey you’re Payless in Peoria:
- Always, always chase down that money. If you have to, threaten to kill the publisher’s dog, but never let him disappear with your hard-earned cash.
- Your best protection is prevention. Don’t let yourself fall into debt to a publisher. Stop that before it starts. Go on strike until the check arrives… and doesn’t bounce.
- If you can’t get the, uh, gentleperson to pay, your best strategy is to threaten to tell all and sundry, with a 24-hour deadline. That means advertisers, printers, warehousers, everyone vaguely associated with the rag. Inform the publisher that if the check isn’t hand delivered to your doorstep in 24 hours, at 24 hours and 1 minute, the email blast goes out.
- At 24 hours and 10 minutes, the press release goes out — to the media. And, being a media person, yourself, you have a long, long reach and a big, fat Rolodex. See you in print, playah.
- If you’re still not paid, make certain they do go out.
Here’s what it comes down to. Our best weapon isn’t wealth or lawyers or guys in dark alleys. Our best weapon is our writerly skills. When you can’t get paid for your honest work, this is the time to use ‘em.
Love to hear your experience and wisdom in this pain-filled part of the writer’s life.
Peace.
jules
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Jules Older (amazingly, no relation to Susan Older) is a freelance travel writer, the author of children’s books, the creator of the iPhone app San Francisco Restaurants, a speaker, a broadcaster and a consultant. Learn more about Jules here. To become a Lifeguard, just drop Jules a line at jules@julesolder.com, saying, “I’m a writer. Sign me up!”
Tags: Commentary > Editor > Freelance > Journalist
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Is there life – or work – after newspapers? A lot of us are in the process of finding out. Because it’s generally a somewhat lonely endeavor, it struck me, in January 2010, that it might be comforting – and possibly very productive – to go through it together.
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August 21st, 2010 @ 3:56 PM
Pretty nice post. I just stumbled upon your blog and wanted to say that I have really enjoyed browsing your blog posts. In any case I’ll be subscribing to your feed and I hope you write again soon!
August 23rd, 2010 @ 10:58 PM
Many thanks, uh, “nursing schools.” I love real names…but I’m also intrigued by your handle.
Wazzup with that?
jules
September 25th, 2010 @ 6:14 AM
Wonderful blog! I truly love how it’ s easy on my eyes as well as the data are well written. I am wondering how I can be notified whenever a new post has been made. I have subscribed to your rss feed which need to do the trick! Have a nice day!