Persistent Little Herbert
Christ almighty, Max Herbert is a persistent little sod.
He’s been ringing me constantly for the past three days. Eventually I gave in and answered my phone. Seems he’s picked up on all the ‘heat’ under my book and wanted to talk about representing me, as my agent. Yep, Max Herbert has moved into PR. I laughed. Last I heard, he was teaching David Cameron how to write in L33T. Why should I pay somebody ten per cent of my income just to make a fucking decision for me?
Anyway, he wasn’t going to go away so, to get him off my back, I agreed to a ‘chat’ at his office, today. It was sure to be a waste of time, I thought. Probably a replay of the ‘Weekend On Sunday’ debacle, with me squirming and sweating in my fucking chair while some balding, middle-aged prick fingered a fret-board, talked at me about wine and asked me to ‘whack him some Ashcroft’. It was a risk.
So, I arrived at Max’s office and it was all very impressive. A very nice set-up just off the Pentonville Road. Seems like he has a few ‘names’ on his books. I was quietly surprised, to be honest. The ‘chat’ went pretty well. At least my palms didn’t go clammy and nobody asked my opinion about cars or their wheels. We talked about my next project and I found myself actually imparting my ideas confidently, rather than wishing the ground would swallow me up. Yeah, I think it went alright. And, I have to give Max his dues - he still believes in me and, if he’s as persistent about getting me work as he was about contacting me, well, that has to be positive right? I suppose we’ll have to see how it goes. I haven’t signed anything yet.
On the way out of the office, one of Max’s assistants passed me in the corridor. He passed me his phone number, said I should call him. I threw the number away. I’m not ready for all that yet. It’s...it feels too soon.
The publishers want me to write one of those ‘Acknowledgment’ passages for the book. I wrote and re-wrote it but all the thanks and grovelling sounded like sycophantic bollocks. There’s only one person I want to thank and dedicate my book to.
And no, it's NOT you, Barley.
He’s been ringing me constantly for the past three days. Eventually I gave in and answered my phone. Seems he’s picked up on all the ‘heat’ under my book and wanted to talk about representing me, as my agent. Yep, Max Herbert has moved into PR. I laughed. Last I heard, he was teaching David Cameron how to write in L33T. Why should I pay somebody ten per cent of my income just to make a fucking decision for me?
Anyway, he wasn’t going to go away so, to get him off my back, I agreed to a ‘chat’ at his office, today. It was sure to be a waste of time, I thought. Probably a replay of the ‘Weekend On Sunday’ debacle, with me squirming and sweating in my fucking chair while some balding, middle-aged prick fingered a fret-board, talked at me about wine and asked me to ‘whack him some Ashcroft’. It was a risk.
So, I arrived at Max’s office and it was all very impressive. A very nice set-up just off the Pentonville Road. Seems like he has a few ‘names’ on his books. I was quietly surprised, to be honest. The ‘chat’ went pretty well. At least my palms didn’t go clammy and nobody asked my opinion about cars or their wheels. We talked about my next project and I found myself actually imparting my ideas confidently, rather than wishing the ground would swallow me up. Yeah, I think it went alright. And, I have to give Max his dues - he still believes in me and, if he’s as persistent about getting me work as he was about contacting me, well, that has to be positive right? I suppose we’ll have to see how it goes. I haven’t signed anything yet.
On the way out of the office, one of Max’s assistants passed me in the corridor. He passed me his phone number, said I should call him. I threw the number away. I’m not ready for all that yet. It’s...it feels too soon.
The publishers want me to write one of those ‘Acknowledgment’ passages for the book. I wrote and re-wrote it but all the thanks and grovelling sounded like sycophantic bollocks. There’s only one person I want to thank and dedicate my book to.
And no, it's NOT you, Barley.