Salt Office Life

Let Her Eat Cake

Fri, 26 Sep 2008 08:14:54 -0700

Every now and again I'm caught short about the fact that I'm no longer as young as I used to be. I say that as a sprightly 41-year old; hardly getting on. But today I stood on the scales and discovered that since we moved into the office, cycling for 30 mins+ every day into the wind, as well as walking the dog most days (I'm getting Son 1 to do this sometimes - he wants a computer game and this is the best way of getting those vital merit marks, is it not), I have managed, somewhat amazingly, to put on 4 pounds. Four pounds, I ask you! How did that happen?

I blame two things: the hospitality of the good people of Cork and, er, being in my 40s. Now, that final excuse is rather lame, I know, and it wouldn't have occurred to me had it not been for Tom, our Salt helper who's doing wonders at getting us sorted out (ie making that all important shift away from empty cupboards and full boxes).

This morning I suggested to Tom that he might just want to nip over to the Co-op and grab some cake, to go with our cup of tea, since it's Friday and all. He came back with a cake and made some tea and then said to me:

'How much cake would you like, Jen -- just a little piece?'
Huh? 'Nope, I don't do little pieces of cake -- I'll have a quarter, please.'
'Oh right, it's just that my mum always says "Just a little piece for me"'

Oh my Good God! Not only did I feel like a complete greedy pig, but also old enough to be his mum (which I easily am, but that's beside the point). And his mum is really slim. Perhaps there's a lesson to be learnt here!

That's a picture I took on my way into work -- old gravestones. Hmm.

tags: cake

Sorting orders and prizes

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 12:33:01 -0700

Up at 5.50 a.m. lap top open and start marketing, before realising that I was bleeding shattered, so go back to sleep listening to my hero, Evan Davis on the Today programme. Wake at 6.50 and start work proper. Another 350 emails in, orders, prize entries, queries on orders, queries on queries on orders. Catch up with John Wilkinson on recent news and gossip.

7:22 Kate Fagan writes to me about pigeons.

No sign of life on Skype so have to consider food. Hmm, sausage, egg and bacon. Life post-Veggie is rich. Start chomping and then change of shirt, wash hair quick shave and bleed, then on to cycle and off to Fulbourn.

9.00 a.m. start preparing the prize submissions for the T.S. Eliot prize, and sort orders for the distributor, Gardners Books, to go by DHL.

9:39 Cat Ruiz needs books fast. The Web shop isn't working.

It is now 11.39 a.m. and I've still not finished. I need to get on to some production or will miss more deadlines. I need to sort first proofs for Richard Berengarten and final proofs for Jane Hoilland, Julia Bird and Anthony Joseph (Anthony's sent me an entire fresh manuscript at 2nd proofs) and finish work on the central play section in Marion May Campbell's book.

It's nearly lunch time. The milk has gone sour in the fridge. Yeauch.

More later ...

11:55 and I've only just worked out how DHL's online booking works. I am really really dumb.

Sue Hubbard rings (does she really ring me every day?) She needs to talk to Jen, I tell her she's on vacation till Thursday. Sue needs to talk to Jen on Thursday. Rothko's Red is going well. Needs to sort the launch. I need to sort her next text proofs.

12.10 Catch up with Will Carr.

DHL arrives to gather up orders. T.S. Eliot prize entries weigh about the same as a small elephant. DHL man struggles down flight of stairs, considering suing for spinal injury.

13:54 Steve Earnshaw writes about Archie Markham's memorial. I am suddenly, sharply brought down to earth. Plonk.

14:26 Fred is very happy to consider my offer. I am very, very happy, as Fred is utterly fantastic.

14:49 Foyles contact me stating that it's important to support Salt. They're going to order more books. Sudden headache emerges after bouncing off ceiling with joy.

15:21 and I've just finalised first proofs Richard Berengarten's In a Time of Drought.

Having said that, there are half a dozen instances where I cannot capture the Cyrillic characters properly, and there's some noise coming into the manuscript from translating PC to Mac. Three hours of minute single character font changes in the endnotes, and footnotes to the endnotes. I'm going screen blind! Great book though, and an etymologist's delight.

Phone call comes in querying The Crashaw Prize.

Phone call comes in trying to order John Burnside and Andy Brown's Goose Music. I have to divert to update the Web site with revised pub date and check with the printer about delivery.

