How Much An ENnie Costs

Competing with corporate publishers in the so-called "indie" scene

It cost me $700 CAD to submit two games to the ENnies this year.

I’ve been freelancing and self-publishing tabletop role-playing games since 2018. In that timespan I’ve published under my own imprint forty-seven titles of sizes varying from a half-dozen pages to over three hundred. I’ve also been published as a freelancer for Rowan, Rook & Decard, R. Rook Studios, SoulMuppet Publishing, The Gauntlet, the Plus One Experience, Project N.E.R.V.E.S., Scraps Burgers, Sandy Pug Games, Metal Weave Games, and a handful of others. Games are my full-time profession, having transitioned (in more ways than one!) out of the restaurant industry as a professional cook and chef of 17 years into the games industry in 2020. I am fortunate enough to be able to do this as my full-time profession. I live in the global north; not America (they haven’t annexed us yet) but the global north nonetheless: privileged by location to have access to affordable printing, (usually) reasonable shipping, and a fairly strong currency. I am easily in the top percentile of creators with my relative reach, scope and resources.

And despite all those advantages and privileges, the ENnies are truly, utterly, and entirely out of my reach as a self-publisher.

As of this writing I have been nominated* (as part of a team of writers) in 2022 for Best Supplement for Sin: A Spire Supplement, freelancing for Rowan, Rook and Decard. This year I won* (as part of a team of writers) a Judge’s Spotlight award for Moonlight on Roseville Beach, freelancing for R. Rook Studios. I have submitted personal works for the last three consecutive years. This year I also submitted two physical books; UNCONQUERED, my thus-far magnum opus three years in the making, and Where The River Meets The Sea, written by Luke Gearing, with art by Andrew Walter, editing by Jarrett Crader, and layout and production by me.

Digitally submitting works to the ENnies is a fairly straightforward process. Physically sending copies of a book is a totally different one; requiring six copies of each submission, sent individually to the year’s chosen judges. I am in fact not entirely certain what the benefit to submit a physical copy would be, and I certainly wouldn’t do so again: the retail cost of six copies of UNCONQUERED (MSRP $60 CAD each) and Where The River Meets The Sea (MSRP $35 CAD) plus individual shipping to the United States put my total cost of submission at $700 CAD. I could (sort of) afford this; in what world could someone below even my very modest means do the same?

The fact of the matter is, the ENnies aren’t for a publisher of my means, or below my means, or even in the same relative ballpark. One has to look no further than those publishers nominated for awards this year for conformation: Wizards of the Coast (2 nominations), Free League (7), Renegade (2), Pelgrane Press (7), Chaosium (3), Andrews McMeel (3), The Gauntlet (4), Magpie (4), Mongoose (3), Exalted Funeral, Cubicle 7, Steamforged, Evil Hat, Rowan Rook & Decard, Osprey…

The commodification of art is nothing new, of course. But in a professional industry that can, at best, be traced back to the ‘60s and ‘70s, the rapid accelerationism of market forces on shifting consumer expectations and definitions of what even a minimally viable product entails have in my estimation done great damage to the approachability of what started off as and in many cases still pretends to be an industry that claims to value a DIY approach and a meritocratic recognition of good - or at least effective - art. It is plainly inaccurate to claim, as many still do, that there is “no money in TTRPGs” - niche market as it may be, if there was no money in the industry it would, quite plainly, not be so incredibly lucrative to license established media franchises to tabletop role-playing games. Somebody had better tell Magpie (Avatar: The Last Airbender) or Free League (Alien, Lord of the Rings, Blade Runner, Crusader Kings), or Steamforged (Dark Souls), or Modiphius (Dune, Fallout, Star Trek, Dishonored, Elder Scrolls), or Fantasy Flight (Star Wars) that there is, in fact, no money in tabletop games.

Most of that money is being injected into and subsequently hoarded in the 0.01% of games publishers. But with the slow but steady transition of tabletop role-playing books from primarily text supported by mostly black-and-white art to sleek, glossy, predominantly-colored art books backed up by just enough text to get by, consumer expectation for what a role-playing game book worth the sticker price now more or less demands art budgets in the thousands, if not tens of thousands, to be taken seriously as anything more than yet another fantasy heartbreaker. And who, she asks knowing full well the answer, can afford such an art budget? Corporate projects by corporate publishers, increasingly licensed from existing media. That, or market-tested Kickstarters injected with venture capitalist backing money for advertisement and high production values, with artificially low funding goals to exaggerate overfunding rates and game the crowdfunding algorithm for even more advertising. The game, to put it bluntly, is rigged.

This is nothing new. But it does neatly highlight how effectively and from the top down “indie” publications - however we’re choosing to define that today - from the higher levels of industry recognition. Much like Kickstarter pretends to meritocracy, selling the lie of any project being the next sleeper hit, tabletop role-playing game awards like the ENnies tease the possibility of an equal playing field with the industry heavy-hitters. But like any fan-voted merit system, the most recognizable titles are inevitably selected for honors. After all: what elements in a role-playing game book are typically associated with recognizability? Advertising and art. And who can afford those? Exactly.

Worse, this has had a cumulative effect on the awards. In order to match or surpass last year's winners and nominees, projects need to be flashier, more heavily produced, stuffed full of more art and layout and in more and more expensive packaging. Judge selected nominations provide the convenient illusion of a level playing field, but the actual awards process has rapidly become a weaponized version of Keeping Up with the WotCs. While the cost of entry is anywhere from Free* (minus the cost of your project) to Significantly More than Free** (the MSRP of six copies of your project, plus size separate shipping labels, plus the cost of your project), the likelihood that anyone can afford to spend the necessary amount to keep up with corporate-sponsored megaprojects grows slimmer with each passing year.

And the bitter irony is that there isn't a lot of hard days on how beneficial an ENnie nomination or win actually is, particularly for smaller teams or publishers. Again, these are fan choice awards. Games that have enough fans to win are likely popular enough that they would barely notice the effects of a win. Corporate projects certainly don't: despite this, corporations love to collect such awards, particularly when the cost of admission is so negligible - for example, a meagre six copies of a book printed at offset by the thousands. A fan-voted award win is yet another purchased accolade to list on a project's frontages, another foil badge to emboss on a seventh or eighth printing. Maybe it will make it to the quarterly reports, where middle managers can applaud themselves over it. Meanwhile, projects of at least equal if not superior literary quality - writing, that thing primarily engaged with when engaging with the medium - go ignored because they cannot afford this advertising and art budget arms race the industry has become.

So how much does an ENnie cost? More than $700.