Ah, lunch with your editor – that time honoured tradition. Starve yourself for three days in advance, drink nothing but mineral water in the run-up, and then, when you’re actually in the restaurant, order lobster. That is the sacred tradition as passed down from mother to daughter through my family and, I suspect, through all connections of all literary folk everywhere.
My father, after 35 years in publishing, now boasts a paunch which he himself describes two ways – firstly, as a hazard to shipping, which I’d say is fair enough, and secondly as an industrial injury from 35 years of expense-account fuelled wining and dining with authors.
The problem, he’d often say, is that the authors you most like dining with, tend not to be the ones who demand the greatest attention. Bestsellers have to be kept buttered up, and there is a temptation among the truly successful scribblers of this world to order the most expensive meal on the menu, not because they particularly enjoy it, but because ‘they’ve earnt it’. Lunch, you see, is a sign of respect in a profession where actually, it can be quite hard to work out if you’re appreciated or not. Sure, you get occasional sales figures, but does these incomprehensible forests of numbers really mean anything to anyone other than the accounts department? You might get fan mail (and huge thanks to anyone who has ever boosted my ego in this regard) and immediately the soul is lifted with a sense that your job truly is worthwhile – but generally the writer’s life is a rather lonely one, spent sat in front of a keyboard day after day wondering ‘is it good enough?’ The time-honoured tradition of a publisher’s lunch is the moment in which your editor sits down, looks across the (preferably candle-lit) table, perhaps lays a single, clammy paw onto yours and whispers, ‘You’re worth it’.
For my part, I both love and dread the publishing lunch. I love it because my instinct, even after all these years of being a graduate (well, I say that – after one year of being a graduate) is never to turn down free food. I love it because often enough this is an excuse to sit down with people who are every bit as nerdy as I am, and flap and get excited about mutual interests. The last time I had lunch with my agent, I was a little bit giddy having just donated blood on the hottest day of the year and, having sat up a little too fast, immediately fainted again. (I hasten to add, I have never fainted before in my life and, did I mention, the hottest day of the year?) My agent shuffled me across the street from the donor centre, sat me down in the coolest, darkest place she could find, and plied me with tapas while I waffled inanely about things to write and the pretty pictures in my head, and she took scarily immaculate notes with a silver pencil and updated me on the adventures of her cat. What my Mum would describe as a ‘high level exchange of business intelligence’ is, usually, an excuse to catch up on what TV we’ve watched and how much we both want holidays.
There are, however, a few downsides of lunch. Because I don’t very often see my editors, whenever I am contacted by them with the suggestion ‘let’s meet’, especially if this immediately follows a book submission, the suspicion dawns behind my mind that this is it. This is the polite let-down meal, the kindly sorry-not-for-us dish of humous, the ever-so-friendly ‘I can see what you’re trying to achieve but I don’t think it quite works’ and so the sacred institution of being hand-held and told how important I am becomes a little bit tarnished by the overwhelming concern that commercial reality might impinge on an otherwise entirely pleasant meal.
I am also, to my Dad’s great disappointment, a failure in terms of my authorial responsibilities. The one time I tried lobster (cautiously, in Canada) I wasn’t particularly impressed. I tend not to have room for a starter, and a main course, and a pudding, and being annoyingly tee-total I’m unable to casually order the most expensive drink on the menu. In fact… I like Thai food, let’s face it, and while I’m sure there are posh Thai restaurants in London, my favourite ever restaurant has a handy £7 lunch menu for two courses and really, I don’t need that much choice because all Thai food is amazing Thai food so really, all things considered, I’m letting down the side a bit.
All that said… I am writing this entry with about four and a half hours to go before I do indeed have Lunch With My Editor. This is the first time I’ve ever had lunch, in fact, with this particular editor, and while she seems lovely in every respect I am aware that this is a unique opportunity to paint myself as the demanding, tyrannical, monstrous wannabe-bestseller that every author nurtures deep down within their soul. The question is… can I make it to lunch without having any breakfast?
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