THE SUNDAY SNAP

A snap from the book factory and a heads up about a TV show filming diary

Quite a few years ago a stranger sent me an email inviting me to lunch. It felt like a trap. Come to the private room at [famously fancy London restaurant], he said. There will be great food and limitless Dom Pérignon, and ten or so other authors. There’s no catch. It’ll all be paid for. Just bring a copy of your own book, signed, to donate to a charity raffle.

I wrote back. This sounds like a trap, I said. But I accept your invitation. Great, replied the stranger. I look forward to us meeting. It still seemed quite weird. But I thought little more about it until the day of the lunch arrived.

It wasn’t a trap. It was exactly as promised. A table of seriously talented writers. Storming wine. I sat next to the guest of honour, Edna O’Brien, and swooned. We ate and drank and jabbered until the afternoon grew long. A few of us were still going at 7pm, having repaired to The Ritz to drink champagne. It might just have been Paris in the 1920s, if you squinted.

The stranger’s name was Philip Kerr. If you read historical fiction you might well know his name. Phil had written dozens of very successful books, including the Bernie Gunther/Berlin Noir series. He also wrote screenplays for Hollywood, and judging by the size of the lunch bill, he made a lot of dough. He was charming company: witty, with a glint in his eye. We got along. And when I asked him why he was giving this extravagant lunch - in fact, it was to be a series of lunches - he told me a story that stuck in my mind, and which I have repeated many times since.

Phil had just written a new novel. I think he said it was his eighteenth. Something like that. Point is, it was a big number. And you know, he said, when the first copy of that novel dropped onto my doormat, fresh from the factory, I felt nothing. Nada. Nowt. All the pride and excitement and fear that is supposed to come with seeing your book between covers for the first time - unalterable and ready for judgment by critics and readers - that was gone.

Which was no good. So Phil said he was organising big lunches with big writers as a way of falling back in love with the literary life. Every time I go to the restaurant I look up at the private room in the corner and wonder if it worked for him. Whether he ever got his mojo back. It would be nice to ask him. But after that day I only saw him once more, very briefly, at a book festival. Soon after that I heard he had cancer. And then I heard he was dead.

I’m telling you all this because I think about it all the time, but never more so than when I publish a new book. The first copy arrives from the factory, couriered in a Jiffy bag, and I ask myself: are you still living for this? Are you still in love? So far the answer is yes. But I always worry about what I’ll do if there’s ever a day when I think: no.

A new book, hot off the press

I’ve had two Jiffy bags in the last month. The first contained a copy of A Woman’s World, the third book I’ve written in collaboration with the brilliant digital colourist Marina Amaral. A Woman’s World is out now, it’s getting nice reviews, and it looks as gorgeous as its siblings The Colour of Time and The World Aflame. You can get it from all good booksellers, right now.

The second Jiffy bag contained the first copy of Essex Dogs, my own foray into historical fiction. I’ve been eaten up by nerves about it for months. So I’m happy to report that receiving it was absolutely terrifying in all the right ways. Even more so because I actually went to the book factory to pick it up. And there I was confronted not by one, but by 3,500 copies, fresh from the big book printing machine. I didn’t take them all home. But I did sign them all. (You can pre-order these signed copies now, from WH Smith or The Broken Binding. Pre-orders really, really help authors, so consider it if you can.)

Taking receipt of both of those books felt like it’s supposed to feel. They - and I -passed the Kerr test. That’s a relief. And I guess the thing to do is to carry on writing. And keep on remembering what a blessed life it is to do this, and to have so many people like you who take enough of an interest to buy the books, read them, recommend them, and come back year after year for more.

I never take it for granted.

Enjoy what’s left of the weekend. I’ll speak to you soon.

Dan x

PS first thing tomorrow I’m taking the Eurostar from London to Paris. I’m going to spend the next ten days making a documentary film about the real history behind Essex Dogs: Edward III’s invasion of northern France in 1346, which led to the battle of Crécy. While we’re making the film I thought I might write a series of behind the scenes/filming diary posts. I’ll probably make the first couple free to everyone, then the rest exclusively for paid subscribers. If you want to get them all, just click the button.