F*** You, Pay Me!

And so begins the season of book festivals.

There are three big crime festivals in the UK, each year: Capital Crime Festival, Harrogate Crime Festival and Bloody Scotland. Each has its own strengths, and I am very fortunate to have been offered a panel at every one of these in 2026, but what does it really mean for a writer to attend something like this?

In January, I appeared at Stockport Noir, a crime-writing festival based in the north of England. It’s relatively new. In fact, it only started in 2025 but was so well received that it had to move to a larger location, this year.

It’s the brainchild of Chris McDonald, a writer local to the area, who works in tandem with the brilliant independent Serenity Booksellers. There were around 200 people watching my panel and I signed so many books afterwards, and posed for so many pictures, that my wrist and cheeks hurt.

But how much does a writer get paid for something like this? Well, I’m not going to give exact numbers but it’s not a lot. I had to stay in a hotel the night before and the fee offered would have covered that but not my travel, or my dinner, or all the drinks I had.

In fact, I didn’t take my fee because they are a new festival - every penny counts - and they are trying to do something great, and I think they pulled it off, and it was nice to be back on the circuit because I took a year away from it not having a book published in 2024.

The festival did so well that they are expanding again next year to cover the entire weekend and have already signed Ian Rankin to headline. I wonder whether they will have me back……

There is a sense that writers should feel grateful to be offered a panel at one of these things. For some organisers, they believe that you should feel downright honoured.

Signing 20 or 30 books afterwards feels like a lot but, really, it’s only worth about £15 to a writer. I was on two panels at Bristol Crimefest one year and only signed 4 books. And my publisher had to pay them for that ‘privilege’, and get me a hotel, and I had to feed and water myself. (This festival no longer exists and I can’t say that I’m sad about that. Lovely city, though.)

There is one great thing that you can’t put a price on and that is meeting the people who read your books. It’s incredibly scary, at first. My hand shook so much for the first book I ever signed, I may as well have scribbled Wank Cuter. But you get used to it and I’m always happy to give my time to people who use their time to read something I have written. Besides, who the fuck am I that I can’t spare a minute for a chat and a photo?

But each of these festivals comes with costs. Travel, hotels, eating and whisky, to start with. But also the personal cost of time away from family. So, should I be grateful? Should I feel honoured?

Let’s break down the three big ones this year:

CAPITAL CRIME - This is in June. My panel is on the Saturday, so I plan to stay in London on the Friday. They pay an amount towards a hotel. This covers my hotel cost. Thanks. They also pay an appearance fee. This will cover my travel, food and whisky. Plus, I get to do a panel with some debut authors and meet readers. So, technically, I am UP. And it’s not that much time away from the family. In fact, I’ll take my partner with me. (I have had to go on the Thursday a couple of times because I was shortlisted for an award. That adds on a few quid but it’s always grounding to lose.)

HARROGATE - This is a bit of a trek. My panel is a new thing that they are trying where two writers are on stage, having a swift drink and talking for half an hour about one topic that links their writing. It’s a great idea. And crowds here are usually huge. The fee, however, is not. It won’t even cover my bar bill and the train is going to cost £200 or so if I book way in advance and agree to travel with crates of chickens.

Luckily, lots of publishing types attend this one and there is always some kind of publisher or agency dinner that you don’t have to pay for, which helps. (The organisers do sort a night in a hotel, at least, though I assume that will be overrun with rats and large insects.)

But it’s tough to get a panel at this place, so, when you do, you are expected to feel honoured to the max. (There is a kick-off party for this next week and I can usually offset my financial losses with my insatiable appetite for free wine.)

BLOODY SCOTLAND - They put you up in a hotel and they pay the most. But you do have to get yourself to Stirling somehow. I like to take the train, with a bottle or two of something red, and my laptop. (It’s some lovely alone time, I’d hate to see someone I know on the journey.) I’ll probably break even on this one but it’s a fun festival in a unique setting and the crowds are good - I sell well in Scotland, so there are plenty of friendly faces.

So, what is the point of going to these things? There is no financial gain - often, a writer operates at a loss. Nobody sells enough books to make a difference to their overall sales figures. So what is it we are supposed to feel grateful for? Why are we supposed to feel so honoured?

Bearing in mind that writing is a solitary and introvert career, it seems odd to think that a writer would enjoy a) being part of a big crowd b) speaking in front of an audience where they are expected to be either funny or interesting. But I guess we can all talk about our books for hours, if we want…

Sometimes you will see a panel of three ‘big’ writers and one who is lesser known. It’s great to get some exposure to readers who may not know you, I guess, but they haven’t come there to hear from you, and signing books afterwards feels awful for the ‘smaller’ writer whose queue is a tenth the size of the others. (I felt majorly demoralised by this at Harrogate a few years back, especially when one reader only queued up to tell me that she hated my last book. I struggled to find the honour in that.)

One positive is that we get to hang around with writers at all stages of their careers. It really doesn’t matter if you are a debut, a cult writer, a mid-lister or an international best seller with a Netflix deal, we all pretty much know one-another. We have the same job, after all.

I like hanging out with other writers, it’s nice to be able to moan about things with people who get it. (This is pretty much what happens when you get a group together. You say what you are working on, then you say everything that’s going wrong in your career. It’s very therapeutic.)

I, actually, don’t mind the panels. I always take a beer on with me, and it’s not difficult to talk about books for 40 minutes. It’s even better when the moderator has read the book you have written - and we can tell instantly if they have not. But that can be kind of fun, too.

Meeting readers, fans and followers is the best part because it’s amazing to think that you created something that people have connected with. I don’t even mind if they hated it, as long as there is some sort of reaction. I’m grateful for them. But I would still be grateful without having to drive to Yorkshire for the weekend.

The truth is, I feel privileged to be able to call myself a writer. The fact that I get to create stories and am then asked to talk about them in front of people is a pleasure; I’m beyond grateful because, if I had my way, I would sit in a room on my own, write a book, send it off, start another, and repeat until death. But the times they are a changin’. Social media is a part of the job. Self-promotion is a (gross) part of the job. And going to festivals and appearing on panels is a god-damned part of the job.

If only getting paid enough was a part of the job. If only feeling valued rather than being told you should feel honoured was a part of the job.

I guess the answer to my question at the start is that these festivals mean very little to a writer in terms of financial gain or book sales. So it can only be about the people. Spending time with other writers. Speaking with readers, reviewers, bloggers and podcasters. (Even networking, if you are into that sort of thing, which I am not.) It’s about having a personal connection with real people, not just the online handles and avatars, and I think that we need that more than ever.

It’s supposed to be a celebration of literature and storytelling and creativity. If our first thought was always about money, then we’d work in banking or sales or publishing.

So, what I could have said in 140 characters, rather than an entire Substack article is that, if you are going to attend one of these festivals, or any literary festival over the next few months and you see a writer whose work you enjoy or admire, go and talk to them. Don’t be afraid to tap them on the shoulder because none of us are there for the money, we’re there for you. (And the free drinks.)