The Parallel Writing Universe
The services and programs that orbit creative writing
Fiction Workshop: $490
Class on Book Proposals, Query Letters, and Pitches: $390
Novel Editing: $1000+
Overseas Writing Retreat: $4000
MFA Program Tuition: $40,000+
Writing Career: Priceless?
Recently I received an email from a literary agent who was looking for queries and thought I might have a manuscript that would appeal. But when I went to the agent’s website I noticed that this person also offered editing services for hire. What kind of a literary agent needs to offer editing services? Well, the kind that isn’t making very much money by being a literary agent. And sure, maybe this person is just starting out and doesn’t have enough clients and needs to have a side hustle. I get it. It’s hard to make a living in the publishing business.
But what it also meant to me, as a potential client, was that the agent’s time and effort would be divided. Maybe the agent’s presentation of my book to a publisher wouldn’t be the best it could be. Maybe the agent would be too busy editing other writers’ works to research and approach all possible publishing outlets.1
I don’t blame this person for trying to make ends meet. But that example is a symptom of a condition that pervades creative writing and other artistic endeavors. Many, if not most, of the people involved in creative writing make more money from offering associated services than from their art. And many dedicate much effort to convincing emerging writers that they need those services to be successful.
Do they?
Let’s start with some research about writers’ incomes.
The Authors Guild’s 2023 Author Income Survey, which had more than 5700 respondents, showed that full-time authors’ annual median book income was about $10,000; and annual median total writing-related income was about $20,000, which is to say that roughly half of annual median author income came from non-writing sources. For all authors (including part-time), median book income was $2,000 and median total writing-related income was $5,000, indicating that most writers made more money from things like teaching and editing than they did from writing. This survey was compiled from the responses of writers who self-reported, further suggesting that those who did were more actively involved in writing as a career. In other words these were typically not writers still looking to break into publishing. The income for those emerging writers was probably a lot less.2
Full disclosure: I took some classes when I was first beginning to write creatively. In fact I even popped for the MFA. Afterwards, in my creative writing career, I taught classes, worked as a developmental editor, cofounded and edited two literary journals, and even started a small independent book publishing company in various attempts to make a little money from my writing experience.3
I also did those things out of love for creative writing. But did I get into creative writing to become a teacher or an editor? No. I would wager that the majority of writing teachers and editors didn’t either. And yet these are the things we do in order to get by.
Marketing for the resources I listed above typically claims they are invaluable for any writer looking to publish. But from a business, or perhaps a survival perspective, one might say they are also strategies for the people who run them to make a living because they can’t make one from their writing. That’s not a knock against those people. They probably love being involved in any aspect of creative writing, as I do. They are most likely sincere about what they do to make money, and believe in the value of their services. Many of their students or clients would likely agree.
None of these programs or services guarantee that you will have a successful writing career, or that you will even ever be published. But, as in many other industries, the services that surround the creative writing universe often imply they are part of the pathway to success. Let’s take one example, that of a developmental manuscript editor. People who offer this service typically charge hundreds or thousands of dollars to review your book manuscript and work with you to revise it to the point where it is theoretically attractive to a literary agent and/or book publisher. In one sense the service is reasonable. The editor will likely put in many dozens of hours reading and evaluating your work, and will call upon his or her years of experience to make constructive suggestions for change. But in another sense, many people hire such an editor with an expectation that once the editing process is completed and the book is revised that it will have a better, possibly good chance of acceptance by an agent or publisher. But is that expectation realistic? Has the system that is the publishing industry led them to believe retaining a developmental editor is a necessary part of the process to becoming a published author?
Regarding statistics all I was able to find was an ALLi (Alliance of Independent Authors) 2023 survey that said about 39% of respondents reported hiring a developmental editor. Remember that less than one percent of books submitted to literary agents are eventually published traditionally. There is no accurate information on how many of that one percent were professionally edited prior to submission. But we can say that the vast majority of the books professionally edited were not accepted by literary agents and publishers (and to be fair, neither were the ones that weren’t). This is not the fault of the editors. But it does suggest that many of the writers who paid to have their books professionally edited and expected better results spent that money in vain.
How does someone become a developmental editor? Hmmm. Apart from setting up a website and maybe having some business cards printed, there are no requirements. A few colleges and organizations offer courses in developmental editing, but I have yet to see a DE note that they have taken one. Credibility in this practice seems more dependent on the editor’s experience and publishing success than on any kind of education or training.
I searched for developmental editors in my geographic vicinity. The results indicated some editors had many years of experience in addition to being published authors themselves. Some, however, appeared to have almost no experience or publications to their credit. There is no accepted rating system, no database where potential customers can view substantiated assessments of the people they intend to hire. Not even a Yelp page. Google search turns up a variety of listings like “17+ Best Developmental Editors,” “Top 31 Best Book Editors,” and similar web pages. When I checked them out they appeared to be advertising venues, not unbiased reviews.
