O
Octopus Messiah
Guest
First, please enjoy a representative picture of the Olive dog:
Yesterday I went to the London Book Fair (working motto: we put the industry in the publishing industry).
Tickets were £50 at the door but you get one as a perk for being a member of Byte the Book, which is kind of like the colony, only in person. Writers, authors, creatives, media pros. Good people. They had a meet and greet on the second floor author's corner, way at the back, which had wine and-- wait for it-- schmoozing bingo (nice touch, Justine).
I went to LBF to hunt for canapés. And guests for LAD.
The entire Olympia Conference Center-- both halls-- were rammed with book-encrusted publishers' stalls, all with little desks for meetings (appointment recommended, see below). Big houses at the front, the Association of Croatian Authors at the back. My badge identified me as an author/podcaster/primate, the latter because I thought it was important for people to know I could eat the **** out of a banana.
Overwhelmed, I collapsed into a chair opposite, I think, the Indian rights negotiator for Random House. I asked her to please explain the fair. She asked me if I had an appointment. Awkward!
LBF is almost entirely centered on the buying and selling of book rights across the world. There weren't even PR people there (@AgentPete would have told me all this if I had asked-- he luuurrrrrves this type of thing).
On learning this, my objective changed immediately to securing a lanyard for my badge because there was no way I was putting a pin through my new jacket. I'd got it at a charity shop a couple weeks ago and it doesn't need any more holes, thank you. Success on this front after light pilfer from (insert publisher's name here).
Next: a couple hours blundering into cheerful rights negotiators, learning over and over I was in the wrong place. Some of them, however, knew PR people so I did manage to collect some promising e-mails. Then I snuck into Hachette's (?) private members' lounge, snaffled some free coffee and overlooked the massive, teeming hall: all these stalls, all these people, all this wheeling and dealing, paper, paperwork, intensity...
And okay, the commercial/corporate atmosphere was a bit demoralizing but it also gave me hope.
This entire enterprise was built around STORIES, AUTHORS and, most importantly, READERS. Even in the digital age, people are still reading enough to support this whole building.
And okay, there are gate guardians (which appear to be growing bigger fangs) but aren't there in every heroic journey?
Then I noticed an elderly gentleman wearing a rubber goose foot-- painted silver with teal toenails-- around his neck instead of a badge. I accosted him immediately: "Explain yourself, old man!"
Dude had written a book on the Neolithic people of Orkney being united by the migratory patterns of, you guessed it, geese. Skara. He said it was slated to be turned into an opera.
Finally, I had my guest.
There were no canapés to speak of.
(the LBF runs until tomorrow night. Attend at your peril)
Yesterday I went to the London Book Fair (working motto: we put the industry in the publishing industry).
Tickets were £50 at the door but you get one as a perk for being a member of Byte the Book, which is kind of like the colony, only in person. Writers, authors, creatives, media pros. Good people. They had a meet and greet on the second floor author's corner, way at the back, which had wine and-- wait for it-- schmoozing bingo (nice touch, Justine).
I went to LBF to hunt for canapés. And guests for LAD.
The entire Olympia Conference Center-- both halls-- were rammed with book-encrusted publishers' stalls, all with little desks for meetings (appointment recommended, see below). Big houses at the front, the Association of Croatian Authors at the back. My badge identified me as an author/podcaster/primate, the latter because I thought it was important for people to know I could eat the **** out of a banana.
Overwhelmed, I collapsed into a chair opposite, I think, the Indian rights negotiator for Random House. I asked her to please explain the fair. She asked me if I had an appointment. Awkward!
LBF is almost entirely centered on the buying and selling of book rights across the world. There weren't even PR people there (@AgentPete would have told me all this if I had asked-- he luuurrrrrves this type of thing).
On learning this, my objective changed immediately to securing a lanyard for my badge because there was no way I was putting a pin through my new jacket. I'd got it at a charity shop a couple weeks ago and it doesn't need any more holes, thank you. Success on this front after light pilfer from (insert publisher's name here).
Next: a couple hours blundering into cheerful rights negotiators, learning over and over I was in the wrong place. Some of them, however, knew PR people so I did manage to collect some promising e-mails. Then I snuck into Hachette's (?) private members' lounge, snaffled some free coffee and overlooked the massive, teeming hall: all these stalls, all these people, all this wheeling and dealing, paper, paperwork, intensity...
And okay, the commercial/corporate atmosphere was a bit demoralizing but it also gave me hope.
This entire enterprise was built around STORIES, AUTHORS and, most importantly, READERS. Even in the digital age, people are still reading enough to support this whole building.
And okay, there are gate guardians (which appear to be growing bigger fangs) but aren't there in every heroic journey?
Then I noticed an elderly gentleman wearing a rubber goose foot-- painted silver with teal toenails-- around his neck instead of a badge. I accosted him immediately: "Explain yourself, old man!"
Dude had written a book on the Neolithic people of Orkney being united by the migratory patterns of, you guessed it, geese. Skara. He said it was slated to be turned into an opera.
Finally, I had my guest.
There were no canapés to speak of.
(the LBF runs until tomorrow night. Attend at your peril)
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