Modern love — um, not so modern?

I’m about to share a cautionary tale, which ties into this week’s newsletter theme, to help younger or novice authors and writers with their writing journey — and this includes emphasizing how important contracts are nowadays.

I’ve fallen out of love with The New York Times’s weekly column Modern Love because of…well, modern times. Ironic, right? 

And, also, perhaps I signed a shitty contract?

Many authors who are offered a book deal with a publishing house, or writers who sign contracts with other types of publications, are often so enchanted by the thought of being published that they lose sight of the reality of publishing: publishing is a business.

A lot is at stake nowadays when it comes to any type of publishing contract, especially when no one knows what new sources of income a book or piece of writing can generate in the future, allowing both publishers and writers to profit in unprecedented or unforeseen ways — and this is reflected in a contract!

Understandably, from the publisher’s perspective, they are taking a financial risk by publishing your book, and understandably, they will want a share in (or all of) the revenues rewards, in case you turn out to be the next Margaret Atwood or Nora Roberts.

Again, publishing is a business!

This week, I reached out to four highly regarded literary agents in Canada who shared how negotiating a contract with an author has changed, as well as what publishers are looking to publish nowadays. (You can read their thoughts in this newsletter edition.)

When I signed a contract back in 2004  — almost two decades ago — with The New York Times for an essay I wrote for their Modern Love column, streaming series and podcasts didn’t exist. Never did I imagine that when I signed that contract, my essay would appear in not one but two Modern Love anthologies.

I bet you’re dying to know how much I got paid to have my essay included in the first anthology. A whopping $100. And when my essay was included in their 2019 anthology to coincide with Amazon’s Modern Love streaming series? 

I got $0. 

Yes, you read that correctly. Zero. Dollars. (Wait! I'm sorry, I was compensated with ONE free copy of the book.)

Here’s why words matter now more than ever.

In 2019, I received an email from the NYT editor saying, “{...} Way back in 2007, Crown published a Modern Love anthology (your essay was in it) that they plan to reissue as a revised edition {…} Because this is a revised edition and not a new book deal, there will be no additional compensation.”

The editor, Daniel Jones, who originally accepted and published my piece — and is a nice enough guy — once said, “You could get into Harvard 20 times before you could get into the Modern Love column." Many writers are only too happy to give away all their rights to see their byline in that column.

Maybe I did totally sign away the rights to use my essay for any fucking yet-to-be-invented purpose they think they could make money off of, but maybe I did not. (And, please, don't assume I'm going to get all litigious on them!)

And lest you think my experience is unique, the next time you are listening to Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl, just remember that he has not made a penny from writing and recording one of the most popular songs of the last half-century. How is that possible, you ask? Van Morrison signed a shitty contract.

Meer weeks ago, Scarlett Johansson sent shockwaves in the entertainment world by suing Disney’s Marvel Entertainment for breach of contract over wording.

The article published in Variety notes that the ramifications could "impact the way that movie stars are compensated in the streaming era and may inspire a wave of fresh legal action by actors…” 

Johansson signed her contract in 2017. But Disney Plus didn’t exist in 2017, so one can understand it did not seem all that important to specify that a “theatrical” release would also be “exclusively theatrical.” (No one, now, would make that mistake.)

You’re probably thinking, “What a selfish bitch! She was paid $20 million for that movie, and it’s not the studio’s fault there was a worldwide pandemic.”

But none of that matters. The point is, her original contract stated that the movie would only have a “wide-screen release,” yet Disney went ahead and premiered it dually: in theatres and through Disney Plus. So Johansson is claiming monetary losses that could add up to tens of millions.

I recently contacted the peeps at the New York Times because I’m curious to see the contract I signed 17 years ago. Then I reached out to a number of other writers who had essays published in the Modern Love, only to realize years later that newspaper publishing is pretty ruthless a business and that they didn't understand the full extent of what they were signing.

One said, “Oh yeah, The Times owns the rights to my piece for-e-ever.” 

Another: “Oh, it bothers me. The NYT is working off the fact that they have the name and clout to be able to demand these rights.”

The fact is there are plenty of writers who are eager enough for that byline to sell away their rights. "I sure was at the time, and I didn't understand the full implications of it,” said another.

Someone else started off by saying, “If I knew then what I know now about publishing and rights…” and left it at that.

Apparently, if you want to be published now in The New York Times, you're going to have to agree to their terms — different from book contracts, where you can negotiate.

Personally, I have never had that experience with my book contracts. I was always under the impression that a publishing contract is in the interest of both parties, so there will be no misunderstandings in the future.

But overall, both authors and publishers are more savvy these days than they were even just two years ago.

And with The New York Times now? You’ll have to sign something like this: “You grant The Times a worldwide, non-exclusive, perpetual, sub-licensable and transferable right and license to use, reproduce, distribute, display and perform the Content, including the right to incorporate the content into a larger work created by The Times in any media.” (I highlighted this important word!) 

Also, “The Content may appear, in whole or in part, on The Times website, apps, social media accounts and elsewhere, including other NYT-branded platforms and third-party archives in perpetuity.” (also highlighted!)

From The New York Times’s perspective, and with my business hat on, I can see why they make writers sign this; they are running a business. (Have I emphasized that publishing is a business enough yet?) So, understandably, they want to attain all rights.

They’ve made money off of writers’ content with their Modern Love streaming series, anthologies, and podcasts. So, if I was the publisher, I'd be patting myself on the back!

But back to book publishing contracts, where it does seem less ruthless and you, or your agent, can negotiate certain rights.

A literary agent will work to see that you are properly compensated — especially critical nowadays for people who aren’t business-minded, which describes many creative types.

In book deals, authors and their agents want to retain as many rights as possible. Likewise, publishers want to acquire as many rights as possible too!

Authors need to recognize that while, yes, you’re bringing a publishing house something of value — your book — the publisher is bringing something valuable to you: editing, design, distribution, marketing, promotion, to name a few, so you can just concentrate on writing.

There are certain rights and stipulations every book publisher will expect in their contract. Equally, there are certain rights and stipulations an author should probably try to hold on to.

Personally, I’ve never had a bad experience with my book contracts. I was smart enough to leave negotiations to my more cut-throat agent.

A good literary agent knows what rights an author should keep in their contract. They also know what an author can live without.

A GOOD agent can decipher the implications in a publishing contract. Here’s an example: Change "all electronic rights” to “electronic rights existing ONLY until the year 2023.” (A few words can result in a totally different outcome for both parties.)

What hasn’t changed in book publishing is that agents have an “in.” An editor or publisher will respond, promptly, to a reputable agent they’ve known for years, and who have a good track record of bringing them successful authors.

Plus, agents tend to have intel on editorial budgets, advances, and know what all the different publishing houses are looking for.

So, sign whatever contract you want. It’s your book (or article!). You do you! BUT  understand what rights, as the writer, you should keep. And also understand what rights a publisher will, understandably, want to keep.

A publishing contract is not like a marriage contract. You can always get a divorce. But if you don't look closely enough, you’ll be stuck in your publishing contract forever because like Van Morrison (and maybe yours truly), you signed a shitty contract.

I’ll keep you posted if The New York Times ever responds to my request to see that contract I signed.

For now? I'm wondering if I can ask The New York Times for a divorce as I listen to Brown Eyed Girl (“Do you remember when we used to sing…”) or perhaps write a column about sha la la la love...

As promised, here is the story I wrote for Modern Love! (You know, before paywalls?)