How to be taken seriously as a writer of romantic fiction …
Now far be it from me to poo-poo advice from my publisher, Idle Tom. He’s a guy who knows what he’s at; who’s had a few hits under his belt; who knows just what it’s going to take to turn a mediocre book like The Well-Tempered Clavier into a bestseller.
But still … there are limits.
And this time I think the blighter has really gone too far. And I write this not from vanity or personal pride, but just because there comes a time in an author’s life when he finally has to draw a line in the sand. A time, that is, when he has to say to his stripling publisher: I ain’t doin’ that.
"Bill," he said during our afternoon conference. "May I say something?"
"No. No you may not." (Always say to this to someone who asks if they "may say something". Believe you me, they’ll still just up and say it anyway.)
Floored for him a couple of seconds, which was good, but he still upped and said what he had to say: "Well, I’ve been meaning to say this for some time actually, but …"
"Yes?"
"You’re looking a bit saggy."
"Saggy? As in saggy round my gut? Got a bit of a spare tyre have I?"
"What I’m saying, Bill, is that if you want to be taken seriously as a writer of romantic fiction, then you’ve got to shape up. You’ve got to realise, Bill, that the bulk of your readers are going to be women. An author’s looks are important."
"Is that so, Tommy? And what exactly are you suggesting?"
"Well your eyes, for a start. You look like you’ve got a couple of saddle-bags there. And your skin’s a bit pasty. It’s almost waxy. You know what?"
"What?"
"I think you’re drinking too much. Take that video of yours. A lovely video. But you go and ruin it by going out on the lash the night before. And what about those pix you’ve just had done for the newspaper? You had more than a week’s notice - and all it required was a nice 15-minute photo session. And what did you do?"
"What did I do?"
"The night before you soused yourself on another bottle of red wine."
"That’s what I do every night."
"Look, Bill, I think we’ve got two options here. Either you lay off the booze, or - "
"I wear a bag over my head?"
"You’ve got to start thinking about plastic surgery. Those bags under your eyes! They’re just revolting!"
"Well thanks for that vote of confidence, Tommy."
"No problem. Oh, and one other thing, while you’re at it have you ever thought about updating your wardrobe?"
"Hey! Is this the reason why you didn’t include a picture of me in the book?"
Moi. Pasty-faced? Saddle-bag eyes? Is that a wine-bottle I see before me?