Where should I put my cocktail sticks?

I’m back. I took to London and survived.

Melodrama aside, Sarah and I have just returned from two fantastic days in the Capital, my head swimming with thoughts and inspiration. We did the touristy thing like any normal Brits, mooching about Oxford Street (where I discovered my trainers weren’t made for walking - ouch!), touring the Tower of London, and visiting the Pixar Exhibition (a bit over-priced guys, but some great touches all the same).
It’s good to visit, as I said in my last blog entry.
It’s even better when the excuse to go in the first place is an event held by Macmillan Publishers to celebrate the launch of their new imprint Macmillan New Writing, that Thursday night - and this is where you’ll have to indulge the following as it will be a little long - perhaps the longest blog entry I’ve done yet.

Before Thursday, I felt a certain trepidation about going. My previous experience of any literary event, be it a convention or just a simple book signing, was a feeling of overwhelming humility in the presence of writers who had actually got published. After all, these were the people I aspired to, and against all odds in some cases, they had achieved it. In the past I have been tongue-tied, nervous, blank-minded, or generally in awe of published writers. So the idea of meeting a bunch of them without mumbling, bumbling and fumbling inarticulately was my worst nightmare. After all, I am meant to be an equal now, with a book coming out from their stable in January - yet it still hadn’t fully sunk in about being published. I remembered the words of wisdom from Annaliese who told me “not to be a wall-flower and go out there!”, and of course, my trusted conscience, supporter and wife, Sarah, who just told me to enjoy myself and not be nervous because these guys are just like me: first time writers, who got the luck and are now published.

We arrived at the do a little early (I didn’t judge the distance too well between our hotel and Macmillan Building, and Sarah was having a nightmare with her shoes - how she didn’t break her ankle is a miracle in itself!). On arrival we were met by the few early birds, chief amongst them Mike Barnard who greeted Sarah and I warmly. He then introduced me to Will Atkins, my new editor - who I have spoken to before on the phone, but like all business relationships, it is great to put a face to the voice. I only managed to speak to Mike briefly before he was whisked off to meet some of the other faces appearing at the doors to the building, and so I chatted to Will about my book, about the event and things for the future. I’ve always been told that one of the best things in a writer’s life is to have a great editor, who is both insightful, talented, and approachable. I reckon I’ve got that with Will, and for a first time novelist to find that quality of support on his first venture is pretty damned lucky.
Will introduced me to Sophie Portas, MNW’s publishing assistant, who like Mike and Will, had also read The Secret War with great interest, and just like Mike and Will, Sophie was very friendly, approachable and made me feel part of a family, something I didn’t expect. I had quickly turned from someone who felt humbled, to one who felt accepted.
And then it began dawning on me.
The revelation started after meeting some of the other writers. The first, Edward Charles (call him Ted if you will, it doesn’t matter because it’s not his complete name, and he’s not used to being addressed as so!) is being published in May “In the Shadow of Lady Jane”, and admitted not being excited about seeing his book in print. It surprised me, because I can’t wait to get my fingers on a bound hardback copy of The Secret War. Edward has a dry sense of humour and I guessed he was secretly excited about it but didn’t want to show it too much. It’s far better to remain cool about these things apparently - though I for one won’t be! Edward and his wife were consistent with the evening thus far, being very friendly, didn’t gush (as authors are wont to do) and thought the whole thing amusing, but not too serious. It was wonderful to meet such unpretentious people.
Next up we met Mary, one of MNW’s readers, again someone who read and enjoyed The Secret War but told me there are a lot of would-be writers out there who are sending MNW their manuscripts and she expects many more to come as MNW takes off. The competition is now so high, that according to Mike Barnard (during his speech) only 1% of writers who submit to MNW will actually get published. I know there’s a lot of you out there who are thinking “bloody hell, odds of 100-1!” but then these are better odds than through any agency, or most publishers. It also dawned on me that I was joining quite a list of hand-picked authors who had gotten this far.
I spoke to one of those authors, Jonathan Drapes (who is published in December with Never Admit to Beige) after the launch speech. To be honest we didn’t talk that much about the writing (after a while, chatting about the mechanics of writing and how your book got to be picked can wear thin) so we talked about Australia (James hails from the same city as my relatives) amongst other things. James and his girlfriend (a lovely couple) have done pretty much what Sarah and I did in reverse - came to England from Oz to travel, thinking of settling down etc. So far they’ve only seen London, York and Merthyr Tydfil, so I’ve tried to persuade them to visit more of the country, including Scotland and Sheffield, and the Peak district. Hopefully, they’ll see more with any signings Jonathan has to attend at the end of the year.
At this point I had drunk a few glasses of wine and had eaten very little (the wine was definitely flowing that evening - the hospitality of Macmillan was impressive), so going against my rickety and self-imposed diet, I decided to eat some entrées, a collection of prawn skewers, oriental rolls and cocktail sausages. The only downside was where to put the sticks!?! Sarah hid one in her handbag, and Jonathan had a bunch of them in his pocket..!
As the night was drawing to a close (two hours was way to short a time to talk to such admirable writers, editors and assistants) Sarah and I purchased a book each (we were on a budget, guys, but we will no doubt be buying the other books when they come out) - Roger Morris’ Taking Comfort for Sarah, and I liked the look of Conor Corderoy’s Dark Rain. We managed to collar Conor to sign it for me, and spent the last fifteen minutes of the event chatting about writing, the “gatekeeper system” imposed by literary agents, Dark Rain, Conor’s next three books and my book also. Sarah and Conor’s wife chatted to the side and she gushed about the whole writing process, her enthusiasm was infectious. By the time we had stopped talking, and Conor and the Corderoy family were going home, we realised we were two of the last remaining guests. I managed to drag back Roger Morris from exiting the building, and he signed the book and managed a couple of minutes chat before dashing off to a prior engagement.

It would have been great to chat to Roger some more, as it would have Michael Stephen Fuchs, writer of The Manuscript, also out this month. I’d hoped that Michael would join us afterwards for a drink (of all the writers there, Michael, and also Samantha Grosser, were the ones closer to my age who would have been able to give me some perspective on the whole getting-published thing) but it wasn’t meant to be. Hopefully I’ll get another chance to chat to him in the coming months and get a signed copy of his book.
Thinking the evening was drawing to a close, and being newbies to King’s Cross, we asked Will for tips on decent restaurants nearby. What I didn’t expect was to be invited out with Will, Sophie, Sophie’s boyfriend Phil and the bookseller from Goldsboro Bookshop, David Headley. We ended up in an Italian somewhere in Angel where we drank wine and beer, had a bite to eat to soak up some of the free-flowing wine from before - and chatted about everything from the state of the publishing industry, tax-laws on royalties (my thanks to Phil, though admittedly, he baffled me), and whether or not writing should be entertainment or art. We even got onto the subject of the Da Vinci Code, and whether or not it was crap. I think, after a little debating, the opinions were divided (I’ll go into more of the different issues of the night through later blogs, particularly the great “agents” debate).

It was a fantastic end to an evening that had surpassed my expectations, and by the close, I promised Will and Sophie that we would return to London in the summer to talk more about my book and the marketing side of things. My head was spinning from a mixture of wine, the new friends we’d made and the dawning that I was now one of those people I aspired to - one of those people I would mumble, bumble and fumble to so inarticulately. For now I can say with conviction: “I am Matt Curran, and I am a writer”.