Ring Willem at Gardners about new orders of Katy Evans-Bush and Kosovel. They're increasing the orders. Katy's book is selling well. Slovenian launch to plan in London in the autumn. Willem is not too happy we are going on holiday next week.

15:40 John Skelton rings to say he's had a hard drive meltdown and if I had written anything on our last meeting with the Arts Council or if something had gone wrong about our last meeting with the Arts Council, could I resend this and and he'll catch up after his hols. Nothing has gone wrong. All is well.

16:14 get Julia's text proofs out to her.

16:26 get Julia's cover revises out.

16:30 Cat Ruiz gets her order sorted and Ingrams start work in LaVergne.

16:37 Queries in on royalties (shockingly late). Dash off to the accounts software to check.

16:48 Wondering about food. Do I eat in the office or eat at home.

17:01 Start reading submissions.

17:15 Janet rings from the US about the Native American list

17:30 Get off the phone and finish reading a submission. Not quite for us.

18:26 I am eating Chicken satay, to be followed by duck in black bean sauce.

18:52 Anna Lewis is starting a new Web site dedicated to promoting short stories http://www.completelynovel.com She'd like our autors to get involved.

18:54 A very unhappy customer contacts me about a late book. It's a Stride title, and Rupert has closed his list. Yikes.

19:09 I cannot seem to work up a head of steam. Maybe it's time to call it a day ...

19:17 Get Jane's proofs out. That's me done in ...

19:33 Just run through the sales report from Gardners, it's not good news. We're down �2,000 on last year. Can I do �2,000 in three days. Not on your nelly. No wages again this month. Bother.

20:09 (My time) Queries in about the closing date of the Crashaw Prize. Denis Joe is sorted. I'm knocking back some decent Frascati.

21:45: Connect on Skype and chat with Andrew about East and West Scotland while watching Dragon's Den (a favourite programme) is this or isn't this a possessive, I ask querying a post - well, it was right in the first place. And we leave discussions on pakora and red sauce in George Square. There you go, That's my day. I finish the Frascati and chomp through the remaining Cadbury's Snaps. Good for the diet.

22:34 Connect with Jen on Skype, but she wants to chat at 23:00.

00:04 Skype Jen and discover she's coming back today. Talk through sales and the upset customer.

00:50 Bed.

tags: daily diary

Saturday in the Office

Sat, 26 Jul 2008 10:03:24 -0700

Well, the day started at 5.50 a.m. again, so I got the bedroom laptop out and starting marketing. there's something rather conducive to Web marketing early in the morning. But before long I was ready for coffee and wanted to get moving on Tom Raworth's new Salt title, a reissue of his prose. So up, shave and on my bike to Fulbourn.

Caught up with Jen on Skype and made sure everyone was fine up in Glasgow.

Caught up with Fiona Robyn, too. Who is being published by Emma Barnes at the wonderful Snowbooks. Fiona refers to me as Mr. Salt which is rather odd, like I'm a, er, pillar of said condiment. We talk about The Shining, which I watched on More4 last night drinking Orvieto, and was left staring into the dark while the empty house creaked. But no voices, thank god.

Finally, I sort out first proofs out of Tom Raworth's collected prose (which took me the best part of a day to complete). Called "Earn your Milk" it's a fantastic little book. Which reminds me to sort the contract, questionnaire and Web site out. Get ready, Tom, I need some information from you!

Dashed over to the Co-Op for an "All-Day Breakfast" sarnie and some Pringles and Coke. Munch through it all whilst checking the italics in Tom's book. Arse has turned numb.

Next up, some ecological excoriation. John Wilkinson's dark little masterpiece, "Down to Earth" goes to press. http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/9781844714629.htm

Move on to Geraldine Monk's final revises to "Ghost & Other", get the text and cover out, but don't quite manage to update the Web site. Must sort that tonight. http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/9781844714933.htm

After that, I grab some more coffee and heat it up in the shiny microwave that I don't yet understand. Tim Atkins beautiful "Folklore" goes to press and I'm left staring into space over the jacket. I upload his Web site and sort the databases out to finally list this book for Waterstone's and Borders. http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/9781844714193.htm

New (and extremely good) photos came in for Mark Waldron's wonderful debut collection, "The Brand New Dark". I chat to Mark about the book but he goes offline before I can confirm who has actually taken the shots. I upload one all the same http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/9781844713448.htm

Managed to get Janet Fisher's podcast uploaded, too. Check out "Brittle Bones" http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/9781844714025.htm

It's 17.48 and I think I'll go grab a pizza from Sawo's and come back to the office for a bit more work. Arse is now so numb I fear I shan't be able to walk to the fast food place.

