Allaboutwriting

On a hot summer day in 2006 my Dutch publisher Nijgh & Van Ditmar proudly presented my book Club Risiko in a trendy place on the Amsterdam canals. It was a great occasion, with lots of beer and lots of friends. There were several speeches, and when it was my turn, I said something that must have made the publisher feel slightly uncomfortable, if not embarrassed.

The idea for Club Risiko was born in 2001, when I thought someone should write a book about ‘the eighties generation’ and all its underground cultural manifestations. I wanted to travel to different parts of the world to interview icons from the era, such as the postpunk bands Einstürzende Neubauten, Sonic Youth, Crass, Laibach, The Ex and film maker Leos Carax. As I couldn’t afford all these travels myself I had to apply for funding. But to get funding you need a letter of intent from a publisher. So I wrote a synopsis and sent it to several Dutch publishers. One of them was Nijgh & Van Ditmar, a nearly hundred year old institution. I approached them because they had a good name when it came to music books and their head was a well known music buff who had released several successful compilation CDs, mainly consisting of obscure fifties and sixties 7 singles.

After a few weeks I received a short, polite mail from Nijgh & Van Ditmar, saying that they were unfortunately not interested in publishing a book about Einstürzende Neubauten and their ilk. But of course they wished me all the best and they were sure another publisher would be willing to give me the go ahead.

They were right.Amsterdampublisher Thomas Rap had an energetic young editor who proudly claimed he knew all the bands I mentioned, and who would be happy to give my book a chance. So with his letter of intent I managed to get a research grant, which covered most of my travel expenses. And off I went, to Berlin, Paris, London, New  York, Ljubljana, Johannesburg and Amsterdam, where I duly interviewed all the bands I had wanted to meet.

 But after some time I received the news that the young enthusiastic editor was having a nervous breakdown. He was out of circulation for a good six months. Then, just as he was about to resume his duties with Thomas Rap, he wrote me a letter, saying he had moved to Nijgh & Van Ditmar, and would of course be happy to try and take me with him, but he couldn’t promise anything. I was new to the game and decided that one should stick to the publisher with whom you signed the contract. So I wrote a few chapters and sent them to the young one’s successor. But we didn’t click. He didn’t understand the book, and I didn’t understand his criticism. And when things don’t click, you better move on, because it will lead to frustration, anger, resentment and a still-born book, if it’s a birth at all.

More than a year had passed, and I was at a loss. I didn’t want to stay with Thomas Rap, but found it hard to approach the young editor and go through another vetting process with a publisher who had initially rejected me. In the end the urge to get the book out won, and I contacted the young editor. He said he was glad to hear from me. We made an appointment, had coffee and apple cake and he said it wouldn’t be too hard for him to push my book through with the head of Nijgh & Van Ditmar.

He was right. Since Nijgh & Van Ditmar saw this young editor as their bright future star they were happy to follow his suggestions. So I travelled a bit more and wrote and wrote and wrote and eventually came up with a final manuscript. But by then my restless, ambitious young saviour had moved to yet another publisher. Sure, he said in an apologetic mail, he would try to get his new employer to publish me. But now I was sick and tired of his promiscuity, and decided to stick with Nijgh & Van Ditmar. That meant that I had to meet the head, the 50s and 60s music buff who had declined my initial proposal. We had a few beers, talked about our overlapping taste in music, had a few more beers and food and things clicked. I sat there glowing. I felt like a real author, being feted by my publisher, who had also feted some of the most famous Dutch writers in that same old pub on the Singel inAmsterdam. And what was even better: he said he would edit my book himself.

So Club Risiko was printed in 2006. And we had our launch. The guest speaker spoke, my publisher spoke. And when it was my turn I ended with the words: ‘…and many thanks to Nijgh & Van Ditmar for publishing my book, after first rejecting it.’

I looked at the head. If there was embarrassment or discomfort, he didn’t show it. He’s an experienced old fox, who has had to deal with some real prima donnas. Later we went for dinner, had more beer and wine, and laughed it off.

But it still nags me, because it shows just how fickle and arbitrary this whole business is.

Fred de Vries is a Dutch freelance writer/journalist, who after living all over Africa moved to South Africa to write a biography of Sinclair Beiles.

Previously he worked as a correspondent and foreign editor for de Volkskrant a daily Dutch newspaper. Together with his colleague Toine Heijmans he wrote Respect! in 1998, a book about hiphop in Europe. In 2006 he published the travelogue Club Risiko, a close and personal look at the underground culture of the eighties, including chapters on Sonic Youth,  Einstürzende Neubauten and Koos.

 He recently published a collection with the highlights from his interviews for The Weekender and Empire Magazine. The Fred de Vries Interviews; From Abdullah to Zille contains 39 interviews with more and less famous creative South Africans, such as Fokofpolisiekar, Helen Zille, Ivan Vladislavic, Abdullah Ibrahim and Warren Siebrits.

He teaches Travel Writing  with Allaboutwriting, and has regularly contributed to the travel pages of the Sunday Times and the now defunct Weekender.

Learn what it takes to publish your book by joining David Chislett on December 7  in Johannesburg for his Getting Published Workshop in which he  gives his take on publishing, its perils and its opportunities. David’s Getting Published Workshop will be available online from January.