The 'broke as hell' life of an award-winning author

Yesterday, we wrote about how Mooney’s book was unexpectedly welcomed by the Fraser Valley. Today, we have a story about the challenge of making a living as an author in Canada, and what comes next after a successful book that still leaves its author ‘broke as hell,’ and why Mooney wants to do it all again.

Harrison Mooney’s Invisible Boy has been a Canadian publishing success story.

It has been nominated for awards, garnered critical plaudits, and has generated enough sales to keep its publisher interested in what Mooney does next.

But penning a “successful” Canadian book doesn’t mean a one-way ticket to easy street and fortune.

Those in Canada’s books industry will tell you that It’s increasingly hard—if not impossible—to make a living writing non-fiction books in Canada.

Having left the Vancouver Sun and a career in journalism—already not exactly the most stable of jobs—for an even less financially stable job, Mooney’s bank account is feeling the effects.

He may have published a book applauded by critics and bought by a significant number of people, but laudable press clippings won’t put food on the table.

“I’m not going to mince words: we are broke as hell right now,” Mooney told The Current with a dash of amusement in his voice.

So it goes in the Canadian book-writing game.

Mooney has recently got some good news: his book has been shortlisted for the Hurston Wright Legacy Award, an important international award for Black writers to be handed out this fall in New York. Previous awards have gone to some of the most-famous authors in the world. And the shortlist is a very short list, with just three other nominees.

“It’s so validating,” Mooney said. “It goes to my impostor syndrome and my fear that after writing the story, maybe the Black community still won’t accept me. I’m getting that validation and I’m realizing those fears were misplaced.”

“But at the same time,” Mooney continues, “there’s no money in the prize!”

It’s no doubt challenging. But Mooney can also see the humorous side of it. “It’s so funny hearing that I’m up for this prestigious award and just kind of going ‘Well, how will I pay my bills?’ I can’t go to the bank [and declare] ‘I am shortlisted for the Hurston Wright Legacy Award so can we just waive all these bills?’”

So, naturally, Mooney is already thinking about writing another book.

Specifically, Mooney wants to tell the story of his biological mom, their reunion, and building a new relationship. Like Invisible Boy, which was about his upbringing as an adopted Black boy in a fundamentalist Christian family, such a memoir won’t be easy to write psychologically.

Mooney reconnected with his mother, Trinika, while he was in his early 20s, but the pair only started rebuilding their relationship years later. The efforts bore fruit; they began talking regularly, and Trinika and Mooney (now in his 30s) would joke about sitting together and jointly promoting Invisible Boy when it was published. But COVID limited their bonding opportunities and Trinika developed Leukemia and died.

Mooney is still reckoning with the loss. But he is also proud and appreciative of the fact that he and his mother had come as far as they had.

“I’m immensely proud of my sorrow because it’s not the sorrow of somebody who lost a possibility. It’s the sorrow of somebody who lost his mom who he knew. I knew her, and when I think about the absence of her in my life now, it’s a tangible thing.”

“I miss her every day.”

Mooney would like to tell that story. But he says he also needs time. He has young kids. And so he also needs to scrape together some money.

So how does an author get by between books?

Having a supportive partner, as Mooney does, helps—especially since the couple have two young children. He is also doing a range of piecework to make ends meet. That includes editing, reading other authors’ early drafts, and writing advertising content for a local media company.

“You do gigs here and there, and because you’re a freelance writer, the money comes in whenever the hell it comes in.”

But Mooney and his young family are scraping by. And Invisible Boy is still out there building a fanbase and readership that mostly didn’t exist a year ago.

In truth, the finances of making a career in books may not be as dire as nine simple months.

Invisible Boy stands on its own. But it has also given Mooney a platform he can leverage into future books—and other opportunities.

Mooney now has an agent setting up speaking and appearance gigs. And while some writers dislike such work, Mooney has found he loves it.

“We’ve paid some bills just with school visits and speeches for businesses. Obviously I made a ton of money during Black History Month,” he says wryly. The month after Black History Month was less profitable.

But Mooney is still plugging away. He’d also love to still do a book tour, though it may need to be self-funded and involve him sleeping on couches.

“I was told by a fellow Vancouver memoirist, Sean Hitchings, that ‘Your book has a shelf-life of three to five years and if you think it’s over in the first few months, you’re sorely mistaken.’”

“There’s all kinds of stuff that can come up,” he continues. “So I don’t really know what the future holds for me. I’m just hoping it’s interesting.”