Emily wants to know, “As a writer, when are you ready to go full time?"

This is a favorite question of mine, since I routinely see wannabe authors get a book contract, quit their jobs, then wonder why that lousy agent of theirs can't help them survive financially.

I have three rules of thumb for authors who want to go full time:

1. You need to have four-to-six books earning you a royalty;

2. You need to have 18 months to 2 years of book contracts;

3. You need to have a plan in place. (That plan will include a budget, a writing calendar, an accountability partner or writing support group, a writing space, adequate equipment, and most likely a therapist, since you're probably delusional to consider the idea anyway.)

Let's look at reality for a minute — let's say you just got a decent two-book deal. The publisher is paying you, say, $10,000 per book on an advance, so the total deal is for $20,000. You get a third of that on signing ($6666 — but if you're an evangelical, don't take that as a sign of the apocalypse, okay?). You need to be able to live on that for the next few months while you write your book. If you can write it in three months (relatively fast for most novelists), you've had to live on $2200 per month. Pretty thin stuff. If it takes you six months to do a novel, you're having to make do on a thousand bucks a month. You see where I'm going with this?

Once the publisher approves your manuscript (which can sometimes take a few months), they'll send you your completion check for that book — another $6666, payable thirty days after they request the check. You've now made a whopping $13k, you're months into the process, and you just used up all your good ideas on your first book. So

A writer who wishes to remain nameless sent this: “I hate talking money when it comes to my writing. I wanted to do this for the art, not the paycheck! How can I get over my reluctance to talk dollars?”

I realize some authors are reluctant to talk about money issues, but it’s necessary if you’re going to get to know the business. When I was a free-lance writer, I noticed that publishers (both magazine and book publishers) tended to put me on the bottom of the pay ladder because I was a small free-lancer. I once called a publisher to complain that I hadn't been paid, and the response was, "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Guess we'll get you next quarter." To them, it was a measley $1500 they owed me. But to me, it was MY HOUSE PAYMENT that month. So, yeah, I eventually got over my reluctance to talk money with publishers.

That means you have to know what you're worth (in terms of money-per-page or money-per-hour), and you have to be able to share that with others. The good news is that it gets easier to talk about when you have a pretty good feeling of your value. I mean, if you know you should be making $3000 per month, and the publisher asks you to work on a freelance project that will take two months, it's much easier to say, "I'll need to make about $6000 for that project" than to take a wild stab at a number. 

So let me suggest something… Figure out what you'd like to make from your writing in a year. (You need to be reasonable. Don't say, "A million dollars" unless your name is James Patterson, Suzanne Collins, or George R.R. Martin.) Let's say you think it's reasonable for you to make $18,000 this year from writing. That means you need to make, on average, $1500 per month, or about $375

A writer who wishes to remain nameless sent this: “I hate talking money when it comes to my writing. I wanted to do this for the art, not the paycheck! How can I get over my reluctance to talk dollars?”

I realize some authors are reluctant to talk about money issues, but it’s necessary if you’re going to get to know the business. When I was a free-lance writer, I noticed that publishers (both magazine and book publishers) tended to put me on the bottom of the pay ladder because I was a small free-lancer. I once called a publisher to complain that I hadn't been paid, and the response was, "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Guess we'll get you next quarter." To them, it was a measley $1500 they owed me. But to me, it was MY HOUSE PAYMENT that month. So, yeah, I eventually got over my reluctance to talk money with publishers.

That means you have to know what you're worth (in terms of money-per-page or money-per-hour), and you have to be able to share that with others. The good news is that it gets easier to talk about when you have a pretty good feeling of your value. I mean, if you know you should be making $3000 per month, and the publisher asks you to work on a freelance project that will take two months, it's much easier to say, "I'll need to make about $6000 for that project" than to take a wild stab at a number. 

So let me suggest something… Figure out what you'd like to make from your writing in a year. (You need to be reasonable. Don't say, "A million dollars" unless your name is James Patterson, Suzanne Collins, or George R.R. Martin.) Let's say you think it's reasonable for you to make $18,000 this year from writing. That means you need to make, on average, $1500 per month, or about $375

Cheryl wrote to ask, "What is the process of getting your proposal selected by a publishing house?"

Think of a publishing house as being an actual building. Your proposal probably isn't walking in the front door. More than likely it's sliding into the building by way of a window known as an acquisitions editor (often an acquaintance of your agent, sometimes a person you met at a conference, or maybe a guy who lost a bet). He or she will read through it, make some suggestions, talk it over with your agent, and eventually make a decision on whether or not they think it's worth pursuing.