Sore bum means no pizza

Tomorrow is definitely, definitely, Richard Burns day.

tags: weekend working

A Nightmare on High Street? Well, Hardly ...

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 05:17:40 -0700

We�re almost in ...

tags: Salt offices, fulbourn, getting your life back

The Recent Pathology of Poetry

Fri, 30 May 2008 12:12:40 -0700

The Recent Pathology of Poetry

A message to Our Readers

We are emerging from a period when published poetry has been the well-managed art of an isolated and notoriously small elite into a more expansive and deregulated market focused outwards towards its audience. Poetry (capital P) is, thank goodness, the product of its readerships and not its producers. In the recent past the art has divorced itself from greater dialogue with its audiences, and divorced itself from other cultural outputs: fiction, film and the visual arts, music and theatre (and thus much of our social experience) and the readership has largely reflected this split, shrinking in number until most events were attended only by the performer and an entourage of two (caretaker and administrator). Maybe innovation is always communal, but the renaissance in British poetry is certainly arising from poets reengaging with their communities, other art (and culture generally), and the resulting collisions of place, time and sensibility, politics and history are rewarding new readers. Poetry is sexy once again.

Poetry readings have begun to step out from the sour function rooms of dilapidated pubs and it�s not unusual to find ticketed and promoted tours in theatres near you. What is most striking is the resurgence of young people, and especially young men, now reading poetry. 70% of my own direct poetry sales are (surprisingly) to men. Whether it be genre-busting Black surrealist sci-fi mash-ups, dubstep urban neo-ranting, pop culture commentary or hirsute political invective mixed with humour and panache, there are simply scores of new voices and poetry movements emerging in England, Scotland and Wales.

However, the explosion of new poetry has left the critical community with a problem. First, the discontinuity of new talent with the traditional management of the old has left a critical vacuum. Who is capable of reviewing and making sense of this explosion of talent and the new audiences paying for it all? Poetry is a world defined by the paucity of its resources, and much effort has admittedly gone into constraining reception and not broadening it. Most people spend time keeping poets out, not letting them in. The new under-40s audiences are adrift from the industry�s usual forms of consumer control. Deregulation is creating new space and new boundaries for practice and consumption. Second, the sheer momentum of changing readerships and taste is creating an expansion of practices (schools perhaps) each synchronously but separately flourishing, though few young critics have emerged from within each community; we need a new generation of critics and new spaces on the Web to make sense of the art in this century. Third, a great deal of the new talent is emerging as a result of two new forces, the growth of and investment in creative writing industries (both academic and publicly funded NGOs) and the growth of the Web as a tool for organizing events, collaboration, exchange, publicity and marketing.

Despite a diminished presence in bookstores and depleted interest in the book trade, poetry readerships have, like some rebel alliance, regrouped in the vast ocean of the World Wide Web. I say this with some trepidation as the Web also provides an unparalleled torrent of bad verse for readers, spewing out from the burgeoning ranks of amateurs and the seemingly endless zombie hordes of poetry's unread. However, serious writers have found this new medium truly liberating, and when used effectively (for which read virally) it has led in part to an explosion of new readerships.

Social networking, high quality performances and tours, Webzines, bulletin boards, listservs, online publishers and publishers online, readers and writers and what can feel like an entire culture management industry, are increasingly converging through the Web and these changing circumstances offer the canny publisher and bookseller new opportunities to develop and extend markets and, of course, to sell books. So what is needed now? To make the reader central to the art.

I'd like you to take away from this blog two simple messages. Firstly, poetry belongs to you, not to the poet or the critic or merely the privileged and overeducated, not teachers or academics or editors, and there is someone out there writing for you right now, in ways which will extend your life and what it means and it's not dull drudgery, nor is it the literary equivalent of navel fluff. It may bite, delight and provoke you. It may excite you or console you, confirm your views or collapse them. By reading more of the stuff you'll find more poetry heads your way, into your neighbourhood, into your life and your mind. It will increase you.

