Helen Glynn Jones

I Can’t Pay My Mortgage with ‘Exposure’ – Why Creatives Should Be Paid For Their Work

I don’t usually post rants on this blog – it’s not really my thing. I actually wasn’t even going to publish this piece at all, but I had a short online conversation about it with Ali Isaac, and so here we are. And perhaps this isn’t so much a rant as a collection of thoughts. But I feel the need to talk about the idea of ‘free’, and the seeming value placed on writing these days.

I would like to be clear that I am not talking about choosing to list our own books for free, nor am I talking about writing guest posts for other blogs. This is because I believe that offering books for free can be a strategic marketing tool leading on to more sales, especially if you have several titles on offer – Nick Rossis recently featured an excellent guest post on the subject, well worth a read. Besides, offering our books for free is optional. As independent writers we can price our books however we like, and still remain in control. And guest posts are a great way to exchange information with other bloggers – more often than not, you get the same in return.

Rather, I am talking about the expectation that creative work be offered for free to other businesses, with no expectation of return other than that elusive beast, ‘exposure’. One obvious example would be Huffington Post, which has come under a lot of flack lately after the UK editor-in-chief, Steven Hull, stated that:

‘If I was paying someone to write something because I want it to get advertising, that’s not a real authentic way of presenting copy. When somebody writes something for us, we know it’s real, we know they want to write it. It’s not been forced or paid for. I think that’s something to be proud of.’

So. A multi-million dollar company basically saying that they made their money from people writing for free. And pushing the idea that we, as writers, should be happy to do so, because we ‘want to write.’ Well, I do ‘want to write’, but I also want to eat, and maybe pay the mortgage. And I’m afraid I don’t entirely buy into the concept of working for ‘exposure’ – apart from the creative arts, is there any other field where people are expected to do their job for free, in the hopes that they might impress someone enough to actually get paid?

Here’s what I think about ‘exposure.’ Maybe ten years ago, maybe even five years ago, when the blogosphere wasn’t saturated, when content wasn’t raining down at 73 tweets per second into our feeds, exposure might have meant something. But these days we are more likely to simply disappear into a digital forest of a billion trees or more, each with something different to say. And I know there will be those of you out there who say ‘but I posted a blog on HuffPo (or similar) and my stats went up and I sold x amount of books and it was AWESOME.’ To which I say, well done you. You beat the odds. Because it’s a gamble, at best. A gamble that people will find your post, will click on it, will read it, will follow through to your blog or website, then follow through again to your books and buy them. You might then say ‘Well, why are you blogging? You don’t get paid for it.’ True. I don’t. But I do get the benefits of being part of a blogging community, knowledge sharing and support for and from fellow writers, plus the chance to write whenever I want, about whatever I want. And, you know what – I’ve met new readers and sold books too. And I’ve done it on my terms.

This sort of exploitative behaviour isn’t limited to writing – Sainsbury’s in Camden recently ran an ad looking for an artist to decorate their company canteen. For free. Incentives included ‘doing what you love,’ and ‘a chance to leave your mark.’ All very noble, I’m sure, but you can’t exactly pay the bills with this sort of stuff. Sainsbury’s were ripped apart on social media, and rightly so – the ad was pulled and the company apologised, adding that the ad had been run by the store in question, rather than by the company itself.

As a writer, I work every hour I can – writing, honing ideas, editing, planning, marketing, designing, reading, studying craft books… well, you get the picture. And I’m sure I’m no different from the majority of writers out there. We all know that, for the most part, we’re doing it for the love of the craft, for the joy that writing brings us – with the average yearly writer earnings in the UK working out to an underwhelming £11,000, the vast majority of us are not in the game to get rich.

I’ve been fortunate, over the past ten years or so, to be paid to write for other people, bringing in a reasonable income. My books, however, are operating at a loss – the cost of a professional edit has not yet been offset by sales, although I’m close to breaking even. But once again it’s my choice to have an edit done because I wish to present the best, most professional product I can, and so I consider the expense to be worth it. I’m laying foundations too, eventually planning to have several titles available – therefore I’m starting as I mean to go on. Building a brand, so to speak. And all of this takes time and study and practice, as does gaining proficiency in any other type of job.

So why should I, or any other creative individual, be expected to work for free?

Apricots, Reblogs and Eurovision

So I woke up today thinking that I should probably write another blog post. I’ve been down the editing wormhole these past few days, as the final MS of Hills And Valleys has come back to me, so my posts and comments have been a bit all over the place.

