What Kind of Writing
Pays the Most?
w…ritten by
jaron summers © 2026
Over the years, people who took my seminars would lean forward the way prospectors lean toward a map.
“What kind of writing pays the most?”
They didn’t ask about beauty.
They didn’t ask about voice.
They asked about money.
They wanted the gold vein. The shortcut. The two-lane highway to literary wealth with a scenic overlook labeled: SUCCESS THIS WAY.
I usually gave them the respectable answers.
A top novelist can earn millions.
A successful screenwriter can sell a script for seven figures.
A biography of the right person at the right time can change your tax bracket permanently.
All true.
But if we’re going to be honest—and have a little fun—let’s begin with the most lucrative two-word composition in the English language.
1) The Two Words That Can Cost a Fortune
I do.
Two words.
Minimalist. Clean. Elegant. Memorable.
And occasionally… expensive.
If one happens to marry a multi-millionaire, and if that marriage later evolves into what attorneys call “a structured financial discussion” (the public calls it divorce), the check that follows can exceed what most writers will earn in a lifetime.
The former spouse signs their name.
Two words.
One signature.
A fortune moves across a table.
You don’t need a literary agent.
You don’t need a three-act structure.
You don’t even need adverbs.
You just need timing, paperwork, and a pen that doesn’t leak.
Now that we’ve cleared the air, let’s move into writing that involves actual work.
2) The Million-Dollar Novelist
Yes, novelists can make millions.
There are advances that would make a dentist faint. There are film rights, foreign rights, audiobook rights, streaming rights, special editions, and the occasional movie star wandering into your living room via a platform you don’t remember subscribing to.
But here’s the part that doesn’t fit on seminar brochures:
For every novelist earning eight figures, thousands earn grocery money.
A novel is a gorgeous gamble. You pour in time, imagination, and solitude. If it hits, it hits big. If it doesn’t, you still wrote a book—which is no small achievement—but your mortgage company does not accept “artistic satisfaction” as legal tender.
It’s noble.
It’s possible.
It is not predictable.
3) The Screenwriter’s Roller Coaster
Screenwriting has glamour built into the vocabulary. Even the word “optioned” sounds like something that comes with champagne.
A spec sale can reach seven figures.
A rewrite assignment can pay more than a professor earns in a decade.
Residuals can trickle in long after the premiere party ends.
But Hollywood is a strange ecosystem.
It runs on meetings.
It runs on momentum.
It runs on the phrase, “We love this, but…”
You may write ten scripts before one sells.
You may sell one and never sell another.
You may watch your best scene get replaced by a car chase because someone’s nephew “really feels car chases test well.”
The money is real.
The volatility is realer.
4) The Biography Nobody Asked For
There is a special category of writing that can pay surprisingly well: the biography of someone powerful.
If the subject cooperates, the book can sell.
If the subject does not cooperate… the book can sell even better.
Secrets move units. Controversy creates headlines. Silence—true silence—sometimes has a price.
History has always paid handsomely for ink that makes important people uncomfortable. But this path requires courage, lawyers, and occasionally a sturdy front door.
5) The Poet Who Writes Three Words
Now we come to poetry.
Most poets, bless them, earn enough for two coffees and a mild existential crisis.
But occasionally, three words change everything—if those three words land in advertising.
“Just Do It.”
“Think Different.”
“I’m Lovin’ It.”
Those are poems. Very short poems. Compression, rhythm, emotional lift.
They move billions of dollars.
The writers behind them were not wearing berets. They were wearing contracts.
Advertising copy, when done well, is poetry in a business suit.
And yet—even this does not win the prize.
6) The Highest-Paid Poets in the World
The highest-paid poets in the world are not called poets.
They are called songwriters.
They write in meter.
They write in rhythm.
They write about longing, betrayal, redemption, heartbreak, revenge, hope.
They repeat lines until they become emotional muscle memory.
A hit song is three or four minutes long, and it can generate income for decades through royalties, streaming, licensing, radio, covers, commercials, movies, and a thousand other tributaries that all flow into the same river.
A novelist may sell a million copies once.
A songwriter can sell a feeling a billion times—because the song is replayed.
A hook gets replayed.
A chorus gets replayed.
A heartbreak gets replayed.
And every replay is another coin in the well.
Here’s the part that makes this category so different: the catalog.
When you own (or control) a catalog, you’re not merely selling one work—you’re holding an asset. That’s why the biggest writers in music can generate numbers that look like lottery payouts.
In 2024, for example, Sony’s deal for a major stake in Michael Jackson’s catalog was widely reported as valuing the rights at over $1.2 billion. That’s “B,” as in “billion.” Not because of word count, but because those songs keep earning. Again and again.
So What Actually Pays the Most?
When students asked me which writing pays the most, what they really wanted was certainty.
They wanted a map with a red X.
But writing doesn’t work that way.
The highest-paid writing is not defined by genre.
It’s defined by reach and leverage.
Two words—“I do”—can move a fortune.
Three words in an ad can move a company.
Four minutes of heartbreak can fund a mansion.
The check does not come from typing.
It comes from ownership, rights, and scale—plus one stubborn, magical ingredient: the ability to move people.
If your words move enough hearts, the money eventually follows.
Sometimes it follows slowly.
Sometimes it arrives in a convoy.
And sometimes it shows up because someone signed two words at the wrong time.
That, too, is writing.