Interview With a Publisher
An amusing tale of how and when I first met Theo, my publisher
Meeting my publisher
I met Theo, my publisher, a while back. Since then we have formed a strong writing team. He suggests things and I immediately rush to apply them. He says jump and, you know the thing.
But it wasn’t always like that. Let me take you back to a time before I started writing.
But it wasn’t always like that. Let me take you back to a time before I started writing.
I was fresh out of prison, a minor misunderstanding, no need to get panties in a bunch. It was hard finding work, accommodation, a girlfriend — pretty much everything.
In the free local magazine was an advert “Writers Wanted”. I had never thought of being a writer but hey, anyone can write, right?
I sent in the £50 introductory fee along with an application letter and a short amusing story, and waited for an appointment. It didn’t come.
I phoned the number but kept getting cut off.
It was only a half hour bus ride from where I lived so I went round there.
In the free local magazine was an advert “Writers Wanted”. I had never thought of being a writer but hey, anyone can write, right?
I sent in the £50 introductory fee along with an application letter and a short amusing story, and waited for an appointment. It didn’t come.
I phoned the number but kept getting cut off.
It was only a half hour bus ride from where I lived so I went round there.
Theo’s office, or The Writing Emporium, to use its proper name, was in the front room of a terrace house. Reception consisted of Janice with computer, phone and desk. Theo’s office was behind her, separated by a cubicle divider.
“I want an answer or my money back,” I said in a determined but not threatening fashion. My probation officer always stresses the non-threatening part.
Janice didn’t look like she would feel threatened by anything. “He’s busy,” she said.
I could see Theo from where I was standing. He was browsing something on the internet and sipping a scotch.
“Doesn’t look busy,” I said in a loud voice. Theo furrowed his brow and didn’t engage.
“You can make an appointment,” said Janice.
Huh. Another kiss off, another rejection. This world conspires against me, and I am enraged by it. If this carries on, I shan’t be answerable for my actions.
I made an appointment. Theo didn’t look up as I left.
“I want an answer or my money back,” I said in a determined but not threatening fashion. My probation officer always stresses the non-threatening part.
Janice didn’t look like she would feel threatened by anything. “He’s busy,” she said.
I could see Theo from where I was standing. He was browsing something on the internet and sipping a scotch.
“Doesn’t look busy,” I said in a loud voice. Theo furrowed his brow and didn’t engage.
“You can make an appointment,” said Janice.
Huh. Another kiss off, another rejection. This world conspires against me, and I am enraged by it. If this carries on, I shan’t be answerable for my actions.
I made an appointment. Theo didn’t look up as I left.
Three weeks later, I arrived again, right on time for my meeting. No sign of Theo. Janice explained he had been called away on urgent business; could I come back next week?
We did this for a while. He was never there, always next week or the week after that. I bought a season ticket for the bus ride.
I got to know Janice a bit. A fiftyish woman, still attractive, with a flirty mocking manner that slightly scared me. “He’s great once you get to know him,” she said, emphasizing the word “know” with a little too much meaning.
We did this for a while. He was never there, always next week or the week after that. I bought a season ticket for the bus ride.
I got to know Janice a bit. A fiftyish woman, still attractive, with a flirty mocking manner that slightly scared me. “He’s great once you get to know him,” she said, emphasizing the word “know” with a little too much meaning.
Eventually, I had my big moment. Theo would definitely be in and would definitely see me. This was my chance.
Janice ushered me from one side of the cubicle divider to the other, and I stood in Theo’s office for the first time.
There were lots of books on bookshelves. He sat behind an old tatty leather topped writing desk. Probably a valuable antique, I thought to myself.
There was a laptop and a bottle of Scotch on the desk.
And there in the middle was my admission request. When I sent my £50 payment in, the rules stated to supply a letter and an example of your work. I had spent some time on an amusing story about a dog with three legs.
Janice ushered me from one side of the cubicle divider to the other, and I stood in Theo’s office for the first time.
There were lots of books on bookshelves. He sat behind an old tatty leather topped writing desk. Probably a valuable antique, I thought to myself.
