Pete has that academic vibe, the kind that lets you know he’s a novelist before he tells you. It’s the round-rimmed glasses, the scruffy-chic outfit, the little beard (I don’t know how else to describe it – it truly is a little beard) and the way he’s pounding the red wine. He’s as cliché as what I’m about to describe.
‘Like…’ I start, instantly cursing myself for using a filler word like ‘like’ when I’m trying to come across like I know what I’m talking about. My God, I need to stop saying like.
‘Like…’
For fuck’s sake, another one.
‘She’s in a coffee shop, she’s running late,’ I finally manage to get out – words, in the right order, as I intended them. What a novel idea. ‘And she’s rushing around, she grabs her drink, except it’s not her drink, it’s his drink; he’s got her drink. She has to chase him down but he’s got his headphones on. He can’t hear her, so she goes to grab his arm just as he realises he doesn’t have the right order, so he turns around, they crash into each other, coffee goes everywhere… That sort of thing.’
‘And that’s an example of what’s good or bad?’ he checks.
Shit. Truly, I don’t know now. I was going to say it’s an example of cliché storytelling, but that actually sounds kind of great. I’d definitely read a book that started like that. One hundred per cent.
‘I guess it depends how it’s done,’ I say, just in case I ever decide to come back to it. I wouldn’t want to seem like a hypocrite as well as a cliché.
‘Hmm,’ he says, rubbing his little beard thoughtfully.
Honestly, I usually love a beard, but his semi-goatee, soul patch – little beard, I’m just going to keep calling it that – is a bit of an ick for me. Or maybe I’m judging him harshly because he doesn’t seem impressed by my genre of choice. ‘Serious’ writers never are. God forbid anyone would want to write something a bit funny and a bit silly to help people forget about the bleakness of life.
‘So, in essence, your story tells the tale of a young woman who – in an attempt to make the ex she is still in love with jealous – pretends to be with someone else?’ he checks.
‘In essence,’ I reply.
I don’t know, there’s something in his tone. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it lets me know that he isn’t impressed without him actually having to say it. Knowing what a serious writer he is, I’m overthinking every carefully constructed sentence he utters. It’s like even his words have subtext.
‘Could she not simply be honest with the man? Tell him how she feels?’ he enquires.
I narrow my eyes at him.
‘Well, yeah, she could, but it would be a pretty short book,’ I say with a gentle laugh. ‘What if Frodo never set off on his quest to destroy the ring?’
‘You’re comparing your work to Tolkien?’ he checks – his tone almost offended on Tolkien’s behalf. ‘Have you read all of the books?’
‘I’ve watched all of the movies,’ I reply – honestly, I think I’m just trying to annoy him now. He’s not impressed by me at all – if anything, he’s the opposite – and he hates the Soho bar we’re in. He hates Soho generally. When he explained why, my takeaway was that it was too fun and vibrant. The reason he hates it is the reason I love it.
Pete swirls his wine like a supervillain planning his next move.
‘You’re happy with your hook then?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, really happy with the set-up,’ I reply.
‘Hmm,’ he says.
Is there a worse sound to hear in this situation than ‘hmm’? It’s a sound that meansI think this is shit but I’m not going to tell you why.
‘Hmm as in, “Wow, what a fascinating, layered concept!” or hmm as in, “Delete your entire manuscript”?’ I ask, semi-jokily.
‘It’s just a tad… predictable, don’t you think? I already know how the book is going to end,’ he replies.
Ah. There it is. The same reason everyone gives for looking down their noses at romcoms.
I snap the little wooden sword that was holding my drink garnish, to quietly let out my frustration. I don’t need to feel annoyed, or let him get under my skin, I just need to tell him why he’s wrong. I’m sure he’ll take that reeeeally well.
‘Romcoms are supposed to be predictable, Pete,’ I inform him, trying to keep the sass from my tone. ‘That’s the whole point! You go into it wanting a happy ending and that’s what you get. Readers want to see two people falling in love and the twists and turns that get them there – but you do have to get them there. Readers would feel short-changed if they didn’t. It’s fundamentally about the journey, you know, likeLord of the Rings.’
Yeah, I’m definitely trying to piss him off now. I can’t help myself. I have this strong sense of – what do they call it? Justice sensitivity? I can’t let things go, I can’t let people be rude, I want everyone to have consequences for their actions so they learn their lesson and become better people. Usually, it manifests as writing bad Trustpilot reviews, rather than prodding bestselling authors with a metaphorical stick.
‘This is why I prefer crime and thrillers. If the reader can guess the ending, you’ve failed. That’s when they feel short-changed. They want twists. Shock. Upended expectations. The last thing they want is to know where a story is going.’
