When I was at college, I worked in a cake shop every Saturday in the days when we had to add up in our heads and wrap crusty bread in tissue paper. (I am very old.) On Sundays I worked in a petrol station, which involved filling up customers' cars in the sub-zero temperatures of a Staffordshire winter. I used to get so cold it made my nose bleed. Then during the holidays I would also work in a factory, standing on a line packing biscuits. At least this was warm and we could eat as many custard creams as we wanted to, a novelty that wore off after a couple of days. I earned enough to keep me in eyeliner and concert tickets, but there were some very grim days amongst the good ones.
The latest newsletter from the ALCS includes a profile of author Peter May, who gives an honest account of how much he earns. He is a full-time writer and his annual income is - wait for it - £11,000. While the J K Rowlings of this world earn the big bucks, most of we jobbing wordsmiths are just bobbing along, poor but relatively happy.
