Book Smart

I nearly made it. I did.

You’ll have seen the press releases, if you’re in the business. Let’s face it, no-one else reads the literary supplements… Apart from, well, you know, people like us. I have to declare a lack of interest, here. It’s only fair, if you believe people should declare an interest, surely they should do the opposite. So, just as the latest inclusivity editor to get a three-book deal from Ptarmigan Adventitious House should have that in big letters somewhere in the press release, I really ought to say that I was the bluebird. That mythical thing. The once-in-a-dozen lifetimes over-night sensation.

Not the word-of-mouth dernier cri. No, they are no more real than a roc, a phoenix – oh, wait - or a bluebird.

You’re probably thinking it wasn’t very good, my book. You’ve never heard of it, but you will. I’m surprised you’re reading this, to be honest. I don’t blame you, why read anything? Look at the pictures on your chosen device and swipe left or right, as the mood takes you. That’s enough to make a decision, isn’t it. Be careful though, you might get to a second paragraph, and we all know that’s TLDNR.

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Still here? I bet it was the asterisks. *Bully for you.

I still don’t quite understand how it happened. I put an early version on a writers’ site. Not the biggest, not the smallest, but maybe the best, if not for getting the attention of “the right people”. Someone printed pages and pages of it out. With a dot-matrix printer, I mean, who even still had one in 2009? They read it on a train.

Somebody saw them. Well, everybody in the carriage saw them. Commuters on the Brighton Line. In true Britannic style, they huffed, and puffed, sighed loudly but let the reader get on with it, going so far as to step out of the way as the stream of paper pooled on the floor.

Someone else, probably a North American, asked the reader what he was reading. The reader said the title out loud. The inquisitive North American repeated it. Then they said ‘what the hell is that?’ But it was time to get off at London Bridge. The reader bundled up the paper as best he could and stuffed it in a retro-as school satchel. Victoria was on the train, too.

Victoria worked in the business. Still does, for all I know or care. I think maybe she should have been an investigatory agent, instead. Anyway, Victoria overheard the title – and while she didn’t know what one of the words meant – she knew it was a word. I suppose she thought the reader was probably crazy, but… She was still new to the business, but maybe he wasn’t and … Yeah, let’s tell it like it is, she was naïve.

Anyway, Google was still your admittedly quite slow-on-the-uptake friend in those days. After Victoria got the spelling right, Google Search did the job. When we finally did meet I asked her why she didn’t just Ask Jeeves, but you know, a year is an eon on the internet.

Yeah, no, so, anyway. I’m taking you out of the story. Breaking the fourth wall, you say? Well no, this is a first person POV narrative, there is no fourth wall, there is only this show-and-tell, this magic trick, this story about a story about a novel about a book about a hundred thousand words too long.

So Victoria found the writers’ site you’ve probably never heard of. She sent an e-mail via the contact form. I ignored it. Well? Wouldn’t you? The world is full of publishing scams. We all want to leave something behind. Most of what we leave is what the bears leave in the woods. We know that, deep down, but… I guess there’s always that copy in the British Library. Ever gone to look? I have. Yeah, that’s just… Pathetic.

When I got the second e-mail to my personal e-mail account rather than from the web-site’s cut-out mail-drop link, I was even less convinced. The header did look ‘pukka gen’, very swish and all, the right logo, et cetera. The company wasn’t called Ptarmigan Adventitious House then, of course. The bird looked cute at the top of the page.

I won’t quote the e-mail. It was quite long-winded. I think Victoria had been reading the on-line version of the book. They wanted a manuscript. I did have one. Printed on a whole packet of 75gsm everyday paper that looked a bit yellow already. I’d thought about sending it out, but that’s all I’d ever done, thought about it.

I sent off an e-mail, asking if I should post the manuscript. The reply said I should use something called Dropbox. So I did. It worked. Victoria kept me informed. There were a few rewrites. Not as many as there would be now, naturally. It was three years before the book was ready for publication. There had been “consultation” about the cover. I never saw one. Not until I saw the first squib in the Sunday Times Culture supplement. Victoria had got the spelling right at least. No missing ‘o’ in that word she hadn’t been sure about.

The author’s name was wrong though. It read V.L.Pelzer. Victoria Laura Pelzer. I know what you’re thinking: either he’s mad or – or – something. I’m not mad, in any sense. I get half the royalties. About 100 times more money than if my name had been on the cover. The early version of the book is no longer on that web-site. V.L.Pelzer’s name is on a book in the British Library and still in several hundred book shops, if you care to look. I’m going to ask for a little bit more, when the “movie” comes out. I’ve still got that yellowing manuscript, you see. There must be a way to test the age of paper, I’m counting on it.