Most publishers are relying on agents to do the initial filtering of junk, so the slush pile has sort of moved from the publishing house to the agent's office…which means you're going to have to sell it to an agent first, therefore adding one more step to this process.

Once it's in the building, if the acquisitions editor likes it he or she will take it to some sort of editorial committee, where they sit around grousing about their pay and making editorial jokes. ("I'm having a DICKENS of a time with this one!" "Yeah, let's catch a TWAIN out of town!" Editorial types love this sort of humor. That's why they're editors and not writers.) Eventually they'll run out of bad puns and be forced to discuss the merits of your proposal. If it's a non-fiction book, is it unique? Does it answer a question people are asking? Is there a perceived market for it? Does the writing feel fresh and offer genuine solutions to the question that's posed? If it's a novel, does the story have a clear hook? Is there a well-defined audience for it? Does it feel new, or as though it's a story that's been told a million times? (The fact is, it probably HAS been told a million

Cheryl wrote to ask, "What is the process of getting your proposal selected by a publishing house?"

Think of a publishing house as being an actual building. Your proposal probably isn't walking in the front door. More than likely it's sliding into the building by way of a window known as an acquisitions editor (often an acquaintance of your agent, sometimes a person you met at a conference, or maybe a guy who lost a bet). He or she will read through it, make some suggestions, talk it over with your agent, and eventually make a decision on whether or not they think it's worth pursuing.

Most publishers are relying on agents to do the initial filtering of junk, so the slush pile has sort of moved from the publishing house to the agent's office…which means you're going to have to sell it to an agent first, therefore adding one more step to this process.

Once it's in the building, if the acquisitions editor likes it he or she will take it to some sort of editorial committee, where they sit around grousing about their pay and making editorial jokes. ("I'm having a DICKENS of a time with this one!" "Yeah, let's catch a TWAIN out of town!" Editorial types love this sort of humor. That's why they're editors and not writers.) Eventually they'll run out of bad puns and be forced to discuss the merits of your proposal. If it's a non-fiction book, is it unique? Does it answer a question people are asking? Is there a perceived market for it? Does the writing feel fresh and offer genuine solutions to the question that's posed? If it's a novel, does the story have a clear hook? Is there a well-defined audience for it? Does it feel new, or as though it's a story that's been told a million times? (The fact is, it probably HAS been told a million

Don wrote and said to me, “In light of your recent posts on contracts, I’m not clear as to when I should get paid. I’ve signed a contract with a medium-sized publishing house, but I don’t know when my advance and royalties are actually paid out. Can you help?”

This isn’t all that uncommon. One of the things I've noticed about many of the writers I've met with over the past twenty years at writer's conferences is that they often aren't clear WHEN they are paid. For the record, most contracts I negotiate are paid half-n-half – that is, half the advance is paid within 30 days of signing the contract, and the other half is paid upon completion of the writing assignment. However, many of the New York publishers now pay in thirds, with the last third being sent upon publication of the manuscript. (That's actually becoming more popular with publishers, since it spreads out the risk a bit.) And a couple years ago Random House started the truly awful practice of paying in quarters – a quarter on signing, a quarter on completion, a quarter on publication, and (my reason for saying it’s awful) the last quarter is due a year after the book releases. (Rumor has it they wanted to break it up into fifths, and pay the last portion to the author's estate, with the check to be delivered at the funeral.) Don't get me wrong — Random House is a good company. I just think this is a policy created by non-book people without enough appreciation for the authors involved who are trying to make a living. I'm waiting to hear about the two-million-dollar book that tanks at RH, and what the leadership will say when they have to cut a $500,000 check for a book that has already lost a ton of money. Oy.

Anyway, there are a number of variations to this

Don wrote and said to me, “In light of your recent posts on contracts, I’m not clear as to when I should get paid. I’ve signed a contract with a medium-sized publishing house, but I don’t know when my advance and royalties are actually paid out. Can you help?”

This isn’t all that uncommon. One of the things I've noticed about many of the writers I've met with over the past twenty years at writer's conferences is that they often aren't clear WHEN they are paid. For the record, most contracts I negotiate are paid half-n-half – that is, half the advance is paid within 30 days of signing the contract, and the other half is paid upon completion of the writing assignment. However, many of the New York publishers now pay in thirds, with the last third being sent upon publication of the manuscript. (That's actually becoming more popular with publishers, since it spreads out the risk a bit.) And a couple years ago Random House started the truly awful practice of paying in quarters – a quarter on signing, a quarter on completion, a quarter on publication, and (my reason for saying it’s awful) the last quarter is due a year after the book releases. (Rumor has it they wanted to break it up into fifths, and pay the last portion to the author's estate, with the check to be delivered at the funeral.) Don't get me wrong — Random House is a good company. I just think this is a policy created by non-book people without enough appreciation for the authors involved who are trying to make a living. I'm waiting to hear about the two-million-dollar book that tanks at RH, and what the leadership will say when they have to cut a $500,000 check for a book that has already lost a ton of money. Oy.

