2023 hasn’t been a vintage year for me as a professional writer.
At the start of May, the freelance contract that had at least paid the bills for three years was abruptly terminated due to cutbacks. It took me four months to find something similar. When I did, that came to an equally sudden end after just six weeks, again through no fault of my own. After three years of writing in my spare moments (often at 6 a.m. before my daughter woke up), I finally finished my second novel. That’s something I’m proud of, but it’s also led to facing down a whole lot of rejection. The novel (which I’ll be self-publishing early in 2024) was either turned down or ignored by every agent and independent publisher who might reasonably have been interested (around 70 in all). To make things worse, it was rejected by the publisher who published my first novel and had first refusal. But this blog isn’t (completely) a sob story; it’s about two things I feel I’ve gotten wrong this year and that I would urge any other professional writers reading this to avoid. 1. I Did Unpaid Trials. Never Do Unpaid Trials. Over summer, I became increasingly desperate to find writing work. Any writing work. I applied to job after job on Indeed, emailed all my old clients, rebranded… I did everything one is meant to do. After a while, I also began applying to jobs that required me to submit a “trial” piece of writing. For free. Apart from those asking you to do an unpaid piece of writing, everyone will tell you that this is a bad idea. But when you just want work to earn money to pay bills and buy food, it’s a risk you become willing to take. I wrote perfectly good articles for two companies and never heard back. For all I know, they’ve used them somewhere as blog content and not credited me. At least £50-worth of work for free every time. While companies that request you write a bespoke piece of sample content (as opposed to showing them something you’ve already written) aren’t necessarily scams, they’re suspicious at best and should be avoided. On the other hand, I’ve secured two long-term contracts in the past by doing paid trials. They do exist, and I’m now convinced that they’re the benchmark for whether an employer is legit or not. To make matters worse, I fell for it again last week. I applied to join a writing platform called The Urban Writers System. Reviews by writers who’ve used the platform to earn money have consistently cited the lack of available work and the potentially low rates of pay, but again, I was desperate. There I was, a 39-year-old, experienced editor of books that have won awards, being asked to do a needlessly complex edit on a 19-page document about houseplants. For free. I failed the assignment. I know that because I got a patronising email last night telling me that it’s about more than “just editing content”. I can’t complain too much. Why should I lose sleep trying to join a platform that, according to multiple reviews, will likely have me working for less than the minimum wage? My advice is to avoid Urban Writers and similar platforms unless you’re brand new to the game and really want to get some experience under your belt. Otherwise, don’t give them your time for free like muggins here. 2. I Paid to Submit My Novel When I was running out of people to submit my new novel too, I admit I broke my own golden rule and paid to submit to a publishing company. It was silly, and I regret it, but it’s done. And I'm the poorer and wiser for it. It was £6, so it’s not like I re-mortgaged the house, but I don’t have £6 to give to a stranger so they can tell me stuff I already know. I also admit that I likely wouldn’t be saying this had my book been accepted. But there’s a wider point here. Every now and again, people will try to reframe the pay-to-submit model by making it sound like you’re doing something noble and worthwhile by giving them money. In no way are you simply paying to submit, oh no. It’s a sleight of hand I recognise from the local gig scene of the 2000s: promoters wouldn’t make you pay to play. Of course they wouldn’t. What they would do, however, is get bands to buy, say, 25 tickets upfront if they wanted a gig. That would then motivate the band to sell said tickets, ensuring a great night and an audience for all the bands on the bill. And ensuring that the promoters still made money even if the band couldn’t sell many tickets. Some indie publishers pull a similar trick by asking anyone who wants to submit their work to first buy at least one of the books the publisher has already put out. Either that or “make a donation”. In other words, pay to submit. I knew I was falling for it, but I still did it. On reflection, however, the hit to my pride knowing I’d sunk so low was such that I wouldn’t do it again. And I would urge any other aspiring writer reading this to avoid it too. If a publisher wants money from you before they’ll read your submission, then don’t send them anything. It doesn’t matter how fluffy, left-wing, radical, conscientious, or “like you” they seem; they just want your dough like any other vulture. I’m writing this on a timer to stop me from spending all afternoon on it, so that’s me done. If you’ve enjoyed it, please consider paying my mortgage for me.
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AuthorI'm a writer and editor from Birmingham. Nothing fancy about that! Archives
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