by Brenda W. Clough
I’m going to make a big assumption here: You are not immortal. If this is not accurate, email me, and we’ll write another article for Planetside about planning for your endless life. But if you are like the rest of us, you’re going to die someday. And you should think about it.
Why Should I?
The notion of one’s own demise is curiously repugnant for some people. I had an uncle who steadfastly refused to contemplate it or take any action about it. This meant that when he did pass, his affairs were in chaos. This is not a good look for anybody, but 10 times out of 10, it’s particularly bad if you are an author or creative. Because you have more value than just your personal property. You have intellectual property: the copyrights to your fiction or art. And these can be a huge cause of contention after you’re no longer around.
The basic rule of all end-of-life planning is: If you want anything done, set it up now. Everything and anything can be done, if only you’re above ground to do it. Once you’re dead, you get no more say in anything. You want a Viking funeral, to lie on a burning longship as it’s pushed out to sea into a golden sunset? Oral instructions are easily forgotten, misheard, or ignored. Write it down, or better yet, find the business that does Viking funerals and sign a contract in advance for their services, and you’ll happily burn.
The first and most important step is to make your will. It’s not necessary—in fact, it’s downright unwise—to wait until your golden years to do this. When you acquire significant assets, like real estate, a partner, or children? You should make a will. These things are too important not to plan for.
What If I Don’t?
If you die intestate (without a will), your estate will be subject to probate. This means the government will intervene to determine how to distribute your assets. But you, being dead, will get no input into these decisions. The authorities may do things that you’d very much dislike. And going through probate takes ages. My uncle, who was too nervy to ever make a will? He owned property. It took two years for his estate to go through probate, two years during which his widow needed the money, and his sons frantically struggled with New York state’s bureaucracy. It was the last thing the family needed to face after the bereavement.
Depending upon where you live, you may not need a lawyer to draw up that will. There are online forms that allow you to create a simple will. This works if you don’t own a lot of stuff. If it’s you, your car, and your goldfish, you do not have a complicated estate. But if there’s anything complex or important in your life, you should hire an expert, an estate attorney, to be sure it’s done right.
A competent estate lawyer will help you to arrange things the way you want, now, while you still have all your marbles. If you want to provide for your beloved Labrador retriever, if you want to specifically ensure that your worthless son has nothing to squander on riotous living, the lawyer can make this happen. There are hundreds of mystery thrillers and Victorian novels, excitingly plotted around intestate deaths, confusing or badly worded bequests, and squandered inheritances. A properly drawn-up will means you offer no inspiration to novelists. You want this to be boring, legal, and airtight.
Your lawyer will also help you draw up an end-of-life document, designating a person to make medical decisions on your behalf if you are no longer able to do so. Again, this saves your loved ones a world of hurt at a moment of tragedy and crisis. It becomes especially important if you become incapacitated but don’t die right away. You do not want a fight between your kids about who decides to pull the plug on your life support. A spouse or partner is the usual candidate for this role, but your lawyer should ask you to designate a backup person as well.
Then Your Literary Estate
The above is the absolute minimum in estate planning. But an author or a creative has that intellectual property. The executor of your will acts as you have instructed regarding your money, house, or children. And your literary executor will do the same for your copyrights and intellectual property. They’ll sign contracts for reprints, collect the payments, and transfer those monies where you want them to go. Consult your lawyer about this, because state laws vary. You may need a second document, or at least a letter of your intent, designating someone to handle your literary estate.
Who should your literary executor be? Select someone who knows you and your work. Let them be responsible and reasonably young. A literary executor older than you may predecease you, and then you’d have to do it all again. You’ll want to discuss this with the person in advance, so they know what it entails and can consent to accept the role.
Supply them with a list of all your publications to date, so they have a grasp of how big your literary estate is going to be. Mention to them any vehement feelings you have about media options, or having your stories telepathically transmitted into the reader’s cerebral cortex if that technology comes online before your copyrights run out. These instructions can be as simple or as complex as you like. My son is my literary executor, and my instructions were elementary: “Grab all the money on offer, and run!”
If you have no suitable person you’re comfortable with to act as your executor or literary executor, ask your lawyer again. The law firm may well agree to act on your behalf in this matter. Having an entity be your executor is no bad thing. Law firms don’t last forever, but they’re far more immortal than a human being.
Once you have your literary executor lined up, be sure to tell SFWA’s Estates-Legacy Program, which keeps track of them all. This will allow the Steven Spielberg of the 22nd century to find your literary executor and negotiate for the telepathic rights to your novel without difficulty. Much more information is available at this link. This would also be the moment to tell any agents you may have, literary or media, that you’ve chosen a literary executor.
Wait, There’s More
This is the absolute minimum for an author. Even if you only have a couple of stories out, it’s only responsible to take care of your physical and literary offspring. But let’s suppose you’re a bigger player. You’re George R. R. Martin or Stephen King, with a dozen New York Times best sellers in your catalog, movie deals in development, or Netflix projects scheduled. Your works are not just sofa change but a major income stream.
At that level, you probably already have a lawyer to organize your career. She almost certainly has already told you this. If she hasn’t, ask her now about setting up living trusts. You can shelter all your assets in a trust that will outlive you. This trust can do anything you want: donate the ongoing income from your movies to worthy causes; allow your as-yet-unborn great-grandkids to afford a Princeton tuition; erect your elaborate tomb next to Chopin’s in Père Lachaise Cemetery. A trust is the main vehicle you can deploy to elude estate taxes. You can set up as many separate trusts as you like to protect one asset from litigation that might devour another.
Most crucially, a trust helps to cut off litigation. Your unborn grandkids may despise one another, but they’ll hesitate to sue if you set up a trust. It’s not a perfect guarantee, but because you’re setting up the trust and declaring your intent for it while you’re still alive, your intent is clear and inarguable in court. Not having a trust is worse. Not having a record of your intent gives your heirs the opening to litigate all the assets away like Jarndyce v. Jarndyce, or to make an embarrassing splash in the media fighting over your millions when you’re incapacitated or dead.
You read in the news now and again of people who did not organize their estates until it was too late. They’re no longer competent, or they died unexpectedly. The rats in their life seized the opportunity to crawl out of the woodwork. Suddenly, accusations fly, the cries of elder abuse or looting of the checking accounts. The dirty laundry is dumped out, the old girlfriends, long-lost offspring, or estranged relatives, all of them clawing for the money the oldster can no longer use. Everyone who admired that actor, author, or artist nods their head. What a shame that this should be her legacy! Do not be the star of one of these loathsome scenarios. Look your demise in the eye—and plan for it.
Editor’s note: SFWA provides the Bud Webster Legacy Kit to help professional creators compile the resources they need to protect their intellectual legacies.
Brenda W. Clough is the first female Asian American SF writer, first appearing in print in 1984. Her 2025 novel is a science fiction novel, His Selachian Majesty Requests. In 2024, she published the 12th book in the Marian Halcombe series, Servants of the Empress. A novelette, “Clio’s Scroll,” appeared in Clarkesworld in July 2023. A historical novel, A Door in His Head, won the 2023 Diverse Voices Award. Her novella “May Be Some Time” was a finalist for both the Hugo and the Nebula awards and became the novel Revise the World. She is active in the SF community, attending conventions and doing podcasts. Her complete bibliography is up on her website, brendaclough.net.