Then I saw that the lovely Suzie at SuzieSpeaks had reblogged one of my posts, and that it had then been picked up and reblogged a further two times, which made me really happy – thanks, everyone! The post in question was a bit of a laugh, really, about writing a completely made-up author bio. However, Kristin over at The Pursuit of Another Adventure tried my bio generator using details of her actual life and the format still worked, so maybe I’m onto something.

Earlier this week, the gorgeous girl and I made some chocolate covered dried apricots. We make these fairly often, to be honest – they’re pretty easy to make and yet taste wonderfully decadent. Each batch we make is usually gone within twenty-four hours. I had thought I might write a blog post about making them – I’m not a chef or anything, and this isn’t really a ‘food’ blog, but I thought it might be fun. So we assembled our ingredients and started to take some photos. But they were kind of boring.

Then this happened, in an attempt to liven up the shots. (That’s BB-8, in case you were wondering – apparently he quite likes chocolate)

And then we decided it would be more fun to just make them and eat them, so we did. However, here’s the recipe, just in case you’re interested:

Chocolate covered dried apricots

You will need:

A small saucepan

A metal bowl (I’ve not tried ceramic, which may also work, but I think metal conducts the heat more efficiently)

A plate or tray lined with baking paper

Some water

A bar of good quality chocolate (I use Lindt or Green & Black, whichever is on special)

Some dried apricots

Method:

Fill the saucepan to about 2cm depth with water. Put it on to boil. While you’re waiting for that to happen, break the chocolate bar into small pieces and lay them in a single layer in the metal bowl. (Try not to eat too much of it). Once the water has come to the boil, remove the saucepan from the heat and place the metal bowl on top. It should be a tight fit, so no steam can escape. Then set a timer for five minutes. Make yourself a cuppa, read emails, play with Star Wars figurines, do whatever for five minutes.

When the timer goes off, remove the metal bowl from the saucepan (carefully, as it might be quite hot). Your chocolate will be all melted and runny. Yum! Then, using a spoon, drop your dried apricots into the chocolate and coat them on both sides, then remove and place them on the baking tray. Once you’ve used up all the chocolate, put the tray of coated apricots in the fridge for about half an hour to set. Then enjoy!

I think we might make another batch of these today, as we’re all set to watch the Eurovision final tonight and snacks are an essential part of the viewing experience. Steve from Steve Says is at the final in Sweden (lucky!) and Hugh over at Hugh’s News and Views has written a post listing his predictions for the winners tonight. I’m sure Twitter will be lots of fun as well, so am looking forward to a very entertaining night.

However you choose to spend your weekend, I hope it’s a wonderful one!

Thursday Doors – Watford

On first glance you might be excused for thinking that this is a door from somewhere exotic, a Moroccan souk or Turkish bath, the air redolent with incense and orange blossom.

Instead, it is the door to a very good Lebanese/Mediterranean restaurant in Watford, just on the outskirts of London, where I happened to have lunch with friends earlier this week.

The food was excellent, the service friendly and welcoming and, when I saw another gorgeous door inside, the proprietor was only too happy for me to take a photograph. The plugs and fire extinguisher do slightly spoil the effect, but I think you get the idea.

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This is my entry to Norm 2.0’s Thursday Doors Challenge. For more doors, or to add one of your own, visit Norm’s site and click the link.

Wednesday Wander – Como House, Melbourne

This week I’m wandering to a place in Melbourne that I knew quite well when we lived there. This is Como House, situated on a rise overlooking the Yarra River, just outside the city centre. Built in 1847 for Sir Edward Eyre Williams, it changed hands several times until 1864, when it was bought by the Armytage family. The family lived there until 1959, when it was sold to the National Trust of Australia. Now it’s open to visitors and available for wedding hire, as well as featuring in several TV series and films – if you watch Miss Fisher’s Mysteries, you’ll have seen it on there several times.

When we first lived in Melbourne we had a flat not far from Como House, and each morning I would walk through the large park down to the river, then walk along the riverbank to the city, rowers going past and cockatoos shrieking in the gum trees around me. It was pretty wonderful. There was a set of swings at the top of the rise and on some days, if I felt like it and there was no one around, I’d have a swing, feeling as though I were flying above Melbourne, the river a lazy curve below, the city’s distant towers gleaming. When my daughter was small we used to visit the park together, then have a drink and a cake in the small cafe located in one of the former outbuildings.

