How much does an author in Wales earn? Part two

Julie Brominicks

 “Be careful!” said an editor friend when my first book came out. “Publishers compare notes about which authors are difficult to work with!” “I get on with everyone,” I laughed.

Apparently there’s a writer in Aberystwyth who goes around harassing shops to stock his precious book. But that old stereotype about writers being petulant and harrowed isn’t me, or at least it wasn’t.

Since 2013, I’ve been writing full-time. Books, projects and magazines. In 2013-14 after expenses, I earned £1,923.13, at an hourly rate of £1.02.

My highest income was in the financial year of 2020-21 when I earned £6,673.80 (because it was bolstered by Covid self-employment payments) at an hourly rate of £3.95. More usual is the £2,233 I earned in 2024-25, at an hourly rate of £1.64.

I must be drifting about, daydreaming, right? Wrong. I’m as much a grafter now as throughout my career in sustainability education and in all 46 previous jobs. Fourteen-hour shifts grading potatoes. Twelve-hour night shifts in a Xerox factory.

I was, apparently, the ‘best-sponge-putter-inner’ the trifle line had ever seen. I’m a grafter and couldn’t face my husband if I wasn’t, because he pays for everything.

I earn less now than I did serving chips after school forty years ago.

Nevertheless, even though his salary is modest, we’re comfortable because we live in a tiny space. After council tax, our bills are as low as can be. We drink wine, eat well, and go on holiday, so if I had any sense I’d keep quiet. But I can’t keep quiet after Gosia Buzzanca’s recent article. Writers everywhere relate to what she wrote. So why the lack of comments underneath?

Given my recent conversations, I would say it’s because writers are either too disheartened, or scared of biting the hands that toss them occasional crumbs from a loaf they themselves have baked. And let’s be honest it genuinely is an honour to bake that loaf. It is still super-hard to get published, so it seems insensitive and dangerous to grumble.

I’m in a precarious position right now. I’ve got a second book coming out in September, about Cader Idris. An experienced writer-friend who lives nearby, advised me not to speak out till by book is well and truly launched for fear of jeopardising my career. But then Gosia wrote her article. I have to respond, precisely because of my unusual privileged circumstances that allow me to write full-time.

I’m alright. But what about everyone else?

Why aren’t publishers speaking up for writers? Because they too, are struggling to survive and frightened of losing sales and funding. Why isn’t the Welsh Books Council doing so? Ditto. They just lost a bunch of staff.

Like Gosia said, the system’s broken. Like she also suggested, romanticising doesn’t help. If we’re going to fix it we all need to work together and be honest about why writers are paid so little.

Two reasons I know of: One; people don’t buy or read books like they used to. Two; even if you find a market for your book, your publisher might not have the resources to supply it.

More of that later. Back to One. As my work-experience student pointed out last summer, customers where she works weekends in a café-shop, splurge £10.99 on a fry-up and don’t eat the beans, but won’t pay £12 for a paperback.

People don’t read. Does this matter? Not compared to climate, biodiversity, conflict, health, housing, food and farming emergencies. Every system is broken. But unless we’re happy for all our information and entertainment to be regurgitated from stuff already swilling around the internet, writers still have a role.

Unpaid work

The second point took me a long time to figure out due to obfuscation. Writers put in a lot of unpaid work identifying a market for their book proposal. In my current case, Cader Idris.

Seventy-five thousand people climb it every year. Theoretically, there’s a big market for my book until a better one comes along. But unless things change (and maybe they will), in three years’ time, shops will struggle to obtain copies, given my experience with my first book, The Edge of Cymru — despite similar numbers of people walking the Wales Coast Path each year.

My advance for Cader Idris was £700. In theory, if you earn out your advance, you’ll get more. But as my publishers admitted when I signed in May 2025, the figure reflects how much time they can devote to each book. If I want to earn more than £700 for a year’s work then I have to do most of the selling.

To me, public events are part of the job. A way to support bookshop staff, other writers and readers, and celebrate books. In a world where people no longer read books, our bookshop staff are extra appreciated, so I throw myself into events.

But selling is different. It takes a particular kind of self-confidence. I do it reluctantly, and always with a sick feeling, as if I’m trying to promote my work over that by other writers — and to people who have no money. I want all books and writers, bookshops and publishers to succeed. I want the public to fall back in love with reading.

I practised selling The Edge of Cymru but something wasn’t right. I earned out my advance of £1,500, (just), and there’s still a demand for it, but shopkeepers were struggling to get hold of copies. What was happening? And what will this mean for Cader Idris, three years down the line?

Supply chain

The supply chain is complex apparently. Things came to a head when ‘Left for Dead’, an indie book and vinyl shop in Shrewsbury, placed an order for five copies of The Edge, at the beginning of December 2025, and finally received them at the end of January 2026, after me prompting my publisher three times.

Actually it was worse than this, but enough said because my publishers are lovely people working their hearts out to survive and then thrive.

The situation is a symptom of how broken the system is. Small publishers simply don’t have resources to spend time on an ‘old’ book, even if there is a demand. Resulting in there being not enough copies for the Books Council to take to events should they want to, and in bookshops worrying that struggling publishers who earn more from selling to readers directly, are squeezing them out.

The incident wasn’t personal, but it felt personal. And I’m sure it also felt personal to my lovely publishers, when I had a massive hissy-fit and put in a complaint of which I am ashamed.

It must have been horrible for them. They are really trying and I nearly became the ranting Aberystwyth author with whom I sympathise, whoever he is.

The broken system made me that way. I too, am now one of those difficult-to-work-with authors that publishers mutter about. Much easier, surely, to take on eager new writers who don’t yet know what it’s like?

Skint writers

In this strained current climate, the relationship between salaried publishers and skint writers can be difficult. It’s akin to walking past or not walking past a homeless person.

Sometimes you have a spare coin, sometimes you don’t, sometimes you have a chat, other times not. All scenarios are unsatisfactory for both parties because of the huge inequality between them. Every conversation has baggage, and humiliation has a psychological impact.

For my own sanity, I’ve made a point of sharing my experiences with other writers, most of whom have stories of exploitation and feelings of shame and desperation, whichever publisher they’re with.

On the positive side, those who have experience working across the sector, in writing, teaching, editing, publishing and selling, have perspective and ideas for addressing the broken system, and I hope we hear from them.

Fair Trade Books

I’d like to see Fair Trade Books, though Fair Trade seems to be fizzling out, and never did extend to Welsh farmers. Meanwhile, the Irish system of basic income for writers sounds like a very good start.

How much does an author earn? I had one year to write Cader Idris (granted, there’s no guarantee people will like it!), for which I received an advance of £700. I spent £294 of it on bus fares (and about £200 on new boots that don’t leak).

Before Christmas, I kept up other assignments alongside, but then had to turn down work (some of it even paid), while writing the book. It took 2188 hours — so far. If I was on a minimum wage I’d have pocketed £27,809.48, but I’d need to sell 18,359 copies to earn that from my 10% royalties. That’s not going to happen, given that less than 2,000 copies of The Edge of Cymru have been sold in three years.

But is it terrible to give it a go?

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