More than a decade in the writing industry has given me plenty of reason to suspect that we’re operating under two entirely different economic systems. One recognizes that work has value and the other expects writers to feel so fortunate to have been invited into the room that they forget to ask whether anyone is paying them.
The second system has quite the operation going with its beautiful websites, well-articulated editorial visions, and impressive readerships. Then you ask what the work pays and the atmosphere changes in a way that suggests you’ve violated some very old publishing custom.
I run Remote Writing Jobs so I’ve had a front-row seat to the elaborate art of describing so-called writing “opportunities” during the vetting process, many of which promise everything but compensation.
I don’t believe in unpaid writing and I’m not interested in dressing it up as an investment in a career that still can’t reliably pay rent. I know writers are passionate about what they do, I’m one of them, but I’ve never understood why that passion is supposed to make the work less expensive. The fact that I love writing doesn’t mean I’ve agreed to support the publishing industry through a combination of talent and personal sacrifice.
Of course anyone paying writers has to work within a budget. I understand this firsthand from building The RWJ Review, my in-house publication powered by Remote Writing Jobs featuring personal essays and cultural commentary about the peculiarities of everyday life where I proudly pay $1/word. I’m not pretending to have solved the economics of publishing. I run the Review as a one-woman operation and I know what it means to want to do more than you can afford but wanting to build something worthwhile doesn’t entitle me to someone else’s unpaid work.
If paying for the work isn’t financially possible, asking someone to do it unpaid shouldn’t suddenly become an option.
And yet asking about compensation has somehow become a breach of professional etiquette. Those asking writers to contribute their work seem perfectly comfortable asking about their influences, process, what it hopes to accomplish, and the deeply personal experiences that inform it but ask what the job pays and suddenly you’re the one whose failure to play along has become the offense meanwhile expecting someone to donate their labor remains one of the industry’s more beloved traditions. I’ve actually been called rude for asking what a writing job pays which is an interesting reaction to a question that should be straightforward.
The number itself of course is only part of the conversation. Fair and transparent pay should be the bare minimum of respect for the people doing the work. A publication can disclose its rate and still offer an amount that makes you wonder whether the editor has ever purchased anything at a grocery store. And a fair rate means very little if writers have to chase someone down to find out what it is. Transparency doesn’t make an unfair rate fair and fairness shouldn’t depend on a writer having the nerve to ask. We shouldn’t have to applaud a publication for printing its prices any more than we should applaud a restaurant for allowing us to see the menu before ordering.
The next time a writer asks what a job pays we could simply tell them. It’s really an uncomplicated exchange unless we’ve somehow decided that the compensation question is more offensive than the expectation that someone donate their time, talent, and the ability to make someone else’s project happen. Writers shouldn’t have to perform gratitude for the privilege of being underpaid or worry that asking about money will somehow make them less passionate, professional, or deserving of the opportunity. I promise the writing will not burst into flames if we discuss the rate.
And if the budget is zero we can at least stop pretending the problem is the writer’s manners.
Melissa Tripp is a Boston-based writer, founder of Remote Writing Jobs, and editor-in-chief and contributing writer at The RWJ Review. Named one of Nylon Magazine’s “12 Female Poets to Watch” in 2016, her work explores vulnerability, love, grief, emotional intelligence, and the complexities of human connection. Her writing has received international recognition with features on ABC7 and NFL Network and was once described by HelloGiggles as “life rafts where we can all fit.” With poetry at the heart of her craft, her voice has expanded to encompass personal narratives and cultural observations often through a candid lens that makes room for both tenderness and satire.
Editorial note from Melissa Tripp: The RWJ Review is funded entirely by paid subscriptions to Remote Writing Jobs. For $8month or $80/year, you help keep this one-woman outlet independently run while ensuring I can pay my contributing writers. Apparently, paying people to write things requires actual money. I know. The industry has made this surprisingly controversial. Have a story you’d like me to consider? I’m always interested in the wonderfully strange things people have to say. Here’s how to pitch me.
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