Secondly, writers need to know what readers want and where their lives are at. If you can't find stuff that speaks to you then shout out wherever you can, get the full range of choices, there are thousands of new writers. I think you deserve the best from your poets and if the stuff you've discovered isn't working for you, don�t be managed or misled. The world of poetry is now as large and fragmented as the independent music scene so don't be cheated out of any life enhancements you are due, make sure you get all your slices of pie and cake. Why choose anything less?

Chris Hamilton-Emery is a Director of Salt Publishing, winner of the Nielsen Innovation of the Year Award in the IPA Award 2008 for developing poetry sales. His latest books are Poets in View (Salt), Radio Nostalgia (Arc Publications) and 101 Ways to Make Poems Sell (Salt).

tags: poetry, publishing, pathology

This is Why Salt Needs its own Office

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 12:22:59 -0700

tags: salt, office

Office move now likely

Fri, 7 Mar 2008 06:05:22 -0800

After eight years of running Salt from our home, it looks likely that we�ll be moving the office out of the house and into the next village, Fulbourn. Here's a glimpse of Salt�s potential head office with room for ten members of staff, and the dog. We'd take over the top floor suite of the pink house. Four large rooms, kitchen, toilet and a shower room. Seems perfect, just the paperwork to sort.

Salt Head Office

tags: Salt Head Office

Boxing Clever

Sun, 24 Feb 2008 04:50:27 -0800

Following several bouts of illness in the Salt House, plus school half-term holidays, I'm pleased to announce that we are now back to normal full steam ahead mode. Lots of book news (see the Confidential blog for full details) and some wonderful but embargoed prize news (damn it! - keeping quiet kills me), which I'll have to fill you in on later. But meanwhile, I can tell you that we have brought some lovely new books into the world, which anyone visiting Chez Salt could tell you. In fact, yesterday son 1, Callum, had a game of football (the Wilbraham Warriors have yet to win a match, but they're all still dead keen and turn up -- and yesterday they did actually score a goal) and was brought home by one of the dads who hadn't been here before. He stepped into the hall with a look of, well, I'll say it was astonishment, though it could have been something less positive, when he saw our box-lined walls. I had to explain that we published books and had just taken delivery of new titles. I counted them and there are currently 59 boxes of books piled high - and it isn't a big hall! And that's after I sent out over 40 boxes last week. Toddler Cameron has worked out that they can be climbed on, which is a rather worrying development, but at least they help over up his scribbles!

However, I digress. Without further ado, let me tell you briefly about our LOVELY NEW BOOKS. Two collections of short stories, one by Vanessa Gebbie, Words From a Glass Bubble; the second by Scottish-based Linda Cracknell, The Searching Glance. I have loved working on these books and with these authors and feel privileged to know every story inside and out. As well as them, we've published two collections of poetry from Australian poets Tim Thorne, I Con and Without an Alibi by Philip Neilsen, both of which we've published in hardback - the first of our Australian titles to be available in this format.

Also, we have managed to pull together to final-proof stage a book that we've been working on for around two years now. It started off as a collection of short stories about women with psychosis who commit terrible crimes, but they started to inter-relate and the final story ties them together, so now it's a novel, a genre we don't usually publish, but we're absolutely thrilled to on this occasion. It's Sister Morphine by Catherine Eisner. Here is a pic of the front of the jacket:

When I sent that to Catherine, she said this: "A scarlet dress is dangerous and its effect can sometimes be unpredictable," which led me to think about having to get something to wear for the Independent Publishing Awards dinner/awards ceremony in two weeks' time. Last year I wore a black dress that possibly looked okay, but felt absolutely STUPID in - it just wasn't me and I felt really uncomfortable all evening (though losing might not have helped, I must admit). So, I reckon that this year I might just go for a scarlet dress - an element of danger and unpredictability could just spice things up a bit!

I have therefore two weeks to *groan, here I go again* lose weight. Fortunately, the ground has now started to dry out and yesterday I was able to go for a "run". I use that word loosely - my staggering and wheezing around half of my normal course was more of a limp than a run. Worse still was my making use of the clever heart rate monitor I got for my Christmas. This confirmed that I am rather on the unfit side, thanks to my months of sloth over the wet winter (one can't run in mud or wellies).

