One word best describes my journey to Liverpool Street Station: hectic. I was on my scooter again, surrounded by buses, taxis and cyclists. Rush hour was in full swing. I stopped at a junction. A swarm of pedestrians crossed; the city’s workers were heading home.
I knew where I was going. I needed to turn right onto a side street where I could park. I was going to a pub that was opposite an office where I visited Meetup number thirty five; the event that had the talk about the ‘random walk’.
‘Hello, are you Lucy?’ I asked.
Lucy, our host, gave me a smile. I confessed that I had joined at the very last minute and hadn’t paid the fifteen pounds Meetup fee. Lucy said that it was okay, and that we could settle up at the end. I sat down at a table and introduced myself to other members of the group. I sat opposite Amber who had written an eighty five thousand word erotic novel. There was Julie, who had written a science fiction and horror novel, but needed to do lots of editing. On my left was Natalie, who had also written a novel, but was struggling to find the time to do any more writing; she was a full time city lawyer. I confessed to everyone that I was writing some ‘nonsense non-fiction’.
After fifteen minutes of chatter, it was time for our speaker: a professional editor called Sebastian, who used to work for some of the ‘world’s most prestigious publishing houses’. Seb, as we knew him, looked a bit like a hipster. He wore a light tightly fitting sports jacket, a smart tailored shirt, skinny jeans, and a pair of expensive shoes. Seb also sported a hipster beard and what was undoubtedly a very expensive haircut. His slick and tailored appearance made me feel jealous and self-conscious; my Doc Marten Chelsea boots had acquired a hole that had started to let in the winter rain, and the cuff of my winter jumper had started to fray.
The Meetup was all about editing. I quickly learnt that there were four types: structural edits (which are pretty major; where an editor offers you constructive advice), line edits (to change and enhance phrasing), copy editing (which is all about punctuation and grammar), and proof reading.
‘When you get to the proof reading or copy editing stage, you shouldn’t really be making many changes’, explained Seb.
Seb mainly worked on children’s books. He talked through an example of some ‘structural editing advice’ that he gave one of his clients. ‘Although this is structural, sometimes you can’t help but dive into the other levels to suggest changes here and there’, he said, working through an example. His comments were wordy as well as direct; they had a slight literary feel to them.
He returned to one example time and time again: the Harry Potter books and the work of J K Rowling. I don’t like Harry Potter. I’ve tried to read fantasy books before, and I just can’t get into them. I don’t see the point. In fact, I struggle to read any fiction these days. My reasons are simple: there are so many fascinating and interesting things happening in real life that I find it hard to understand why we have to invent even more crazy stories. I do, however, appreciate some of the arguments: through fiction you can express and feel emotion; you can connect and discuss stories with others. I also understand that a novel is vehicle through which you can play with and explore language and I get the point that you can learn about the perspectives of others. You could also make the point that all fiction comes from real life anyway. These things said, I still don’t buy into the dream of wizards who go study magic at a nonsense public school, but there isn’t any denying the fact that J K Rowling struggled for her art and is now stupendously rich.
‘When it comes to writing’ said Seb, ‘a great tip is to show, not tell’. This was a phrase that stuck in my mind. When I was writing about all these events, was I already doing this? Were there instances when I should do more?
It was time for the question and answer session. I looked around. There were now around forty budding novelists in the room. I was struck by the gender difference. Eighty percent of the group were women. One of the questions was: ‘how do I go about finding an editor?’ This led onto a longer discussion about self-publishing, internet shysters, literary agents and the role of luck.
‘What happens if you don’t like what your editor says?’ one writer asked.
Seb had a very good answer: writers need to trust their personal instinct and their inner voice. He made the point that if a publisher has agreed to take you onto their books this means that they are investing in you and your work, and this is an expression of trust. At that point, Seb argued, you should feel able to stand your ground.
At the end of the session, everyone gave Seb a big round of applause. He had done well. He had talked for well over an hour and the feeling in the room suggested that the London Writers’ Café event had been a resounding success. With words of ‘good luck’ and ‘see you again’, the majority of writers climbed out of the pub basement where the event was held, and made their way home.
I caught up with Lucy at the bar. I was surprised to learn that her group was nine years old; one of the oldest groups I had been to. Lucy, however, had been running it for five. She didn’t start the group; she took it over from someone else and had made it her own. Whenever a group loses a leader, or ‘steps down’, someone can ‘step into the breach’, start pay the group fees and take it over. Lucy’s group now had well over three thousand members. With events happening six times a month, she’s clearly onto something. Like Eddie’s ‘fill my weekend’ group, Lucy’s group had become a source of income: her events are there to serve a particular community, but also to make some money too. A side effect of all this is, of course, a great set of contacts and networks.
Before I left I had also found a bit of time to chat with Seb, who had been very busy chatting with many of the other writers. ‘Check out the artists and writers handbook’, he said.
Outside, I donned my high visibility jacket, zipped up my biker’s jacket and put on my helmet. I had learnt some stuff. I had never realised that there were so many people out there who were chasing the dream of becoming published.
I looked at my watch. It was getting late. Thankfully the streets were now a lot quieter. I fired up my scooter’s engine, set off, and immediately got lost around the streets of Aldgate.
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