My advice is to do a lot of research into the qualifications of the editor, including, if possible, the publication success of their clients, and then ask that person to do a sample edit on a few pages of your work. At least that way you’ll have a better idea of whether the advice will be helpful to you.
What about teachers of creative writing? Most have proven themselves as writers, not teachers. That suggests the usefulness of classes is similar to that of editors—it depends on the individual teacher.
In my own experience I was an adjunct creative writing teacher at both Tacoma Community College and at Seattle’s Hugo House. I was hired because of my writing and journal editing credits, not because I had any teaching experience, because I didn’t. Neither place provided any teaching training at all. They simply gave me a list of students, pointed me to the classroom, and said, “Go teach.” At the time they didn’t even provide human resources guidance regarding student-teacher communication or relationships.
Was I any good at it? Almost all of my student assessments were positive. Some of my students at Hugo House asked me to join their writing group. (I did, and we are still friends. If nothing else a class or a workshop can provide the kind of camaraderie only other writers can offer.) But some weeks I struggled to come up with a lesson plan. A couple of students complained that I was not encouraging enough. I’m sure I could have done better with a little training, or even some consultation with the administrations about what I was teaching.
How about a writing retreat?
There are basically two kinds. In one you apply and if accepted are awarded a stay for little or no fee. It’s kind of like entering a retreat contest because the competition for spaces is fierce. In the other, which I might call a vanity retreat, you pay hundreds or thousands of dollars to attend. Many of these are situated in scenic locales both here in the US and overseas. You still have to apply, but the fees lead me to believe it’s basically first-come, first-served. More like a vacation with some writing involved. And considering the fees (see the photo for an example) the hosts and leaders probably make a decent bit of change from these, plus they get to go on vacation for free.
And then there’s the big daddy. Is an MFA program worth the cost?
A few years ago there was a book called MFA vs. NYC, edited by Chad Harbach, who at the time was the editor and publisher of n+1. One of its contributors was a writer you may have heard of, David Foster Wallace. Writing about the value of MFA programs he noted that the best of them have contributed to a “Renaissance of the American short story.” But he also saw several downsides. “Writing teachers are by calling writers, not teachers. The fact that most of them are teaching not for its own sake but to support a separate and obsessive calling has got to be accepted, as does its consequence: every minute spent on class and department business is, for Program staff, a minute not spent working on their own art, and must to a degree be resented.”
Just on this Substack I’ve seen a few commenters mention they were students at prestigious MFA programs and that it did not help their writing careers. For the record, I truly enjoyed my time at the low-residency MFA program I attended. The instructors were excellent. My classmates offered the kind of support that only other writers can. The setting for the residency weeks was beautiful. But did it help my career? Not really. Did it make me a better writer? As someone who had been a journalist previously the program introduced me to creative writing concepts, but in retrospect I probably could have learned them on my own. Mostly what I got from the program was the camaraderie of other writers, and the encouragement to write on a regular basis.
Let’s get back to the money, specifically the self-perpetuating aspect of the businesses that surround actual creative writing.
Also in MFA vs. NYC, Stegner Fellow Stephen Elliot wrote: “If you want to spend $80,000 on being a creative writer, you should send it to me and I’ll give you one-on-one classes for two years. It’s not something you should pay for, especially if you don’t have the money. You should never go into debt to study creative writing. Because real writing, to be an artist and really write meaningful creative fiction or nonfiction? That doesn’t pay anything. I’m publishing my seventh book next year, and I’m living on $30,000 a year. And I think I am toward the high end of that spectrum—most people are not that fortunate.”
Not going into debt to pursue creative writing was a recurring theme in the book.
That actually leads to an interesting thought. Maybe it would be better to adopt some form of apprenticeship to learn creative writing instead of the expensive, piecemeal approach of services we use now. It’s the way craftspeople traditionally learned their trades, spending years with people who were masters at it and could convey not only the process, but also the essence of the endeavor to their understudies. You may ask, isn’t that what writing teachers do? Not exactly. A classroom setting is not an apprenticeship. It is not an ongoing, one-on-one relationship over several years. The teacher is doing it for the money, and is spending the time to do it in lieu of their own writing. Typically in an apprenticeship the master receives non-monetary value from the student in return for their expertise—for example the apprentice does smaller, less challenging tasks that are part of the craft process while they learn the more advanced techniques. Makes me wonder how that might work for writers.
A couple of generations ago there were hardly any writing classes or MFA programs. The Iowa Writers Workshop was the first back in 1936, but by the mid-1970s there were still only about 15. According to The Program Era Project at the University of Iowa, creative writing programs grew from 64 in the mid-1990s to 244 by 2016. The popularity of writing workshops and classes also followed a similar growth pattern. Until that time most writers learned to write on their own, sometimes with the help of writers groups. Did they write any worse than those who have attended programs and classes? I have seen several articles describing how the standardization of writing techniques taught in classes and programs has homogenized writing, rather than increase its creativity.
