Lunch, and other matters
Apr. 16th, 2010 01:29 pmOblige me by imagining this:
Slices of polenta, fried golden-crisp on the outside, meltingly soft within;
topped with a duxelles of mushrooms, carrots and shallots, enlivened with garlic and balsamic vinegar and perhaps a hint of chipotle;
topped with an egg fried over so easy it's practically louche;
topped with shavings of grana padano.
Alas, you have only to imagine it; I myself, I have to eat it...
But! Just to dispersuade you of the notion that a writer's life is all luxury and unct, here is today's Tale of Publishing, or rather unPublishing:
I wrote a book. We sent it to my favourite UK editor. She loved it. She took it to her committee, with a strong recommendation to publish. They said, "No, no: this is a genre we do not publish. We have no list for this."
Years pass. They hire a new editor, whose brief is exactly to build a list in that genre. We send him the book. He loves it. He takes it to the committee, with a strong recommendation to publish. They say, "No, no: we have refused this book already, take it away, send it back."
If there be a universe in which this makes sense, it is I think not one that I inhabit.
No matter, never mind. I was going to tell you something else, but I misremember it; so I pause only to mention that I will be interviewing the wonderful Kari Sperring next Wednesday at the BSFA meeting in London (as an inadequate stand-in for
tamaranth, who is indisposed), and signing at Forbidden Planet next day - 5.00pm-7.00pm - with a host of fellow writers from the new NewCon anthology, "The Bitten Word". Vampire stories! How can you not be there, and there too?
Slices of polenta, fried golden-crisp on the outside, meltingly soft within;
topped with a duxelles of mushrooms, carrots and shallots, enlivened with garlic and balsamic vinegar and perhaps a hint of chipotle;
topped with an egg fried over so easy it's practically louche;
topped with shavings of grana padano.
Alas, you have only to imagine it; I myself, I have to eat it...
But! Just to dispersuade you of the notion that a writer's life is all luxury and unct, here is today's Tale of Publishing, or rather unPublishing:
I wrote a book. We sent it to my favourite UK editor. She loved it. She took it to her committee, with a strong recommendation to publish. They said, "No, no: this is a genre we do not publish. We have no list for this."
Years pass. They hire a new editor, whose brief is exactly to build a list in that genre. We send him the book. He loves it. He takes it to the committee, with a strong recommendation to publish. They say, "No, no: we have refused this book already, take it away, send it back."
If there be a universe in which this makes sense, it is I think not one that I inhabit.
No matter, never mind. I was going to tell you something else, but I misremember it; so I pause only to mention that I will be interviewing the wonderful Kari Sperring next Wednesday at the BSFA meeting in London (as an inadequate stand-in for
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