Anyway, there are a number of variations to this

Amanda Luedeke is a literary agent with MacGregor Literary. She posts about growing your author platform every Thursday. You can follow her on Twitter @amandaluedeke or join her Facebook group to stay current with her wheelings and dealings as an agent.

Last week, we looked at some basic rules for using Twitter as an author as well as how to write a great Tweet. But what does all of that look like when put into practice?

First, I think it’s important to note that most big-name authors aren’t on Twitter. Take JK Rowling for example. The Harry Potter author stayed away from Twitter until she got so fed up with people posing as her, she created her own account back in ’09 @jk_rowling. She’s Tweeted 10 times since, and most of those seem to be her reminding fans that she’s alive and that the @jk_rowling handle is the real her. Oh, and she has over a million followers. Pretty sure, that number is more related to sheer popularity than it is exceptional Tweeting, but the fact stands: most authors are avoiding Twitter altogether. They've recognized that it's not the medium for them and THAT'S OK. If there's anything I want you to learn from this series on platform, it's that you should choose your social media battles. Start with one medium and go from there. All is not best.

Anyway, back to the post…

There are plenty of published authors who are on Twitter and doing it well…just as there are plenty who are doing it poorly.

Good Example

Seth Godin (@thisissethsblog for those of you following along) is a marketing and social media guru. He’s published thirteen books and has most likely sold over a million copies. His Twitter account is the shining example of most everything done right.

Its sole purpose is to Tweet links to his new blog posts. That’s all, folks. No wishing

Amanda Luedeke is a literary agent with MacGregor Literary. She posts about growing your author platform every Thursday. You can follow her on Twitter @amandaluedeke or join her Facebook group to stay current with her wheelings and dealings as an agent.

Last week, we looked at some basic rules for using Twitter as an author as well as how to write a great Tweet. But what does all of that look like when put into practice?

First, I think it’s important to note that most big-name authors aren’t on Twitter. Take JK Rowling for example. The Harry Potter author stayed away from Twitter until she got so fed up with people posing as her, she created her own account back in ’09 @jk_rowling. She’s Tweeted 10 times since, and most of those seem to be her reminding fans that she’s alive and that the @jk_rowling handle is the real her. Oh, and she has over a million followers. Pretty sure, that number is more related to sheer popularity than it is exceptional Tweeting, but the fact stands: most authors are avoiding Twitter altogether. They've recognized that it's not the medium for them and THAT'S OK. If there's anything I want you to learn from this series on platform, it's that you should choose your social media battles. Start with one medium and go from there. All is not best.

Anyway, back to the post…

There are plenty of published authors who are on Twitter and doing it well…just as there are plenty who are doing it poorly.

Good Example

Seth Godin (@thisissethsblog for those of you following along) is a marketing and social media guru. He’s published thirteen books and has most likely sold over a million copies. His Twitter account is the shining example of most everything done right.

Its sole purpose is to Tweet links to his new blog posts. That’s all, folks. No wishing

In response to the last couple of posts, I've had several people write and say, "Book contracts seem a bit overwhelming. Why do I need to understand them?"

A book contract is a legal document, meaning that the words on the page will govern everything regarding your book for as long as it is in print. You wouldn't sign an agreement for a car or a house without reading it carefully and knowing what you're reading, so why do that with a book? 

There are some ways to help make the task a bit easier: 

1) You can sign on with a good agent. They ought to know more about contracts than you. (That said, one gentle warning: Ask questions. My experience is that some agents seem to know about contracts the way I know about auto mechanics. I mean, I know that a car has what's called an engine, and it's helpful if the engine works. Beyond that, I'm fairly lost… though I understand gas and oil are helpful ingredients, occasionally). You might want to ask any prospective agent some questions: Who have you done contracts with? How many have you done in the past year? What do you think is important in a contract? Where did you get your training? etc. A good, experienced literary agent ought to be able to help you understand and evaluate your book contract. 

2) You could take your contract to a lawyer. They will either charge you a flat fee to review it, or charge you by the hour to pick it apart. A good lawyer can help dig into all the words and numbers, and figure out how to help revise them. My advice is to be very careful that you're working with a lawyer who knows something about publishing law and (hopefully) intellectual property rights. Your average lawyer who is doing mortgage closings and setting up grandma's