These are my measurements *yawn, I know - skip this bit, I won't mind*:

Duration of exercise: 45 minutes
average heart beats per minute: 151 (I should be within the range of 126 - 144)
Time in proper fitness zone: 15 mins
Max heart rate: 199

How bad is that! It's amazing I didn't kill myself out there! I was running into the wind, but there were no hills, so all in all, pretty bad. But, hey, I can only get fitter! Time to lay off the biscuits and booze for a couple of weeks, I suppose, and perhaps invest in this for my next venture out:

Enjoy the rest of your weekends, everyone!

Salt Authors on the Record No 2

Wed, 6 Feb 2008 10:56:18 -0800

I had a really lovely day yesterday - got lots of work done, received some great news about one of our short story books that I'm not allowed to mention until the 13th Feb - TORTURE! How I'll keep it quiet, I don't know! Plus, it was Pancake Day - one of the best dates on the UK calender, and not even a Public Holiday.

So, continuing my stories-behind-the-authors-on-the-record theme, I thought it most appropriate to tell my tale about the time I spent with poet Tobias Hill. I will pause here to let you click on this link so you can have a quick look at him. It is important that you do that so you know where I'm coming from - all will be clear, bear with me!

It was on a summer's evening that I met Tobias at a train station in London. We walked to the end of the platform and shot the video. It was very windy and the sun was bright and low, so problems of a technical nature presented themselves, such as the lens cap banging into the tripod and making a noise, the wind whistling into the microphone, Tobias getting the sun in his eyes ... But, hey, we're pros, we coped!

We had deliberately timed our meeting to coincide with the low tide and after we shot the vid, we went down to the banks of the Thames to record some podcasts of Tobias reading from his book. We settled on a spot just across from Tate Modern, by the Millennium Bridge. And there we sat, with the sun setting over the water, guillemots and gulls around us, on the banks of the Thames - my own private poetry reading with Tobias Hill.

*Sigh* What a tough job, but someone's gotta do it!

Podcasts and video are on the link above. I couldn't work out how to plant them here, what a dunce.

tags: tobias hill

Authors on the Record No 1

Mon, 4 Feb 2008 11:29:36 -0800

I think I must have one of the most interesting jobs in the world. Working with authors and books is, obviously, the best. Plus, running our own business adds an extra dimension, though not always one that is welcomed as it involves doing stuff like book keeping. And one of the most interesting parts of my job is making videos of authors for the Salt website.

I thought I'd tell you some of the stories behind the videos, starting today with Manchester's very own Neil Campbell, author of short story collection, Broken Doll.

One cold morning, 6.30am, I left home and made my way into Cambridge to catch the train to Manchester, arriving at 11.30 and rather worse for wear owing to the fact that all the time I was on the train NO coffee was on sale, and I hadn't had time for any before I left the house. This is BAD! Neil met me at the station and I was pleased to hear that he had worked out what he was going to say in his video. He had 30 seconds to talk about his book, to give something interesting that people wouldn't otherwise know from reading the blurbs or the website.

And Neil had even planned where we were to film it - this isn't always easy, especially in a city - they are noisy places. So, 11.45am I find myself hanging outside a pub, waiting for it to open - believe me, it was a long time since I'd done that! At noon prompt we were allowed in and I ordered drinks from the bar, while Neil settled himself down and reminded himself of his script.

As I was standing at the bar, I realised that I had been in that pub before. I used to live in Manchester and a crowd of us from work used to go there every Friday when they had a blind man singing. Somewhat stupidly, as it turns out, I asked the barman: 'Did a blind man used to sing in here every Friday?'

Barman wearing a puzzled expression: 'Do you know when that would have been?'

Me: *gulp as the penny drops* 'Er, about 17 years ago'

Silence. The barman shuffles and looks uncomfortable. Then he looks at me and I KNOW he's thinking how ANCIENT I must be. I look closely at him and reaslise that he's about 18.

Me: 'So, em how much do I owe you, then?'

Somewhat relieved, I join Neil in the snug, set the camera up and say: 'GO!' This is what happened next:

Longer than 30 seconds and he wouldn't do it again, shame on him - authors, eh!

tags: Neil Campbell, Broken Doll