Archive for July, 2009

Give it all up!

Friday, July 24th, 2009

 

i-quit1 This Monday I decided to give it all up. Let’s face it - it was a silly idea from the start, this setting-up-a-publishing-house idea. There are too many threads to hold in my head at one and the same time. I woke up at four o’clock in the morning, wide awake, with a full list of people in my head who just hadn’t answered my e-mails. Why? Just why didn’t these people answer my e-mails? How did I sign the e-mails? Best wishes? No, I don’t think I put best wishes. Oh God, they must think I am unfriendly. On the other hand, perhaps my e-mails never reached them. That’s it, I thought. There is a problem with my system. Yes! Clearly there was a problem with MY SYSTEM. By the time it got to seven o’clock I knew what to do.

“I will give it up,” I said to my husband as soon as the alarm bell rang. He didn’t immediately reply.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“What will you give up?,” he asked sleepily. He obviously hadn’t followed the plot for the last three hours.

“Peirene, of course, I just cannot do it. I have got myself into something here which is far beyond me. I made a huge mistake.”

“And the books you’ve acquired for translation?”

“I’ll give them back to the original publishers.”

“I don’t think you should make any decision after a sleepless night,” he replied. That was a mistake. He shouldn’t have given me such common sense nonsense – not that early in the morning. The monologue he got from me in reply – well, he really brought it onto himself, didn’t he?, about how he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know what I am talking about, he hasn’t got a clue. It’s too much responsibility, too many decisions, I am continuously out of my depth, I am not swimming, I am drowning.

That was Monday. I had it all sorted back then. The only issue was that I hadn’t set a date when I would give it all up. Therefore I felt somehow obliged to return to my desk until I had time to set a date. And also just in case my decision about giving-it-all-up wasn’t that sound in the first place.

And then something very nice happened. I received an e-mail from a literary festival organizer with whom I had briefly been in contact about “Portrait of the Mother as a Young Woman,” the German novel that Peirene will publish next year. “Just been reading your blog,” she wrote. “It’s a lot of fun and made me want to meet up.” My heart made a little leap. Not only did someone reply to my email, but also wanted to meet me. Peirene was back on track. It didn’t take much, just one little kind note.

I emailed my husband the wonderful news. “I have decided to continue with Peirene. x”

“I never had any doubts! xxx,” he emailed back.

So, he never truely deeply listened to the tormented out-pour of my soul, did he?!

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Lunch with the Eminent Literary Critic

Thursday, July 16th, 2009

 

bottle2The new small enthusiastic publisher has invited the eminent literary critic out for lunch. Conversation and food have gone swimmingly, helped along by a bottle of Vouvray Sec 2005 – as selected by the eminent critic. After all he has taste and culture. The small publisher doesn’t usually drink but accompanies her guest by taking half a glass. She tends to get a headache from alcohol during the day and hopes that it won’t happen this time. For desert course the critic decides on the cheese platter.

“For this I really need a port.” He leans back in his chair and waves to the young waitress.

“What sort of vintage port do you have?,” he asks with a flirtatious twinkle in his eye. The waitress goes through the list while the small publisher bites her tongue so that she doesn’t interrupt the poetic recitation with a mundane question about the price. Eventually the critic makes up his mind.

“Would you like one as well?” he asks his hostess across the table. The small publisher shakes her head silently as she is busy calculating the bill she will have to pay. It is rather a lot.

 

While the eminent literary critic drinks his vintage port and feasts on his Saint-Felicien, the small publisher praises the books she will soon publish and provides  brief, deep, witty, intelligent outlines of the plots. The critic finally takes the napkin from his knees, wipes his mouth and exclaims:

“I cannot wait for your books!” Once again he leans back in his chair, tilts it slightly backwards. A brief hope springs up inside the publisher. Perhaps the expense of this meal was worthwhile after all and some pre-publication publicity could be gained. Some payback at least.

“Can I quote you on our website,” she asks coyly, her eyes firmly fixed on the eminent critic’s face. She has to give it her best shot. Contentedness remains on the critics face a split second longer until the implication of the small publisher’s request has fully sunk in. Then the smile disappears and for a moment an awkward silence reigns during which the small publisher understands she has gone too far. She broadens her smile. “No, no, don’t worry. Just joking. You have to read the books of course first. I understand. ” Instantly happiness returns to the literary critic’s face and the small publisher breathes a sigh of relief. She has saved the meal from disaster. The effort was worth every penny!

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Party Talk

Thursday, July 9th, 2009

I am aware that I have slightly short changed you on the real gossip in my last blog entry. First I made such a song and dance about the castle party and then I don’t tell you about it. I will now fill you in. The castle party itself however does not lend itself to juicy gossip. Everything was fine and comme il faut. I talked to people, people talked to me, we sipped our champagne, everything was very polite, very civilised. I went to bed with the feeling of having done a job - the networking job - well and to my best ability.

 The next day the readings continued. I had by now figured out that to be really in the in-crowd I should have rented a bicycle. That’s at least what everyone else had done - because it is quite easy to cycle from the hotels to the television studio where the readings take place and then from the studios to the lake, which is about 20 minutes bike ride, so too far to walk. By the time I understood the must-have factor of the bicycle, there was none left to be rented. Of course you can get a taxi, but the Woerthersee is big and I wanted to go swimming where everybody else went swimming- in order not to repeat my last year’s ordeal of swimming all alone. Thus, when one of the guys there offered to take me in his car down to the lakes I was more than happy to accept. Then in the evening he gave me a lift to the restaurant where everyone met. We had delightful conversations. Afterwards I asked him to drop me back to my hotel. Which he very kindly did. I was terribly pleased with myself. Well done me - I thought - I am accepted, I belong. I had reached the zenith of my networking crash course. Where do you go from here? Only downhill!

It wasn’t until I sat at the airport waiting for my flight back to London, when suddenly it hit me sideways. “What would people - the world - now  be thinking of me?! Continuously getting in and out of this car! What on earth did it look like?!” My teenage daughter would have been probably - hopefully! - more streetwise in safeguarding her reputation. I couldn’t sleep for two nights, even wondering if I should confess to my husband about a non-committed act of adultery. Better confessing to something before a rumour tsunami would sweep across the channel and cause eternal havoc. I was gloriously descending into the paranoia abyss when luckily a good friend appeared on the scene. I cried on her shoulder. She was pretty unimpressed. ”What are you fussing!” She barely raised an eyebrow. “ Better to be talked about than not at all!”  The ultimate form of networking.

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