Looking at these photos you’d think Como House was out in the country somewhere, yet it is located in a busy part of Melbourne, with a main road curving around the park and running up the hill alongside. But when you enter the gardens the air changes, the road noise replaced by the rustle of leaves and it’s easy to imagine a different time when the city was new. There are trees in the gardens that predate European settlement, the land still holding echoes of the past. It’s a lovely place to be.

Thanks for coming on another Wednesday Wander with me – see you all next time!

Stuck Writing Your Author Bio? Try The (Totally Not Serious) Author Bio Generator

I’m so fabulous and interesting.

So I’ve been noticing a trend recently of, shall we say, somewhat overwrought author bios, in which every detail is teased into something magnificent, a picture of a life fabulously lived. I realise that there are, in fact, authors who do live wonderfully exciting lives but I also seem to remember a time when it wasn’t really important to know about it. A time when an author bio was a few lines at the end of a book, photograph optional, and usually read something like: ‘Author X was born in Wiltshire, and still lives there with her husband and three sons.’ Then, if Author X had written other books/and or won awards, these would also be listed. And that was about it. (I’m basing this on the very scientific research of spending time perusing my own bookcase and reading famous author bios, so you know, it’s totally legit).

But nowadays it seems to not be sufficient that we write stories – we have to live them as well. We have to be a ‘brand’. Okay. I understand the idea of leveraging an interesting life into the idea that you might therefore have interesting stories to tell, but there are plenty of examples that prove you don’t have to live with dragons to write about them. The Bronte sisters lived relatively sheltered lives and Emily, the author of Wuthering Heights, was apparently so shy she would turn her back on people mid-conversation, unable to speak any more. She never married, yet she was able to plumb the heights and depths of passion and create an enduring legend of romance that is still considered one of the greatest literary novels ever.

But that was then and this is now, and we are all writers trying to make our mark on a world saturated with choice. And so the bio is rewritten and inflated by agents and publishers, ostensibly to create interest, though I confess I’ve never heard anyone say, ‘Oh, I’m reading a book by X because, did you know, she wrestles alligators and has a pet monkey?’

Therefore, in the interest of giving us all a leg up in the bio-writing stakes, I’ve decided to put together an Easy Author Bio Generator.* It’s basically like Mad Libs – just insert whatever words you think will work:

(your name) was born (time, place) and grew up in (place, dimension etc) learning to (do something odd). They left (your birthplace) for (a far flung destination) where they (did something amazing). (your name) now lives in (somewhere fabulous and unusual) with their (living companions). When not writing bestselling novels, (your name) likes to (do some sort of unusual and creative hobby).

And here’s my attempt:

Helen Jones was born at the turning of the tide on a remote Scottish Island and grew up with gypsies, learning to yodel at the moon. She left the island for the bright lights of Paris, where she wrote dramatic novels in between creating coffee confections for demanding French patrons. She now lives in a yurt hidden in a Welsh valley with her husband, three children and six goats. When not writing bestselling novels, she likes to party with rock stars and dance the tango under a full moon, letting out the occasional yodel.

See? Aren’t I more interesting now? 😀 Go on, give it a try – you know you want to.

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*Disclaimers:

This is just a bit of fun
I’m sure I’m not the first person to think of doing this
I may, or may not, change up some of my bios to see if anyone even notices
I mean no offense to those of you out there who already have fabulous and interesting bios – well done, you.

#WritePhoto – A Glimpse of Ambeth

The ground began to rise beneath them, their horses’ hooves thundering as they entered the pass leading towards Etras’ stronghold, a castle set high among the crags. Pointed towers of grey stone rose above a solid keep, black flecks swirling around one of the towers. The faint shrieking of winged Watchers could be heard, growing louder as they drew near.

‘Are you ready?’ asked Denoris, pitching his voice to carry above the sound of their approach. Gwenene glanced at him briefly, a flick of dark hair and sapphire eyes, but did not slow her pace.

‘I am.’

When I saw Sue’s #writephoto prompt for this week, I couldn’t believe how well it tied into a scene from book four of my Ambeth Chronicles, when Dark Elders Denoris and Gwenene are headed for the mountains, hoping for help from an old friend. And so I thought I’d share it as part of the photo prompt – just a small glimpse of Ambeth, as I’ve yet to publish this instalment.

