I ask this repeatedly as Mavis and Pauline enter the conference room, more to hide my terror than anything.
They look at each other wearily, and sit down opposite me. Pauline holds her hand up, cutting me off. “Christopher, it is a possibility at this stage, but you really must stop obsessing about it. It’s not healthy.”
I watch them carefully. They don’t make any sudden moves. Mavis looks almost upset. “You’ve been saying some unkind and untruthful things about us. And while we can take a little ribbing, we are also busy people and we have other people to see today. So perhaps you could stop the fooling around and be sensible for a few minutes.”
Perhaps she is being genuine. I study them and have to admit they aren’t the demons I remember. Ugly, certainly, but not demonic. I sit up. “Something strange definitely happened last time.”
Mavis sighs. “Writers and their imaginations. Exaggeration is fine, but, well…”
“It’s not as if widespread damage was done,” Pauline says and they smile.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it was only on your blog. And that hasn’t exactly been a huge publicity tool, has it?”
“It’s done alright.”
“How many people does it reach?”
“If it hasn’t done that well, then surely as publicists, you should take responsibility. Have you been advertising it?”
“Not since you called us hideous old crones,” Mavis snaps. “The whole thing is too negative.”
“You see, this is part of our problem,” Pauline says. “You need to be nice to people. Nice to booksellers and librarians. Nice to the book buyers. Nice to interviewers. At least until people want you, we need to convince them that selling your book is worthwhile.”
“But I hate everyone,” I whine.
Mavis looks at Pauline. “Perhaps we should send him on a media awareness course.”
“Ooh, no, that would make things even worse.”
“You’re right.” She looks at me again. “The best thing we can do is keep you away from everyone. Which makes it terribly difficult for us to sell you. We could suggest to a newspaper a few articles you could write based on your experiences that led you to write the book.”
“Except,” Pauline says, “It’s a book about cyborgs and laser guns.”
“Hey, it deals with a lot of family issues.”
“It doesn’t say that on our summary sheets.”
“You have read the book, haven’t you?” They look down at their hands. “This is unbelievable! How can you sell a book you haven’t read?”
“Be realistic, Christopher. Have you at least filled out our author questionnaire?”
“Yes,” I say, and hand it to Mavis.
Pauline fills the silence. “You’ll definitely be on Amazon.”
“I could photocopy the manuscript and get it on Amazon myself,” I say. “They sell anything.”
“Still…it’s something.”
Mavis looks up from her sheet. “This is supposed to be something about you we can sell to journalists.” I nod. “Have you ever done anything interesting in your life?”
“It’s all there. I went to LA that time.”
“That was three weeks ago. And going round Ripley’s Believe It Or Not museum is not going to excite anyone.”
“There’s that story about getting a blowjob from Gentle Ben.”
“How does that relate to your book?”
“I don’t know.” I bury my head in my hands. “I just like watching DVDs and listening to music.”
“Make something up for Christ’s sake,” Pauline shouts.
“I’ll do better,” I promise.
“You’ll be in the autumn catalogues in a month or two. We need something good by then.”
“In the mean time,” Mavis says, “We’ve booked your first appearance for October, a week after the book comes out.”
“What is it?”
“It’s at the…” She checks her notes. “The Science Fiction and Fantasy Northern Conference.”
“Northern?”
“Northeast, actually. In
“A weekend? These people are freaks. They dress up as characters and talk in Klingon. They’ve become so expertly nerdish they have long since abandoned any pretence of being accepted by a normal society and have embraced the world of geekdom so intensely that they openly, even loudly, discuss their lack of lives and are far happier for having done so.”
“This is your fan base. You’ve written a fucking sci-fi book.”
“Maybe some of them will be dressed up as your cyborgs,” Pauline suggests.
“Will I get a free hotel room?”
“And travel.”
“I’ll do it. But I demand security.”
“I’ll get on that,” Pauline says, and puts her notes down. “Now, is there anything else in your life you’d like to talk about?”
“Oh no you don’t,” I say, and escape into unexpected sunlight.
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