Bottom line: The tremendous growth of writing programs and services in the last three decades is directly connected to the number of people who wish to pursue a career in creative writing. The creative writing universe is flooded with recent retirees and people of greater economic security (sorry readers, but it’s true). The peripheral services, which exist as a kind of parallel universe to the writing one, are mostly a function of the market.
If you truly have writing talent you may not need any of those resources. For those people, the biggest return of these programs and services is in making contacts with persons of influence in the publishing business. (And when people ask me about applying to MFA programs, I always stress that they should seek out the programs that have great contacts.) There are hundreds of books, and thousands of online resources available for those who really want to learn.
The most unfortunate aspect of the way the creative writing system has evolved is that while the number of people who wish to make a sustainable career from it has grown exponentially, the percentage of people who can actually do so has become more limited. The sheer number of writers out there has forced the publishing industry to put up barriers and enlist gatekeepers to make the manuscript selection process manageable. But this has only led to the pathway to publishing becoming more restrictive—writers must attend only certain programs or be part of certain communities in order to be considered—which in turn exacerbates the homogenization problem, because new writers are mostly coming from the same places. See this post by Sam Kahn, “On an Era When Institutions Don’t Reflect Human Value,” for more about that.
Consider also that the expense involved in becoming a successful creative writer is often a barrier to people of limited economic means. It’s harder for them to justify spending hundreds of dollars on attendance at conferences and seminars, and thousands on the narrow, formal education pathway. It’s true that there are many grants and scholarships that allow access to these courses and events, but there are not nearly enough to pay the way for talented writers who are economically challenged. In my career I have known many who have had to give up their dream because they couldn’t afford to pursue it.
Your turn: What courses and/or services have you paid for in order to foster your writing career? Have they been worth it? Have they helped you get published?
Worst case scenario, the agent tells a writer the manuscript needs significant editing, and what do you know, the agent just happens to offer editing services. I am not accusing this agent of doing that, but it is something writers should keep in mind. In fact the agent in question seemed legitimate.
Note the total income amounts, even for full-time authors. This suggests one of several possibilities: 1. They are independently wealthy and don’t really need the income from writing. 2. They have other jobs outside of writing and editing that help pay the bills. 3. They live with someone who supports them financially. 4. The difference in writing incomes describes the quality of the tent these writers must pitch alongside the road in order to stay warm. (That last one was supposed to be funny.)
In that regard I was quite successful. I made little money.
In Sam Kahn's linked article, he observes that we need more institutions, since more people are looking to write. In my observation, that has happened/ is happening - community based writing programs are flourishing in many cities, bringing in a range of instructors (a well-established writing program has usually figured out which writers are good teachers). These courses are a great way to meet other writers, form critique groups (which to me are far more valuable than hiring one person to "developmentally edit" your work), and learn techniques and ideas.
Classes like Reading as a Writer (we delved into 100 Years of Solitude - wow!) and Experimental Fiction have pushed me to write stories I never would have otherwise. And once you've found a teacher you really click with, you can stretch the bounds of your art.
The best way to get a sense of diff ways to paint a scene, transmit thoughts, structure a novel, is to READ A LOT. Different things - read Jorge Luis Borges, read Larry McMurtry, read John Galsworthy, read Virginia Woolf, read Henry James, read Peter S. Beagle, read John Crowley, read Ken Kesey, read Louise Erdrich, read Joyce Carol Oates, read Lyudmila Ulitskaya, read Penelope Fitzgerald, read John Le Carre, read Samuel Beckett, go ahead & read James Joyce's Ulysses. Read Tom Wolfe, read magazines (I highly recommend Alta), frequent used book stores (which offer a much wider range of work, curated by the owner, than a new book store). Read Ray Bradbury, early and late, and see how his style has tightened.
It shocks me every time I chat with another student in a writing class who says blandly that they don't really read. How do they expect to write well if they haven't encountered all the ways other writers have found to tell their stories?
Many years ago I took a couple of courses through the YMCA Writers Voice program. At the time I was just getting started and needed the education. After learning the basics, I think writing is mostly learning by doing and practice. A whole cottage industry has emerged with courses, editing services, conferences,etc. It's all over the arts: I know of musicians who support themselves more from teaching than playing gigs. In the arts there's a glut of talent ranging from masterful to awful.
For individual writers, I'd suggest being very judicious concerning courses, conferences, etc. There's a host of people ready to take your money, some more on the up-and-up than others. I see MFAs as almost a racket, supporting a "who you know" over "what you know" and that's bad. I have a post coming out Monday that addresses this. So much seems to hinge on luck and being in the right place at the right time.