I Can’t Help You

I never thought I would write these words, but I absolutely must. I want to be a nice guy. I do. I remember well how much it sucked trying to get publishers to notice me. It wasn’t that long ago when I was roaming the exhibitor hall at Origins shaking hands and handing out crummy business cards. (I still owe Erik Mona a beer for putting up with me at that show.) I’ve always tried to encourage, help, and do whatever I could to lift up my fellow freelancers because I know the often-insurmountable wall and the desire to make a living in this business. I can’t believe I have to write what I’m about to write, but here it is: I can’t help you.

Here’s why:

Ownership

If I look at your stuff and later write something that vaguely resembles what you’ve written, you could easily cry foul and hurl accusations about plagiarism or some such nonsense. Who can say where my influences come from? I might watch a movie or read a book that sparks an idea that I then turn into a magazine article or a set of feats for the Quintessential Unicorn. And, shucks, you know what, I included a feat that happens to have the same name as a feat you sent me. Oops. Sorry about that. I can’t afford to damage my career or reputation for even one person to come out and claim I’ve stolen their stuff.

Time

Contrary to popular belief, I am not a writing machine. That title belongs to Steve Long over at Hero. I have to suffer, struggle, and medicate myself (with booze) to get the words on the page. I have about ten hours allocated to writing five days a week, with time set aside on the weekends to catch up from the various disasters or emergencies that crop up. Ten hours is generous. But. BUT. I deduct from those ten hours the time I spend at the gym, meals, and experiencing the joys of working from home (dishes, laundry, and all that nonsense), tending to my varmints, taking phone calls, and so on. I’m probably closer to seven hours. Trim an hour out for this website, and now I’m down to six. My employers expect great things from me and great things take words. Generating words takes time. I need to hit  3,000 to 5,000 words each day and I can do this in the time I have. This is a good pace since I can hit my deadlines and have time enough to polish the text before turnover at the end of the month.

Now, let’s say you send me a batch of powers to review. Let’s say I spend an hour reviewing the powers, writing up comments, and so on. I’m suddenly down to 5 hours and I’ve probably lost about 750—1,000 words of writing. Think about what happens if I do this for two people? Or five? Suddenly, I’m not generating any words at all. And then I’m under the gun later, and if I indulge too much in helping folks, I could lose my job.

Money

When I started in this business, I made 2 cents a word. Think about that. My first 80,000 manuscript paid me $1,600 bucks. How long did it take me to write that first book? About two months. That’s about $200 a week or $5 an hour if I limited myself to 40 hours a week. Oh. And I didn’t see payment on that first book for almost a year. Oh yeah. Great times. I made more money shoveling hamburgers.

I earn a comfortable living now. However, for every 1,000 words I lose to nonpaying work (advice, review, and so on) I’m taking money out of my wallet and throwing it away. I don’t want to beat this dead horse anymore, but there’s not a lot of money in freelancing so every hundred words counts.

Competition

There’s no way to say this without sounding like a dick, but it needs saying. There are more writers than there are paying jobs. I can think of a dozen talented game designers who can’t string together three months worth of work right now. Sure, 20k words on an  adventure for company X and maybe a bit part of 10k for company Y is nice, but it sure as hell doesn’t pay the bills. At 4 cents a word (which, I believe, is about the going rate for non-WotC publishers), 30,000 words amounts to $1200 before taxes. Not a lot, is it? And getting your name on the cover, if you can manage it, isn’t compensation enough. Every time I coach another writer, I’m creating more competition in an already crowded pool of designers. Why the hell would I do this?

So now that I’ve come off as a giant raging asshole, let me smooth over the feathers I undoubtedly ruffled. This is an awesome job I have and I’m not so selfish that I don’t want others to find success too. In fact, the more talent that comes to RPGs, the better RPGs become. I know what it’s like to be ignored by publishers, to get rejection letters from even insignificant publishers (let me tell you, getting a rejection email for a product that probably would have paid me $400 still pisses me off). I know how much it sucks to write some 350,000 words and never see a dime for any of them. (Two massive books I wrote, never saw a penny for either one. One publisher never even sent a comp copy. Oh yeah, you think I’m a prick?) And I know that this business chews up writers and spits them out. That’s why I created this website. That’s why I’m happy to sit at a bar and chat about game design, story concepts, and whatever other insights I might have to cultivate the next generation of writers and designers. I don’t want other folks to experience the soul-crushing dread, the disappointment, and, yes, the shame that comes with essentially begging for work. But I have to look out for my own interests first. I hope you understand. I hope you agree. And I hope you don’t think less of me for protecting my livelihood.