There was a laptop and a bottle of Scotch on the desk.
And there in the middle was my admission request. When I sent my £50 payment in, the rules stated to supply a letter and an example of your work. I had spent some time on an amusing story about a dog with three legs.
Theo regarded me unfavorably. He looked me up and down until I felt quite uncomfortable. The only chair available for me had a cat sitting on it. He read my thoughts. “Don’t touch the cat,” he said. I withdrew my hand and placed it behind my back in a formal way, like a writer might stand contemplating important things. I imagined I was making quite an impression.
He sighed and pushed my dog story around on the desk. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. It was over quickly. A glance, a scrunch, and over the cubicle towards the head of Janice. “You silly man,” she giggled, and with a practiced movement, swept my work into an office bin.
“Is that it?” he said, still looking at me with an expression that is hard to read.
“Well, I, er,” I started. He interrupted. “Well, I ,er. A promising start to your career, I don’t think,” and he poured himself a small drink. He didn’t offer me one and I remained standing.
“The problem with wannabe writers, Mark” he said, “Is that they’re all useless”. He glared at me. “They come in here and expect me to wave some kind of wand. Make their garbage better than it is. They expect me to publish it!”.
Janice was tittering. I caught her eye. Did she nod encouragement?
“I just want a chance,” I said. “I’ll really try”.
There was more banter from Theo’s side and total abject agreement from my side. We agreed I was hopeless, probably a lost cause, my dog story was so bad it was bad, and I would start next week. Theo will take his usual 27% of all future earnings. Sign here.
I signed there. And there, and on the last page. It was a long document. Theo kept the copies for my own security.
He sighed and pushed my dog story around on the desk. “Let’s get this over with,” he said. It was over quickly. A glance, a scrunch, and over the cubicle towards the head of Janice. “You silly man,” she giggled, and with a practiced movement, swept my work into an office bin.
“Is that it?” he said, still looking at me with an expression that is hard to read.
“Well, I, er,” I started. He interrupted. “Well, I ,er. A promising start to your career, I don’t think,” and he poured himself a small drink. He didn’t offer me one and I remained standing.
“The problem with wannabe writers, Mark” he said, “Is that they’re all useless”. He glared at me. “They come in here and expect me to wave some kind of wand. Make their garbage better than it is. They expect me to publish it!”.
Janice was tittering. I caught her eye. Did she nod encouragement?
“I just want a chance,” I said. “I’ll really try”.
There was more banter from Theo’s side and total abject agreement from my side. We agreed I was hopeless, probably a lost cause, my dog story was so bad it was bad, and I would start next week. Theo will take his usual 27% of all future earnings. Sign here.
I signed there. And there, and on the last page. It was a long document. Theo kept the copies for my own security.
On the bus home, I thought about this momentous chance I had been given. How now I would start using words like happenstance in everyday conversation. I thought a lot about Theo.
I like to think he saw something in me he could mold. Perhaps I reminded him of his younger days. Maybe he too had struggled to find a place in the wonderful world of publishing. After leaving some grand University like Oxford, no doubt.
Perhaps he too had no luck with girls, and was lost and broke. Maybe his own run in with the police had set him on the path to greatness.
I imagined myself as a younger Theo, headstrong yes, but with a quiet inner belief that I could reach for the stars.
The bus stopped near my bedsit. Reverie over. But next week we start.
For now I’m a writer.
I like to think he saw something in me he could mold. Perhaps I reminded him of his younger days. Maybe he too had struggled to find a place in the wonderful world of publishing. After leaving some grand University like Oxford, no doubt.
Perhaps he too had no luck with girls, and was lost and broke. Maybe his own run in with the police had set him on the path to greatness.
I imagined myself as a younger Theo, headstrong yes, but with a quiet inner belief that I could reach for the stars.
The bus stopped near my bedsit. Reverie over. But next week we start.
For now I’m a writer.
To continue this journey, I started a writing journal, that means diary, to document my path to success.
It all starts on Day 1: A Writer Starts a Writing Diary.
It all starts on Day 1: A Writer Starts a Writing Diary.