by John Sayles
The first storytelling I got to do was as a novelist in the 1970s, and in those days there was a phenomenon known as the ‘vanity press’. Today we would call it ‘self-publishing’ with little hint of derision, but back then it was considered something lesser, tacky in a way, amateurs so deluded about their lack of talent they ponied up and paid somebody to print their work and then gave it away as presents to their friends. There were exceptions made for ideologues– medical, philosophical or political– who were too far out for even the most adventurous publishers, but though their plight was understood these people were considered to be mere pamphleteers rather than ‘professional writers’. A professional writer didn’t pay to be published, and in many cases got an advance against royalties from their publisher. My first advance for a novel was for $2,500 in 1975, when the minimum wage was slightly over a dollar an hour. Two years ago I got a $3,000 advance for my novel A Moment in the Sun. Minimum wage, thankfully, has advanced more steadily than my earning power as a novelist. But it was still a big deal to
