There was an article in The Observer last weekend called ‘From Bestseller To Bust’, once again lamenting over the crushed publishing world. This time it’s from the angle of those lucky authors who were bestsellers in the eighties, enjoying huge advances and royalties.
Sadly, their income has been slashed and embarrassingly, they can’t expect the same lucrative contracts which they once had. This is terrible, a tragedy, and their plight can only be compared with Syrian orphans.
Of course, the reason behind this sudden drop in earnings is involved with cheaper literature, the curse of the ebook, the dark side of Amazon, the reading public, the government, children, Jimmy Saville and teachers. Also, it’s just the way it is.
An author bemoans the fact that he can’t afford to keep his writing office on the South Bank in London. Hard lines, man. Even Simon Cowell struggles to keep an office in London. The author in question’s now building a cupboard at home which he can write in. Phew! He’s going to be okay.
This article is another example of how elitist the writing world was and how open it’s now becoming. It’s a fact that the big Five publishers have slashed their advances, but it’s also a fact that it’s now easier than ever for anyone to earn an income from writing. It’s the same pot of money shared out.
So, please give generously to our established authors. They live in a world devoid of hope and soon we will be inundated with Dicken’s-style tragedies.
Until next time…