If you’ve read the first two books, you might have an idea of who Etras is, and why the Elders might want to visit him. And if you haven’t – well, what are you waiting for? 🙂 Click the links and start the journey.

Hugh’s Weekly Photo Challenge: Week 24 – Hats

I happen to love hats. I also happen to love vintage clothing and, for a while, had a stall with a friend at an antique market. One of our best purchases was a bulk lot of vintage hats from a woman in Wales – the hats, when they arrived, were all 1930s and 40s vintage, with gorgeous buckles, pleating and floral details. They sold like hot cakes, as you can imagine.

The stall is no more, but I still have a vintage hat or two in my collection. This detail shot is from two hats I own – the one on the left is from the 1940s, woven straw with velvet details, while the one on the right is actually not vintage, it just looks like it is.

I do wear the black hat quite often during winter, and always get compliments when I do. I’ve not worn the 1940s one yet, but perhaps the occasion will present itself one day. For now I just love the details, the black velvet and pink flowers with tiny pearl centres.

This was a great theme for me – thanks, Hugh! If you’re a hat-lover like me and want to enter Hugh’s Weekly Photo Challenge, visit his blog.

Let’s visit Ambeth, on Lisa Burton Radio #RRBC

Here I was, about to post another Thursday Door,when I found out that Denoris, one of my Ambeth characters, had wandered over to Lisa Burton Radio for an interview! Sorry, Lisa – hope he wasn’t too much trouble!
(And a big thank you to Craig for letting me visit his show)

Entertaining Stories

It’s time for another edition of Lisa Burton Radio. I’m your host, Lisa the robot girl.

Today’s show is sponsored by the Ambeth Chronicles Series, by author Helen Jones. Make sure to thank our sponsors by visiting their sites and checking out their books.

My special guest today is Denoris, Dark Lord of Ambeth, and counsellor to the High King. Sounds like a pretty sweet job to me. Welcome to the show Denoris.

“Um, Denoris? Why are you staring at me like that?”

<Laughs> “I’m sorry, what do you mean, robot girl?”

“I was built in a concept lab, and am an electronic human being. Don’t you have those in Ambeth?”

“Fascinating. Well, that explains a lot. No, we don’t have any robots in Ambeth, but I can think of a few things I could use a girl like you for. I quite like strong women. Shame about…

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Wednesday Wander – Singapore

We visited Singapore just after Chinese New Year, the Year of the Dragon, so there were dragons everywhere. This seemed an auspicious start to our journey, heading towards the UK and a new life there.

The architecture was a mix of traditional and new, some buildings, like the one below, defying imagination. Those dots along the top are palm trees, to give you some idea of the size.

Soon after we arrived in the UK, I started writing for myself. One of my first short stories was a letter I wrote, a submission to a magazine that published only letters based on a theme. I can’t even remember what the theme was now, but my letter was rejected anyway – the first of many. Still, I think it evokes how Singapore felt to me, and so here it is:

To M, Singapore, July

So here I am, a million miles away from home and you and all that is precious in my world. I have only this one page left, so will use it to try and convey to you some of what I am experiencing.

The light around me is bright and hot, reflecting from sand and sea and glass and white stone, shimmering in waves from pavements, sparking off ice cubes clinking in tall glasses. By contrast the jungle lies hot and dark, signs warning against entering – I do not speak the language, but the silhouette holding the gun is enough for me to know I should not set foot there, no matter how much I may wish to. So instead I sit here, under my awning, most of what I own in the bag at my feet. The lime in my drink is cool and refreshing, the sizzling fizz against my lips and throat just what is needed in the oppressive heat. People pass by, shopping bags filling their hands, chattering, laughing, all colours of skin and tones of voice, the scent of clove cigarettes all around me. Last night I went to the zoo and watched rippling dancers breathe fire into the sultry air, while tigers prowled and elephants slept under the cold stars.

So, if you have not ripped this letter into small shreds by now, you may wish to know why I did what I did. I cannot exactly say, but I needed to come here, to divest myself of all that I know – the dark and grimy streets, my job, my possessions – they all seem meaningless now.

Except for you.

Coming here, being burnt by this light, has seared away all except that one thing. I know now what I want and that is a light I can hardly bear, one moment embracing it, the next feeling it burn me to the core.

I will come back to you, if you will have me.

Until then,