Passion and pay

Though I tend to avoid mentioning it, uncomfortable with presumptions about my background, I went to the University of Oxford. More specifically, I was a working-class, Black, state school student from Birmingham, who, thanks to access programmes and student loans, was lucky enough to be able to go. Near the end of university, I attended a Getting into Publishing course in London. The information I learned there was immensely helpful, but I was only able to attend because someone who could afford the hundreds of pounds that the course cost couldn’t make it, so offered it for free via a Facebook group. It seems silly to credit that one person for such a big life choice, but I am not sure I would be in publishing now if they hadn’t done so.

Since I did that course just over three years ago, there are more initiatives aimed at demystifying the industry for future publishers and authors, particularly those from underrepresented backgrounds. This includes the expansion of traineeship schemes, the work of Creative Access, initiatives like the Orion Virtual Internship and spaces like the Working-Class Writers’ Festival. Yet sometimes I still wonder if I should have seen the cost of that course as a foretelling of the financial pressures involved in working in publishing. Once someone like me, who might not have made it into the industry five or 10 years ago, does manage to land a role, we need to ensure that enough support is provided so we can not just survive but thrive in our careers, both in the immediate future and the long-term.

Planning for long-term financial stability can be challenging at the best of times, especially in publishing, and it is something the industry doesn’t talk about as much as it should

I may have an Oxford degree, but I was only able to move from Birmingham to London to start my traineeship thanks to a loan from the Book Trade Charity for my first month’s rent, deposit and living costs. Initially, I was overjoyed to have made it into the industry and didn’t necessarily think about what my salary progression prospects would be as I moved up the chain. However, as the length of hours and height of expectations started taking their toll a year or two later, I began to wonder if the small increments in which pay tends to increase in publishing would be enough to afford the life goals that others with higher salaries or money to fall back on take for granted.

Planning for long-term financial stability can be challenging at the best of times, especially in publishing, and it is something the industry doesn’t talk about as much as it should. While increased transparency around salaries and pay-banding is very welcome, there can be uncertainty when it comes to the rate of progression, pay, and the high expectations on our time. For someone from a working-class background, these concerns are often exacerbated by how rare it can be to hear regional accents within the industry, or of feeling in the minority if you are the only person of a certain background in your department and trying to avoid the burden of sole representation in that space. Goals such as supporting a family or buying a house, especially in London, can feel impossibly out of reach if your salary remains modest and you have no other means of paying a deposit.

So, while difficult to broach, it is only fair that we are honest. Access to free books and proximity to our favourite authors is great, but if companies want people from underrepresented backgrounds and experiences to enter publishing and stay, the norms need to be reviewed. We need to address the things we can change on top of the salaries—from setting good examples of boundaries on what can be long and inflexible hours, to ensuring that the burden of cost on things like author flowers, lunches and drinks don’t come down to the lowest paid to regularly purchase, especially if those costs are initially placed on personal cards. It’s important to keep upward communication open for overarching staff concerns. We need to find ways for junior staff to progress without the expectation that extra networking will cost them financially, and avoid staff feeling undervalued or believing that applying elsewhere is the only way to gain any real rise in pay.

One of the simplest ways to do this is through open salary discussions by employees of all levels, and clearer signs that people are really being valued. In my three years in publishing, I have done what I can to advocate for this kind of transparency. I have been a committee member of many Hachette employee networks (particularly those with a focus on diversity and inclusivity); of the Society of Young Publishers; and of an alumni association for my university to be a spokesperson for the creative industries. I’ll also be on the Class Festival advisory committee for 2023. I have attended daunting meetings as the most junior person in the room, volunteered at industry events and mentored publishing hopefuls and new staff. I have been on panels where I have tried my best to balance the amazing things about the industry and how much I love what I do with being clear about some of the practical realities. I’ve tried to use my voice to make change and hope that I can also do that in my commissioning role at Trapeze—an imprint with a mission to encourage authors with different voices and backgrounds to feel there is a space for them to be heard. However, I am just one person. That isn’t enough. I want to believe that as an industry we can work together to find real, actionable ways to enable people to work for both the pay and the passion, without feeling their background is a barrier, or that the overall cost of doing a job that they love might be too high.