Value

The contract for The Same River Twice (my travel memoir) wasn’t great. It wasn’t terrible for a first contract, but my advance was small, I had to request an escalating royalty schedule (you get paid more the more you sell), and the rights grab was exhaustive. I tried to keep the film rights — I had a gut feeling it would work well as a movie — but no dice. When it came time to work on the screenplay, I had to pay to acquire the option for the book I had written. My screenplay partner assured me that the terms were good, but it still rankled that I had to pay for the ability to further develop my own work in a way that could only be good for book sales.

Several friends shared their contracts with me so I could compare. The deal was especially welcome after I’d slogged through 75 agency rejections; it was good enough. I was excited to land a large press, I liked working with my editor, and the book cover is beautiful. I get royalty statements every six months, sometimes there’s a check, too. That’s nice but lest you think I quit my day job to live on my royalty checks, well… wry laughter goes here. No.

The contract included a clause stating that the press got first whack at my next book under the same terms. I changed that to revised terms because I wasn’t taking the same contract again. Who knew where I’d be in two, three years time? I might, you know, have co-written an award-winning screenplay for The Same River Twice. That screenplay might have an interested production company. I might have written another screenplay that the same production company liked so much they wanted to rush it into production and have it ready for Sundance. That screenplay could have its own awards. Hey, it could happen. It’s good to have dreams.

Last fall, I put together another book proposal and late this winter, I heard the press wanted to go ahead. There was one problem, though. One of the stories I wanted to include in the book was heading into film production. Oh.

After some negotiation, the press agreed to exclude rights for that particular story. By the time I got the revised contract, the film was 75% funded, enough to get it all the way to post-production. I looked the contract over for a few days and sent it back. If you had told me a year ago I’d say, “But what happens when I want to make the next story into a film?” I’d have laughed at you. And it’s what I told the press. “What if I want to make another of these stories into a film? Not only do I have to pay you for the rights, but I am giving you my team — a producer, a director, and a cinematographer — for free. Anything I do can only help sales. Take out the film rights and let’s get to work on this book.”

They said no.

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Until the triple curses of the plague, an acrimonious divorce, and my mom’s decline landed upon my house, I was a freelancer. I made a decent living and I worked on things I enjoyed. Every now and then we’d hit a down market and I’d end up dropping my rates or taking a gig that wasn’t a great fit. But I was successful for many, many years in avoiding regular employment. The drama and uncertainty of my existence had become such that a predictable paycheck and health benefits that included therapy were a safe harbor, but the lessons of so many years as a hired gun have stayed with me.

The Man does not want to pay you what you’re worth and he’s going to try not to. Also, The Man wants you to think he’s doing you a favor by putting you to work. I went to an interview once and when the manager asked me why I wanted the job, I said, “I was hoping you could tell me that.” There was a long awkward silence before she changed the subject. She should have had an answer. Anything would have worked. This is a great team and everyone’s fun to work with. The project is cool, you’re going to learn a lot of new things. The money is great. Something. Anything.

When you stop thinking you’re a cog and your job is a gift from The Man, interesting things happen. You start asking this question of everyone. Tell me why I should want to do this. What’s in it for me? You’re going to take 40 hours of my life every week. You’re going to take years of my creative energy. You’re going to co-opt my professional relationships. What’s in it for me?

I did not take that job.

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The press would not budge on the additional film rights.

I did not write a best seller, but I’m no longer sitting at the negotiation table alone. The film rights grab isn’t an abstraction. A film from the last book was something I’d hoped would happen but didn’t expect. The possibility for this book, though? 100% because it’s already happening. I showed up at the table with more and the press did not have a new answer to “What’s in it for me?” They said, “You can keep the in-progress stuff, but you gotta pay us for future work, thanks.”

I have two award-winning screenplays and a short film in progress — the film team are award winners in their own rights. I should be able to find a new press, one that sees the value in those things and understands why I won’t just sign them over.

I did not take the deal. I am disappointed. It was not a hard decision, though.

I’m worth more. I am going to go get it.