The screen writer (June 1946-May 1947)

AUTHORS BECOME AWARE THEY HAVE ECONOMICS By THEODORE PRATT For the past two years the above annual by-line has been run over cer¬ tain mutterings about authors’ eco¬ nomics. It was pointed out that pub¬ lishers, for one consumer of authors’ goods, look upon writers with a pretty deep-seated myopia. Once, in the European Dark Ages, writers were regarded artistically with re¬ spect, but economically were thrown a bone in their attics upon the rare occasions no one else had any use for the bone. The teeth of modern authors aren’t much good for crunching hard, dry bones, and their ulcer-ridden stom¬ achs decidedly can’t cope with the unenviable fare. Also, they don’t like living in attics any more. To hell with Bohemia. It’s colorful, but give me the St. Regis; it’s warmer and the beds are more comfortable. That has been more or less the theme song of this department for the last two years. It could not be dis¬ cerned that anyone paid much, or any, attention. Maybe the yearly words weren’t loud enough. Meanwhile, however, a couple of things were happening right in the same groove. Through more years than two, writers began to be thrown bones with a few scraps of meat at¬ tached. In Hollywood, with the book clubs, and by the best-seller lists, the bones arrived with large, juicy steaks built on. These were for a compara¬ tively few authors. The rest had to be satisfied with a couple of fair chops at best. But the back of the myopia, to coin a metaphor, had been broken. The publisher had glasses, even though not very efficient ones, forced on him. Through these he peered at the worm who approached him with a manu¬ script and to his discomfort, often saw that the worm had taken nearly human shape. The creature even looked as if it had rights, as well as a wife and some kids to feed. It might even be profitable, from the long view, to treat him better economical¬ ly, particularly because rivals down the street might get the same idea. Of course it wouldn’t do to go overboard. Hang on tenaciously to the centuries old custom of taking half of the huge book club payments, letting the author keep the other half, or at least what he has left after paying his agent and straight person¬ al income tax instead of the lower rate the publisher as a corporation pays on his like amount. Take this coin, often amounting to $50,000 as a first advance payment to each, with¬ out even blushing for having done nothing whatsoever to have earned it, the book written by the author solely and only earning it at that point because the publisher hasn’t even published it yet. Hang on to taking half of all sub¬ sidiary publication rights; that’s what the gentlemen publishers of the 90’s did and what was good enough for them is good enough for us. Chisel out as much as possible of the picture and dramatic rights, though we’ll never have anything to do with the picture or the play until we are sent free tickets for the opening. Dip into handling the radio and foreign rights for a nice fat share in spite of the author or his agent being able to do it for 10%. Hang together with other publishers in establishing these and other customs as traditional, for without them we couldn’t do busi¬ ness. Or could we? Middle Ages publishing viewpoints were making feeble and unenthusi THEODORE PRATT is a novelist and Broadway dramatist. He is the author of Miss Dilly Says No, and many other valuable literary properties. 55